#i gotta find my will to live somewhere and hey. those boxes are technically free

[thesunmakesmetired]

The nice part of working retail (never thought id say retail isnt just hell) is getting to just fuck around sometimes.

Today, I spent an hour with a cardboard box on my head for fun

Heres an Artists rendition of what happened

I just didnt take it off. It was my new hat. Served customers that way. Got my dopamine fix.

10/10, would recommend putting a box as a hat

Bonus

I kept going up to my friend, picking up random boxes and saying "beware, i am the box ghost!!!" Before leaving. We laughed more than we should have

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Epilogue

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 3k

Warnings: Language, sexual references and... hallucinations, or are they?

A/N: The end of a journey, but the start of a new one! To all those that stuck around till the end -I’m sorry for taking so long- and y’all are the best! Check the link at the end to read the blurb for the sequel.

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

~

You laid in Derek’s bed watching the first glimmers of daybreak scatter over his velvet sheets. His mouth was parted slightly as he took long, drawn out breaths in his sleep. You hugged your knees to your breast, taking in the peaceful silence.

With the last of the hunters lost to the winds, you were unsure of what going back to normal meant.

Were you just supposed to go back to your newly-moved-in apartment and unpack the last few boxes you left on the floor? Then what? Spend the rest of your days spaying cats and clipping outgrown nails? Somehow the prospect of returning to how things used to be felt a little underwhelming.

What about Derek? He was still a wanted man in four states. Still a criminal in the eyes of the law. Was it safe for him to stay? Would he stay?

As you pondered your future, Derek stirred from sleep, a groan emanating from his chest.

“Morning,” you whispered over your knees.

He smiled at you, “Morning.”

He sat up to lean against his headboard, chiselled chest in full view.

You blushed, remembering the kiss in the woods and how sexy his glistening muscles made him look.

He splayed his arms wide for you to crawl under, the red rash slowly forming on his forearm identical to Peter’s. Scratch marks present from when he was asleep, digging his nails into his irritated flesh.

You tucked yourself under his strong frame, trailing fingers over the snaking flesh. You shuddered. It didn’t feel right.

Derek kissed the top of your head, chasing your worries to the back of your mind.

“Where do we go from here?” you asked, keeping your eyes trained on the growing rash.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, stroking the bony trail of your neck. “But I know I don’t want to go back.”

You smiled, “Neither do I.”

Something writhed under his skin and you started from the contact it had with the pads of your fingers.

“What are we going to do about this?” you poked his arm.

He dismissed it nonchalantly, “As long as it doesn’t kill me, I don’t care.”

You hummed in thought.

Derek seemed more carefree, less burdened. You felt deprived of this side of him, wishing you had known he possessed such calmness underneath his brooding façade earlier.

“You’re still a wanted man you know,” you reminded him.

“And you’re a vet with a clinic in disrepair,” he retorted.

“So…” you looked up to meet his green eyes. “What do we do about that?”

Derek kissed your lips, twining his fingers with yours, “I’ve actually been having this reoccurring dream.”

“Oh yeah?” you arched a brow.

“Mmm-hmm. It’s about us actually.”

“Us?” you felt comfortable saying the words, it scared you how normal it felt on your tongue.

Derek noticed how casually you said it too, it made his smile grow, “Yeah, us. We’re always alone, just the two of us, with nothing but a map, a camping tent and two backpacks.”

“That sounds… a lot like my childhood actually.”

“That’s not the best part. Every morning we wake up somewhere new. And on the last day, we pitch our tent in front of this magnificent waterfall, surrounded by nothing but free open spaces and curious coyotes.”

“You had me till coyotes.”

A laugh rumbled from his chest, “They tend to steer clear of wolves. A hierarchy thing.”

“Ahh,” you said, drawing circles around his abdomen.

“How about it?” He asked, eyes peering into yours. He looked vulnerable.

“What? Leave Beacon Hills, disappear for a while to go on a hiking trip with a guy I just slept with?” you teased.

He rolled his eyes, “Hey, I’m more than a piece of meat you know.”

“I know. Not many people would go to such lengths to help a total stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger to me. I’m beginning to doubt if you ever were.”

“God! It seems like years ago that I pulled that bullet from right here–” you poked the spot that once looked mangled and bloody from a bullet wound.

Derek jerked, finding your touch ticklish.

“Well?” he asked again.

What he was asking of you was to be someone you weren’t. Someone spontaneous and adventurous and not someone who was calculating and a meticulous planner. He was asking you to take a chance on whatever warm feeling was spreading through your body right as the golden glow of the sunrise bathed your naked bodies.

The rational part of your brain was telling you ‘No!’. Warning you not to be swept up in the moment like a hopeless romantic.

Be with him, but don’t put everything on hold for him, the rational voice said.

Oh, for once in your life don’t listen to her, follow your heart, be bold… give yourself a shot at being happy again. Lord knows you’ve earned it, the dying remnants of your fun-loving college girl years argued against the other voice.

You held his gaze for a long pause, trying to weigh the options. In the end, it was his unexpected kiss that decided things for you.

“What the hell!” you cast caution to the wind. “Yeah, let's go see some mountains together or some shit.”

“Yeah?” Derek was grinning now.

“Yeah!”

And with that, he rolled you onto your back and kissed you passionately.

On the bedside table, vibrating incessantly was Derek’s phone. Caller ID stating it was Stiles trying to get ahold of him for the sixth time in a row. Derek ignored the call and chucked his phone into his clothes hamper before he lowered himself between your thighs.

 ~Two Months Later

“Where to next?” you pulled out the map and placed it next to the lantern propped up on a foldable table.

Derek looked at the map then back at you, a cheeky smile on his face.

You knew that look. That was the look that told you he wanted to be doing something else besides plotting out points on the heavily marked map.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and bit his lip, “Why bother with ‘next’ when we can just enjoy the beautiful view right here.”

You glanced over your shoulder to look at the rolling hill ranges that spanned for miles and miles.

“It is a beautiful view,” you agreed.

He placed a kiss to your shoulder, “That’s not the view I was talking about.”

Heat flushed to your cheeks, “Ever the charmer.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m only charming for you,” he kissed the crook of your neck, mouth sucking on the sensitive flesh until you were certain it would leave love bites.

You moaned, but then forced yourself to not be swept up in his incendiary touches, “Ah-ah, Derek. Map. Next destination. Focus.”

You chastised him with a playful smack and he huffed, “Easy for you to say. Focusing is the last thing I’m capable of doing right now. It doesn’t help that you smell like the wild –cedar and freshwater. It’s intoxicating.” He breathed in the scent around your hair.

God, he was making it hard for you to focus as well.

You cleared your throat, “Well you’re just going to have to reign yourself in, Romeo.”

“You’re so persistent,” he whined dramatically. “Okay, you really want a destination.”

“Yes, please.”

“How about here—“ he circled Beacon Hills with his finger.

“Beacon Hills?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Deaton’s finished with the repairs. I’m a free man again. Maybe we should think about taking this thing we got going back to a more permanent setting.”

Your eyes widened, “Are you suggesting…?”

“I’m saying I want us to move in together,” he said it so boldly you almost wondered if he knew asking someone to move in with him wasn’t the same as asking them to share a closet space.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he revealed. “When I’m not thinking of all the things I want to do to you.” He playfully nipped your earlobe before stretching back into his relaxed pose.

Your voice was torn between panicked and husky, “Living together is a huge commitment Derek, it’s not—“

“I’m committed to you, almost devoutly so. It scares me sometimes,” he laughed awkwardly. “Besides, aren’t we practically sharing a living space right now?”

Your mouth hung open. He’s got you there.

He sighed longingly, “Waking up next to you, sharing meals with you, fighting over which way’s East or West or South or… you get the idea. I want more of that. In a house or apartment, or loft even, just as long as it has walls, a sturdy bed and you.”

You giggled, happiness spreading through you.

His face turned serious just then, his hand taking yours, “I want those things with you more than I’ve ever wanted them with someone else. I—“

Suddenly his phone rang and Derek sighed, annoyance taking over his features as he looked at the caller ID.

“It’s Stiles,” he told you. “I gotta take this. It’s probably about him closing my case. If it’s not… I’ll kill him.”

Derek shot you an apologetic look and then crawled out from under your shared tent. You went back to reading the names of all the places you’d yet to visit

Yellowstone, North Beach Campground, Crystal Cove, Derek wants us to move in together… Derek wants us to move in together! This is all happening too fast… Am I being paranoid? I mean… we are technically living together since we share a tent, but then again—

 Derek walked a few paces until he reached the crystal waters of the lake, with a lazy grunt he plopped down on top of the stony shore, pressing accept on his phone’s screen.

“Stiles, this had better have been important,” he grumbled, his frown baring down on his face for what felt like the first time in aeons.

“Wow, missed you too buddy, long time –how’s the weather over there? The mountains mountainy enough for ya?” Stiles retorted.

“I mean it, Stiles,” Derek warned.

“I was just calling to let you know you’re case has now been dead-filed. You’re a free man again.”

“I thought I was a free man weeks ago?”

“Yeah, but now its legally-filed-paperwork official with a stamp and a seal and everything. A public apology will be made by my department in a few days.”

“Okay then. Good to know. Now if you don’t mind I have something to get back to so…” Derek waited for Stiles to hang up but he didn’t. From the weird pause on his end of the line, Derek knew Stiles was fumbling to say something. “What is it, Stiles?”

“Have you told her yet?”

There was a pregnant pause, Derek looked at the odd, reddened symbol that moved under his skin on his forearm and then over to your happy, stress-free face under the tent.

“I’m going to. I just haven’t found the right time.”

“You can’t keep this a secret forever. Someone’s going to wonder why Peter had a mental breakdown and left for Kathmandu. What if that happens to you?”

“Peter is a drama queen. He’s fine.”

“But you aren’t. You know what that mark means.”

“I know.”

“And I won’t keep this from the others forever.”

“I know.”

“You’re one of them now.”

“I know!”

“Just… don’t carry this on your own. Secrets have never brought anything good to the pack. And yeah I get it, you know.” Stiles hung up.

Derek took a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you hadn’t heard his little outburst. He was relieved when he saw you fully immersed in the map laid out before you, a toothy grin lighting up your face.

“You should listen to your friend,” a raspy, unwelcome voice spoke. Derek was still getting used to the new voice in his head. “Secrets are dangerous.”

Derek turned to the source of the voice, seeing Alyster’s thin face and skinny form standing next to him. Dead and incorporeal. A supernatural hallucination reserved solely for him.

Derek snorted, “That’ll go easy over dinner. Oh, babe, you know that guy who was trying to murder you, murdered your boyfriend and almost killed everyone you've ever loved? Yeah, turns out he was right. Killing him didn’t mean he’d stay dead. Now he’s a voice in my head that I can talk to from time to time,” Derek sneered sarcastically before continuing on his rant: "I pretty much took his place. Don't worry though, I'm not alone in this. Peter's gone insane and secluded himself behind the doors of some spiritualist convent in Kathmandu. Would you like some bread?"

Alyster’s skin-crawling laugh trickled out making Derek’s neck prickle in discomfort.

“It does sound ridiculous when you put it that way,” a smirk stretched at Alyster’s mouth tightly. “But it could be worse. You could have Astrid inside your head instead.”

Derek ran a hand over his face and groaned, “Just… go burrow back into my subconscious and do… whatever it is dead men do when they’re trapped in someone else’s mind.”

“Wither,” Alyster said darkly. “We wither.”

A gust of wind blew in from the East, an odd sensation to it. Derek’s wolf instincts went rampant, he didn’t know what was making him so agitated. It was like a shrill, ultrasonic sonic sound had bored a hole into his head and lit his nose on fire. Derek tried to exhale the scent away in strong bursts, his hands placed to his ears to block out that painful noise. Nothing seemed to be working.

The rash on his arm turned solid, finally ending its repetitive cycle of writhing and wriggling. The itch had refrained. Then, after Derek was sure that he could practically hear the buzz of light’s frequency, everything shut off and his senses returned to normal. A stream of blood ran down from his nose and ears.

“What the fuck was that?”

Alyster’s face turned grave, “That was the��First Coming.”

 ~Kathmandu 

The meditative instructor at the retreat sat in front of Peter with his legs crossed in the lotus position, a large statue of a praying Buddha was erected barely a stone’s throw away.

“Breathe in,” the teacher instructed the class. “And out.”

Peter repeated the actions, trying to silence the incessant ramblings of Astrid’s consciousness now bunking with his own.

“Du bör sluta slösa bort din tid,” Astrid said in Swedish.

I keep telling you, I don’t know what you’re saying! Peter shouted back in his head. And shut up, I’m trying to focus on my breathing! 

”And breathe in,” the teacher parroted. ”And now breathe out all your worries and stresses, feel them ebb away.”¨

”Oh, does my speaking Swedish annoy you?” Astrid remarked with bitterness. ”How insensitive of me. I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry. Would you like me to fetch you a towel for all that sweat? Maybe a glass of water with a slice of lemon? Oh! No, wait... I can’t do those things because you stabbed me in the heart with a stake!” Astrid patronised him, her voice so loud inside his head.

You deserved it!

Peter ground his teeth together in the hopes she’d be drowned out by the sound of molars filing down on one another.

”And now we’ll take in one deep breath and hold it,” the teacher said.

Peter held his breath.

Astrid’s pitch went flat, “All this breathing and more breathing seems to be working. I feel very relaxed here. Namaste.”

Peter saw her hallucinatory projection bow mockingly at the instructor's feet. Peter held back a laugh.

”Silence please,” the teacher chastised when he heard Peter’s breathy laugh.

Yeah, you heard him, silence wench! Peter mocked at Astrid.

Astrid rolled her eyes, “I was being silent. You’re the one who can’t internalise his laughs.”

Whose fault is that? It’s not like my brain isn’t crowded enough already.

”I warned you my kind doesn’t die, you chose to shove that stake into my heart anyway. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours,” she bit back.

”Keep holding,” the teacher said.

Maybe if you weren’t a homicidal bitch!

”Hold,” the teacher repeated.

 “Maybe if you weren’t a homicidal bastard!”

”And, release,” the teacher said serenely.

”Shut up!” Peter barked, startling the class. He scrunched his face and plastered on a charming smile, “Terribly sorry, I wasn’t talking to you.”

Astrid snickered with pride, “Yeah, tell them you were talking to a dead woman that lives in your head, go on, tell them!”

Peter stood from the cushion and bowed to the rest of the class, “I think I’ll be retiring to my quarters. Namaste.”

The entire class looked at him with wide eyes, all their voices quaking from shock and surprise, “N- Namaste.”

Peter rolled his eyes and walked away, We really need to set some ground rules.

“Don’t see why, I’m having a great time,” Astrid shrugged. “I’d rather be in your head, roaming around like some phantom than spend my eternity with the love of my life.”

Suddenly, a high pitched, nearly immobilising sound pierced through Peter’s skull like a hot poker. His eardrums vibrated so frantically he was certain they’d burst. An odd taste filled his mouth and he felt like he’d just swallowed a whole tub of wasabi.

“Gahhh!” he clenched down as he lost his footing and fell through a paper wall. “What is that?”

His claws started growing out of their own accord, eyeballs aching from internalised pressure. Then suddenly it stopped.

Peter picked himself up off the floor and looked down at all the blood that had soaked into his shirt from his nose alone. It was like a murder scene. One of his eyes went bloodshot.

Astrid’s eyes narrowed, her voice chillier than ice, “She has awoken.”

“Who?” Peter asked the ghostly woman, ignoring all the scared faces in the crowd clamouring around him.

“The First Coming.”

Out through the window, Peter could see a flock of birds swarming in a frenzied spiral, their cawing noises irritating his wolfish hearing.

“Well… fuck!” Peter spat the blood out of his mouth and stormed out of the retreat. “It was nice knowing you Buddha.” He threw a piece sigh up to the giant statue, his rash taking on the coherent form of an unmoving symbol.

 ~Below the Mother Three

Worms wiggled out of the earth, screaming inaudibly as they left the solace of the rotting tree. Black mould had webbed across the ancient tree’s trunk like a mossy blanket, bringing with it a foul stench of decay.

Below the surface horizon, root tendrils began to shrivel and rot, turning into puddles of fermenting tree sap. Deep down, at the centre of the trees dying rhizomes, was buried a sarcophagus. A symbol harkening the end of days was chiselled into the stone lid.

Under the airless, lightless, soundless seal of the ancient casket was a mummified body wrapped in black cloth. The inside of the sarcophagus shook, tremors from the earth forcing cracks onto the stone.

Softly, painfully, a single breath was taken and the earth would never be the same.

 This story continues in: Covet of the Wolf

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