WIP SunMonday
Thanks so much for the tags @all-or-nothing-baby and @greyhavenisback
I got really excited for a moment because I thought it was Sunday today - and then I realised that it is actually Monday. But that was okay because I got two AMAZING snippets to read regardless! (Seriously go read them! They're fab!)
So I'm trying to get back to writing after a few insane weeks so you can have something I wrote earlier.
For context, this is from Lineman, a sterek glacial burn, post-apocalyptic au where Stiles has a pirate radio station and Derek is the one responsible for the communication network. As always, Stiles is creating pure chaos and making it Derek's problem.
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"I didn't do anything," Boyd says automatically.
"I know," Derek growls, shouldering past him and reaching to adjust the capacitor. It does nothing.
The strange noises and singing build to a rhythmic crescendo. Derek flinches, wondering if some kind of creature is going to appear out of his radio. It sounds like someone trying to summon an old god.
"I can't turn it down either," Boyd yells, the noise just getting louder the more Derek tries to interfere.
"No shit," Derek bites back, having already turned the volume as low as it can go.
"Whatever it is it's playing around the whole town," Boyd shouts, sticking his head outside to where the same awful sound is playing from Erica's bar. Derek can hear a few people shrieking inside and he can't tell if it's with laughter or agony. Or maybe both.
"Then fucking help me," he growls, yanking the housing off the radio, exposing the copper coils, the capacitor and the diodes. He stares at it blankly then reaches up to adjust the antenna before his mind catches up with his body and he can take a long hard look at what the hell he's doing.
The radio waves are already transmitting. And he's been trying to stop them. Like an idiot. All he can do is stop them being received. But he can't turn off every radio in the town. Or can he?
He leans down to carefully disconnect the speaker but is startled by the buzzing as a message comes through on Boyd's field radio.
Boyd picks up the receiver only to have Derek snatch it out of his hand.
"We're handling it," he growls into the mic before slamming it back into it's cradle. He shares a look with Boyd. Whatever this noise is, it's playing on all channels and as far over as Novac.
"We're not handling it, are we?" Boyd asks, staring at Derek's wild eyes and heaving chest. At his feet Muttley is still howling loud enough to wake the dead and all Derek can do is collapse into the chair, completely and utterly defeated.
Around him the noise intensifies until the strange twanging noise finally slows to a stop, only to be replaced by a slow clatter that sounds like someone has dropped a sheet of metal.
It sounds horrendous.
Then, nothing.
Into the silence Derek breathes heavily, glaring at Boyd as if he has any more answers than he does.
The silence stretches between them for a long, long moment before it is shattered by a now familiar, all too excitable voice.
"Didn't that just blow your gourd? YES! Yes it did. Gentle folk of the post apocalypse, allow me to introduce you to Rock Around the Clock by Bill Haley and His Comets.
Jazz hands! Jazz hands, baby."
There is a burst of sound as Stiles cackles madly and Derek winces, wishing he knew where Stiles was so that he could cut off his fucking jazz hands.
"Oh my god! Music!
Guys, gals and everything in between - we have music!
Yes, you heard me correctly! Please, do not adjust your sets. It wouldn't help you even if you did.
Hah! I have music now! Music!
Oh, it is all SO over for you!"
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Very gentle no pressure tags to: @gege-wondering-around @violetfairydust @renmackree @novasillies @ahhhnorealnamesallowed @endwersed @jadezdominion


















