Don't just stand there! Get out there and (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
memelikeyoumeanit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2013-03-17 03:02 pm
memelikeyoumeanit) wrote in bakerstreet2013-03-17 03:02 pm
BABIES! BABIES EVERYWHERE. [THE MEME]
1. YOU HAVE A BABY CONGRATS.
2. Figure out where/how you got it what it looks like and some basic traits.
3. Either take it away with you ...
4. ... Or hit the RNG below.
1. BABY I ADORE YOU You've got the little critter home and are adjusting to the schedule of a newborn creature. Basically ... you're living on it's schedule. Good luck.
2. TOYS! Are you spoiling the kid? Is the kid spoiling you? Babies need to be played with. It's like the sims. Otherwise they're not interesting like at all.
3. FOOD AND DRINK Just like with pets, houseplants, and cars - babies need to be fed and taken care of. enjoy the perils of something that doesn't particularly have a lot of control over itself yet.
4. THE GREAT WIDE WORLD Take the baby outside! Introduce it to others! Show it grass! flowers! taunt it with things it cannot do yet! (That's right kiddo, one day you will be able to walk BUT FOR NOW...)
5. GROWING UP IS HARD TO DO Toddler/Child/Teenager option. It's not a baby anymore it's another person that owes you it's life. Granted most of us don't realize we owe our parents that much until we're out of the nest. What did it do? Take the car? Smear paint on the walls? eat a pan full of half baked brownies?
What's that? Looking for something a little more serious? These are more to your liking then.
6. HEIR TO DESTINY IF WE CAN GET YOU THERE. Congratulations your child is the heir to incredible skill, a fortune, a family curse, or something else entirely. Holding it in your arms you are confronted with the possibility it might be a hard road to get this child to their birth right. Are you prepared to do what it takes?
7. YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN A - Deal with disappointment. Procreation is a hard business. You were hoping for a [INSERT GOAL HERE] but it's a [INSERT BABY HERE]. How do you cope?
8. BABY ON THE RUN You gave birth in hiding and secret, you're running FROM someone. How do you cope with the challenges of a child while living in hiding? Is this child an heir to Destiny?
9. ROSEMARY'S BABY This baby is not yours. It was put there by an entity or by someone else - this child's very presence however will change everything in your universe. How does it feel to have roving bands of cults worshiping it?
10. WILDCARD Take your new baby and do what you will with it. Just remember it's a child and a baby. Don't eat it or hurt it for the sake of the meme (because the meme maker was unsure if a content warning would be needed.)
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But it seems she can accept it, because her eyes are shining and she's putting off the scent of happiness so strongly that he feels himself grin in response, no hope at suppressing it.]
I'm a what? [he splutters, still grinning. He's long ago come to terms with the knowledge that Lydia is just smarter than he is, no contest. And he's okay with that, really. But then she'll pull out something like this — he totally googles this kind of shit when they're texting so he sounds smarter than he is — and he'll just sit back and wonder at her. What the hell is she doing with him, of all people, a guy who dropped out of high school and only ended up getting his GED because he couldn't get a good job without it? She could do so much better. Not that he's going to point that out to her, though, just in case she takes it to heart and leaves him. That would suck.
He leans in and kisses the admirably-stern line of her mouth, still smiling.] I don't have a ring. And listen, I know you well enough to know that if I proposed to you without a ring, you'd kick my ass. So that's going to have to wait until I hack into your Pinterest and figure out what you deem an appropriate engagement ring.
But moving in sounds good. I've got plenty of space and my house feel pretty lonely when I'm in it by myself.
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Lydia's smart, and she knows it. Has known it forever and a day, has had it reinforced by almost every single teacher she's had and takes great pride in her intelligence and inherent genius. So it wasn't like she'd date completely stupid boys, and it wasn't like smarts were always determined by degrees, so who was to say they were not compatible. Derek was hardly a pushover, even when she lorded her superior vocabulary over him, and she appreciated the stable backing, encouragement and challenges he provided more than his ability to solve differential equations.
He kisses her, and it takes just as much energy to resist chasing his lips as it does to pretend she's still peeved. A crack appears in her perfect pissed off facade, lips twitching in what's soon to be a grin.
Her Pinterest is mostly filled with tastefully edited pictures of influential, strong women and pastel summer dresses and chocolate, but every couple pins he's bound to find an picture of jewelry, and even if it was necklaces or earrings, one thing would become readily apparent (if not from the website, then from the dog-earred pages of the wedding magazines she was going to take out a subscription tomorrow); that, be it big or small, gaudy or classy, one quality ran through all of Lydia's stylistic choices:
Expensive. ]
I want a big ring. A really fancy proposal, too — a proper one, by the way; this doesn't count. I'm also going to wait until you actually ask me to move in. Like, with a house key or a puppy or something equally as monumental.
[ Besides, she has four more months on the apartment. Moving in the summer wouldn't be too bad, though, because then she could make him life all the boxes — shirtless. ]
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He's well aware of Lydia's affinity for expensive things, and he's pretty glad he ended up putting a fair chunk of his inheritance money into investments, because he's only a deputy in the Sheriff's department, and while that gets him nice health benefits (that he doesn't need), the salary isn't really anything to write home about. Regardless, Derek has enough money in the bank that, combined with her parents' help, he'll be able to give her the extravagant wedding of her dreams.]
I know, babe. Trust me, I've been saving for it.
[He leans in and kisses her again because he can't not, she's basically said yes to living together and getting married and having kids, then rears back and stands, shuffling off to go find his jacket. After a brief moment of rifling through one of the inner pockets, he apparently finds what he's looking for and comes back to the couch, lowering himself down onto one knee and picking up her hand.]
Lydia, will you... [And he presses something into her hand; a solid brass key identical to the one hanging on his key ring.] Move in with me?
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(The really expensive wedding photographer.
(No seriously, he better mean it when he said he'd been saving it.)))
He kisses her again, and Lydia has every intention of kissing back, including a little tongue and maybe the two of them could make out for a few minutes; it was only 7:30, so they had at least twenty minutes before they needed to start packing up Scottie Dog's things and wait for his mom and dad to ring the bell. But she's barely arched her neck and pushed her lips to his when he's springing back and shuffling to his coat. She's sitting up in careful anticipation, watches his back because, oh dear, what if he'd been lying about not having a ring; their proposal couldn't go down like this, she potentially had spit up on the back of her shirt.
He gives her a little bit of a heart attack when he gets down on one knee: a painfully excited flutter of the heart, a missed beat, and a lurch upward into her trachea. But it's safe; it's just a key, which she uncurls her fingers to stare at in wonder before holding it to her chest. She's not a sixteen year old and is far above wearing it on a chain around her neck now — no, this would go on her keyring, like a practical human being — but that didn't mean she wouldn't hold it in her heart anyway. She's nodding, eagerly so, and shuffles on the couch cushions in a poorly contained happy dance, but: ]
Now where's my puppy?
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That's okay. He loves her. The insurance money has been quietly growing in his account these past few years, it should be enough to make her happy and then some.
The vows however... Well, he'll probably end up giving her a jumbled list of everything he feels about her and letting her make it make any kind of coherent sense. And if he needs a little cheat card to read off of up at the altar, well, that'll probably just be because she'll be so distracting, standing in front of him in her beautiful white dress.
He can tell by the look on her face that she's half-convinced he's going to propose and there's a part of him that almost feels bad for leading her on, but whatever, she'll get over it, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, if he was proposing now, she'd kill him. This is not good enough and he knows it. No, he's just asking her to move in with him...officially. It seems that she's either at his house or he's at hers; they rarely sleep alone anymore. This is just making it permanently in his bed. Shuffling forward a little, he pushes between her knees and wraps his arms around her waist, smiling up at her.]
Pretty sure he's still asleep in the playpen.
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If he hadn't bought her the biggest ring, she wouldn't have scoffed at it and returned it to him.
And if he couldn't write his vows, she'd conceal a small smile and edit them, but wouldn't laugh at him.
Because these were little hiccups in the grand scheme of things and she could get over it. She'd gotten over that dating Derek made her potential in-law her would-be-murderer a while ago, and while Peter never got an invitation from her to dinner, they'd spent tense evenings together and no blood had been shed — so those small problems? The ones that didn't threaten her life or future? Those she could get over no problem.
...Okay, small problem, mostly for her narcissistic consumer pride that wanted to show off to all her friends and family and the people she didn't consider either but still needed to have her good fortune shoved down her throat. She'd invite the girls from college who hadn't believed her when she'd shown them pictures of Derek and said he was her boyfriend, and the looks on their faces would make up for the lack of bite sized bits of gravlax. ]
No, I mean, an actual puppy. Where's my labrador retriever puppy? Or do I not get one because you would get all territorial when he tried to sleep in our bed? [ She lets him settle between her thighs, shifts forward so she's perched on the edge of the couch and can return the squeeze of his arms around her waist with the squeeze of her legs around his ribcage. Idle fingers find their way into his hair again, even as she taunts him about a pets, but he has a point about the baby in the other room and loath though she is, Lydia taps him on the shoulder. ] You should probably go get him up.
[ And really, she doesn't need a puppy, because Derek is just as cuddly as one, and long since house trained. ]
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Derek is all for inviting all of Lydia's bitchy college friends. It's too bad they were sort of on a break most of the time she was away at school, because he would have had no problem showing up unannounced and sleeping in her bed, just to spite them.
Nobody gets to make disbelieving faces at Lydia but him, okay, that's his right.
(He's not thinking about how marrying her will mean that Peter is now related to her. In fact, he's done a pretty good job of not thinking about Peter at all in regards to this relationship. Peter is...complicated. Most of Derek's memories of the man are happy ones, before the fire, when Peter was the cool uncle who taught Derek how to ride a bike and helped him with his English homework. This madman who kidnaps teenage girls is still a stranger to him.)
He chuckles softly and shakes his head.] Nobody's sleeping in our bed but us, babe. Except maybe the cubs, when they come. And only until they're old enough to sleep on their own, I refuse to share our bed with children the rest of our lives. [Think of what a dent that would put in their sex life, ugh.] And no way are we getting a lab. Maybe a Rottweiler. Or a Corgi, their stumpy little legs are hilarious. [It's hard to tell if he's teasing her right now or not; his mild innocent expression is actually pretty good. He hums happily, his eyelids drooping as she pushes her fingers into his hair again, and goes so far as to lean his head against her chest so he can nuzzle in against her breasts and get comfortable.
Until she suggests getting Scottie Dog.] Ugh, it's like we have kids already.
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Even the fact he called babies cubs. It's weird and clashes with her human ideals because she really just wants to call them edible or adorable and be done with it. Sometimes she smirks at him and cracks jokes — Oh, are you a mountain lion now? — but doesn't make her eye twitch with skepticism much anymore. Though he still earns a dubious stare when her dog preferences are shot down. ]
I don't want a Rottweiler, I want a Labrador! [ She whines, shoving at his shoulders as a) punishment, and b) incentive to get up and do her bidding. Her discarded cell phone buzzes, and Lydia stretches to retrieve it and opens the short text from Allison (who had always been better about communication than Scott) saying the movie was over. Distractedly, fumbling around the cell, the key she refuses to let go of, and the remote to switch back to kids shows (the mummification process was being described in great depth and she hadn't even noticed in light of their negotiations and his not-proposal proposal) she calls over her shoulder; ]
God kids, maybe. Oh — oh, or a Labradoodle! They're cute.
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He sighs and lets her shove send him back out of her arms and up onto his feet, stretching enough as he stands to make his shirt ride up and bunch a little under his armpits so that he has to struggle with it as he walks back to her room to collect Scott.] Absolutely not! [he calls back over his shoulder, shaking his head. No way is he allowing Poodle anything into his house. He had to put up with Prada for years before the poor little dog died, nothing that fluffy or obnoxiously twee is setting foot in his house ever again.
He croons softly to little baby Scott as he lifts him out of his play pen, pressing a kiss to a warm little forehead before tucking him against his chest.] Hey there, little man. Mommy and Daddy are going to be here soon, it's time to get up. [Derek has apparently never cared much about his image when it comes to babies in general and Scott in particular; the idea of bitter, angry Derek Hale from six years ago walking around with a little baby clinging to the front of his shirt as he hums quietly is almost laughable. And yet here he is, one hand tucked under a diapered baby butt, the other cupping Scott's fuzzy little head as he yawns and makes unhappy noises.] I know, buddy. You're tired, I know. It's okay, you'll be home soon.
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Those fights are long off, however. The one on hand pertains to what kind of puppy they get. Lydia's pretty set on having a loose Marly & Me reenactment being a part of her life, and if it came down to it, she's not above lording baby names or sex over his head until he acquiesced. Or time with Scott Jr., if that's what it would take to make him crack. The game that had been manipulating boys in high school hasn't changed much in theory, and while it got a lot more underhanded and vehement with age, it wasn't any harder. She quite enjoyed it, and plotted how to make him suffer until she had a little golden puppy named Portia in her arms while texting Allison back.
Yogabbagabba is on the tv by the time Derek and Scott emerge from the room, and Lydia is on the floor putting his clothes back in his diaper bag (dirty ones in a plastic bag, clean ones folded), and resists the urge to tell Derek how good he is with the baby. Really, that's just encouragement at this point; encouraging him to push the topic that will be touchy and weird until they actually commence starting a family, a long term life, instead of just talking about it. So she bites her tongue and demands he hand over the baby for one more diaper change.
She keeps him (step one of lording baby time over boyfriends head in exchange for a puppy) until there's a knock and Scott Sr. (who is still too much of a baby face to be properly considered a Sr.) and Allison paw for their baby. They'd liked the movie, it turns out, but missed their kid a little too much, and Lydia couldn't blame them. He's a cute kid, kind of perfect surprisingly considering one side of his genetics. She makes a joke that Scott better watch out, or Uncle Derek is going to rip your arms off! before they leave, and Mama McCall glares at her while Daddy McCall looks at Derek utterly horrified and they sweep off. Lydia laughs at them and makes a note to explain the joke to Allison. It was just a pivotal part of her future she was making fun of here.
They leave and Yogabbagabba is still playing when Lydia excuses herself to the kitchen and comes out a minute later to rifle through the pockets of his coat hanging on a chair. ] I haven't eaten yet, so you can either take me out, or — [ and here she throws a take out Thai menu and his wallet in his general direction, followed by her cell phone. ] — order in.