“Talent,” Scott sputters, rubbing water and Emergen-C out of his eyes.
By now Derek’s heard it a million times, is careful to just let it go and shrug, keep his voice down when he says, “I didn’t realise talent was so wet.”
“What." Stiles whips around anyway, swaying, sneering, "Oy, new kid, big guy, I’ll show—I’ll show you a talent that’s wet."
"Is he always like that?” Derek asks, pulling his clipboard closer to his chest.
"Nah, bro," Scott says, but he doesn’t look so sure, eyebrows still furrowed as he lopes along, heels dragging like he needs to go back to check and make sure. "I mean—just lately, you know what happened with his mom and—"
"Yeah," Derek murmurs. Hadn’t thought it was possible to make even intern in this town, on this set, without.
"All the stuff they say about—burden of talent, I guess," Scott shrugs.
"Right," Derek says, thinking about the sallow skin under Stiles’ eyes, the way his hands and mouth stayed soft, sandpaper grate of his voice. “Talent. Right.”
FOREVER! IS HOW LONG I COULD WATCH DEREK HALE SHOW THE NAPE OF HIS NECK, UNCONSCIOUS SHIFT IN ONE SHOULDER AT HOW GOOD IT FEELS, TANK TOP SOFT AND LOOSE LIKE A HUG AROUND HIS BELLY, ALSO WHAT THIS CHESS GAME IS GONNA BE IF YOU DON’T MAKE A MOVE ALREADY, FUCK, JUST MAKE A. GODDAMN. MOVE.
As terrible as the dream sequences are going to be treating Lydia, I thought the whole scene on the right is one of the most stunning and atmospheric things Teen Wolf has ever done: good times before getting to see the worst.
Tyler "scrunchy face" Hoechlin
Psychotic boyfriends. (⊙‿⊙✿)
it just looks like a birthday party where both think the other is breaking up with each other and they’re trying no to cry
That is the BEST kind of birthday party! I WANT ONE THOUSAND FANFIC VERSIONS IMMEDIATELY.
Here is the handcrafted recipe box I made for you Stiles, to hold all your mother’s recipes, ha ha I hope you like it please don’t leave me please don’t leave me or I’ll die happy birthday! My heart is breaking! I knew you would abandon me eventually but I was hoping we’d have longer oh no oh no oh no!
Meanwhile Derek has been so secretive about building the beautiful handcrafted box and sourcing ethical wood or whatever that Stiles thinks Derek is having an affair with the dude who makes the special chisels and resins Derek has been using, and he’s pretty sure Derek is giving him this box as a way of saying “this just isn’t working anymore, take your mom’s dumb recipes and get out!”
BEST BIRTHDAY EVERRRRRRR.
I first read this as “birthday party where they’re trying to break up with each other”—I mean, for whatever reason you want, but actually trying to break up with each other by breaking the other person down, bit by maleficent and hateful bit—which says something about my speed internet reading but also is totally something I would actually read, like:
"You always said Erica and Boyd were your fault,” Stiles says, trailing a fingertip through the messy, tinned frosting on top of the not-chocolate cake. He’s partial to buttercream, amenable to cream cheese—last night standing in the deserted grocery store, Derek had figured Betty Crocker was already pushing it, for someone you didn’t want—didn’t want to share birthday cakes with, anymore. “So I guess you were right about something, for once.”
"At least I—" Derek doesn’t let himself look away from Stiles, even when he puts a whole finger in his mouth, cheeks hollowing out, mouth small and tight and pink. "At least I don’t always have to be right. Didn’t it kill you, hey, literally kill you, when it was Lydia who had the answers and not you, when she was the one to pull back Scott—”
"You’re such a fucking self-centered asshole," Stiles snarls, reaching to snatch the lighter.
"Well, you like it,” Derek says, lets him, and he knows they’re allowed to be over when Stiles doesn’t say a thing to defend him, just smirks and doesn’t really say anything at all.