No free time lately, no time at all ;_;
But how could I not make at least a sketchy thingy of Bev? Right, no way I could. So here it is *ugly sobs*
Stage 1: Those who leave as soon as the movie ends
Stage 2: Those who know to stay until the credits for the extra scene
Stage 3: Those who stay until the end of the credits for the second extra scene
I’m a stage three.
We all are
Stage 4: those who will stay until the ushers kick them out because they don’t trust marvel
why does tumblr always personify introversion as a tiny cute girl who drinks tea reads books and wears sweaters like i’m a 190 pound man who hangs out in the gym and in the woods doin manly shit but people still make me nervous like damn
my hand slipped.
cecil’s hate for steve keeps me going in life- a compilation
take a deep breath, tell me what you feel.
I mean, of course those are the emotions Derek talks about smelling. Anger, fear, disgust. That’s what he looks for in the scents of everyone around him. That’s what he smelled constantly from Scott and Stiles when he first came back to Beacon Hills. Those are the smells, he learned after the fact, that were always lurking beneath Kate’s scent of arousal. Those are the smells he knows.
"What about love?" Scott asks. "Affection? Fondness?"
"I don’t. um," Derek says. He doesn’t know what to say.
Later, though, he begins to realize he can recognize those scents after all. He remembers Scott’s question one morning when Stiles curls up against him, asks: “What do I smell like to you?” in his blurry, half-awake voice.
"Lots of things," Derek says, faintly. "But. good. You smell good."
OKAY OKAY OKAY BUT CAN WE ALSO TALK ABOUT the first time that Derek realizes that he knows what love smells like, and not familial love either which, smells like sweet oatmeal, i don’t know. Comforting, periodically annoying, often default.
THE POINT IS Stiles has wormed himself between Derek and the back of the couch and slung his arm around Derek’s chest. He’s poking at Derek’s chin and threatening to pick his nose and whining, incessantly.
"You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose," Derek says snidely, swatting at him. Derek is watching Ace of Cakes, Stiles is trying to become single. “But you can’t pick your friends’ nose.”
"Watch me," Stiles says. He smears his whole palm over Derek face. "Pay attention. I’m booooooored." He pokes Derek in the eye, slightly by accident.
"Ow!" Derek squirms around until he has Stiles in a position to smush his face into his armpit, and then locks his arms around Stiles in a headlock. "Would you quit it."
"Ew, did you go running around in the dump today, jesus," Stiles says muffled, poking viciously at Derek’s ribs.
"Yes," Derek snarls, squirming again. He’s become ticklish sometime in the recent past and it is hateful.
"Your armpits smell like swass!" Stiles shrieks.
"Good!" Derek says. He takes an exaggerated sniff right near Stiles ear. "So do…you," he pauses. Stiles smells like clementines, like fresh shampoo, like comfort and—
Stiles claws free of Derek’s grip enough to laugh once, and then fall over Derek’s chest and onto the floor. Derek rolls his eyes and then climbs down after him, resting easily on his elbows in the carpet around Stiles head.
@marvel Flattery will get you nowhere! Probably. Maybe. *looks the other way*