She’s so beautiful, and the fact that she’s still shy around Stiles makes this look even more precious. They’re so in love. Lydia finally has that “can’t breathe until your with him” boyfriend, and I’m so happy for her. She deserves so much, and she deserves a love like Stiles gives her. Stiles deserves Lydia as well. They’re so perfect for each other, and im so happy we got to see their story play out to this moment. This look from Lydia is perfect, and Holland is so unbelievably gorgeous.
Stiles doesn’t track his own tag, half
because no one bothers learning the seemingly random string of
characters in his url (what a bright idea, using his first name and
middle initial) and half because anyone who wants to talk to him just
shows up in his inbox sooner or later. He’s not here for followers,
anyway. He’d had to get his ass away from Reddit as fast as he could
make a graceful exit, and he’d heard there was plenty of porn on
Tumblr. A few great video gaming update and tip blogs later, he was
pretty sure he could get along here better than in the toxic waste
dump he’d been wading through. R/tumblrinaction can go fuck itself.
He does, though, keep a track on
aargentsf. Her blog is pretty popular even though she hasn’t been on
the site much longer than him. Following her had been…not exactly
an accident, but definitely not a run at friendship. There’d been a
black and white shot on one of the tamer porn blogs he followed,
where some of the pictures were safe for work – a girl in a tank
top and rumpled sleep shorts taking a photo of herself in the mirror,
camera obscuring her face. There was nothing particularly sexual
about it, but Stiles had been drawn to it. The reflection of the
girl’s room, greyscale daubs of paint on the wall as if she hasn’t
decided how to paint yet and half-unpacked boxes in the corner. Her
bedclothes askew, like she’d climbed straight out of bed and taken
the photo. He’d clicked the follow button from the dashboard without
checking what else might be on her blog.
Derek’s relationship with Stiles is about 40% eyebrow conversations, 40% innuendo, 5% puns (on Stiles’ end), and 15% fighting over the radio in the Camaro.
Except when Lydia Martin comes on. Then it’s 0% fighting over the radio, and 0% complaining, and 0% passive-aggressive commentary, or else Stiles will dump his ass, no exceptions.
“Not even when it’s your birthday in a week and your boyfriend is about to spend hours upon hours of his life baking you an unnecessarily complicated Millennium Falcon cake?” Derek asks.
“Not even,” Stiles agrees cheerfully. He cranks the volume a little higher as he says it, just to be a little shit, and adds, with entirely too much fondness given that this is a woman who regularly threatens to crush men’s skulls under her stilettos, “She’s my strawberry-blonde goddess, you know this.”
“Yeah,” Derek mutters, “I know.”
“And you can quit it with the judgey eyebrows, because I know you listen to Celine Dion in the shower.”
Derek shuts up.
It takes a whole four minutes for the song to end. It’s one of her quieter songs, one that doesn’t get a lot of air time. It’s not that bad, he supposes. A little twangier than he likes, a little more saccharine, but–pleasant. Like a lullaby. What makes it annoying is Stiles sitting over there crooning at the stereo and making heart eyes. No song–or singer–is that good.
Stiles sighs contentedly into the last notes and wriggles his butt against the seat. “I know you and I are, like, werewolf-married, but dude, if I ever met Lydia Martin in person … All bets are off, is all I’m saying.“
It’s not like Stiles really means it (does he?), but it still makes Derek’s hands clench into claws on the steering wheel.
"Yeah, if,” he says, and keeps his eyes on the road.
I have to hand it to Holland. She is so strong. I mean, the fact that she can withstand 6 years of filming 95 percent of her scenes with Dylan without leaving the studio emotionally wrecked is a major accomplishment to me. That’s 6 years of Dylan staring into her soul with nothing but love and affection on his face. 6 years of having Dylan come to her character’s rescue. They’ve kissed- more than once. He’s said he loves her in the most achingly beautiful way. Even their hugs radiate intimate affection. I can’t even handle Dylan and his acting from my TV screen in my room thousands of miles away from anything even remotely Dylan O'brien or Teen Wolf related. Holland is my queen.