Dylan O'Brien attends the pre-screening of American Assassin in Austin, Texas
Guys, it’s official. Derek Hales birthday is November 7, 1988. So his real age in season 1 was 22. And let’s take a brief moment to bask in hoe beautiful that signature is.
#he would have super old fashioned handwriting#what a nerd#i bet his hobby is calligraphy#he has a wedding invitation business or something#his money doesn’t come from real estate#it’s all in wedding invitations#the steadiest hand this side of the mississippi#oooh#i bet he was the hale who always got roped into updating their records and the hale bestiary#he was the only one with nice enough handwriting#he knows so much shit from having to write it twenty times#and get it perfect#before even starting to add it to the old books (via andavs)
Every Mother’s Day...
I hurt my own feelings with this headcanon so I thought you should too…
When Scott’s ten Melissa finds a heart shaped box on top of her scrubs in the kitchen. There’s no note, and Scott’s still asleep, so she tucks it into her bag and goes to work thinking that her son is very sweet to spend his paltry allowance on a Mother’s Day box of chocolates.
That afternoon Scott comes skittering in with Stiles behind him, ever his shadow, and barely manages to not bounce the basketball on the kitchen floor like Melissa’s told him not to for seven damn years. “Oh hey Mom, happy Mother’s Day!”
Melissa’s eyes dart quickly to Stiles because it’s only the second Mother’s Day since his own passed away, but he’s busy grabbing juice out of the fridge. “Thanks sweetie, but you already told me that this morning.”
“I did,” Scott says, eyebrows raising questioningly. “Oh. Okay?”
Stiles grins at her and she grins back. “He’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached,” Stiles says with a shrug, and then he and Scott tear around into the hallway and stomp their way upstairs to Scott’s room.
When Scott is eleven, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen Melissa finds the same heart-shaped box laying on top of her scrubs each Mother’s Day, and every single time Scott tells her again when she gets home.
It’s not until the next year that Melissa understands what’s been happening, because she wakes up early and walks into the kitchen to find Stiles with a caught red-handed look on his face as he hastily throws her scrub top on top of the box of chocolates he’d been laying down when she’d walked in.
“Sorry, um,” he says, backpedalling himself into a proverbial and literal corner unable to get out from her watchful gaze. “I um. I.”
She pulls her scrub top off of the heart-shaped box and swallows past the lump in her throat. “All these years I thought Scott was just that forgetful,” she whispers, looking back up at him. “And the whole time it was you leaving these?”
“He always forgets,” Stiles mumbles softly, looking away and staring balefully at the door, like if he can just bolt past her this may never have happened. “You deserve your Mother’s Day present, and he always forgets.”
She looks back down at the box and chews on her lip. “Stiles.”
“I just had the extra money,” he says, finally stepping away from the wall, trying to scoot his way to the door. “I’m not spending it on anything else, it’s just a couple of chocolates, it’s not a big deal.”
And she thinks extra. He had the extra money because this year, and every year for the past five years, he hasn’t had to buy his own mother a heart-shaped box of chocolates, because gravestones don’t have a sweet tooth.
“Yeah, Ms. McCall,” Stiles asks, wincing with his hand on the door handle, so very nearly there, so close to escape.
She grins. “Love you kiddo.”
He grins back and yanks the door open. “You too, Ms. McCall! Happy…” He falters then, mouth twisting just slightly, because he’s a god damn expert at faking it but he’s only fifteen and every once in a while even he breaks. “Happy Mothers Day.”
She waits until the door closes to let the tears fall.