FUCKIN’ RIPPED OFF that the second and third images of this photoset do not deliver stills of the live broadway production of High School Musical that I assumed Hoechlin was starring in based on the first image.
Also upsetting: that he is literally on this team with Josh Hutcherson, and yet I have not been able to find 83 different fanfictions where Derek Hale and Peeta Mellark become best friends/pen pals/misery bros.
Because both of their families were horribly murdered by fire! GEDDIT?? not to mention the way their first loves were used as psychological warfare to break their spirits! I mean, it writes itself.
(also Derek probably kind of likes bread, maybe)
OH MY GOD DEREK DOESN’T EAT CARBS! IF HE GOES ABOVE 1.7% BODY FAT, WHAT VALUE DOES HE HAVE TO ANYONE, EVER!? NONE!!! NONE IS HOW MUCH!!!!!
So alone that anyone, anything no matter how loathsome would be welcome. But when I finally have a visitor, it’s sweet. Morphling. Coursing through my veins, easing the pain, lightening my body so that it rises back toward the air and rests again on the foam. Foam. I really am floating on foam. I can feel it beneath the tips of my fingers, cradling parts of my naked body. There’s much pain but there’s also something like reality. The sandpaper of my throat. The smell of burn medicine from the first arena. The sound of my mother’s voice. These things frighten me, and I try to return to the deep to make sense of them. But there’s no going back. Gradually, I’m forced to accept who I am. A badly burned girl with no wings. With no fire. And no sister.