#boyd would prioritize his loved ones

[b0yds]

word vomit based off a mutual post about heroes and villains i just saw but didn’t want to take over 

the idea that a hero will give up their loved ones to save the world vs a villain giving up the world to save their loved ones propping the villain up as like... more romantic or something has never really resonated with me. villains, actual villains, giving up the world for a loved ones means nothing because the villain didn’t give a shit about the world to begin with. they’re selfish about their loved ones? that’s expected. if a villain chose not to save their loved ones and saved the world instead because their loved one wanted them to, that would mean more. most heroes, on the other hand, tend to sacrifice themselves before the would sacrifice their loved ones so they could protect the world and their beloved people, which kind of renders the point moot anyway. also, rarely do ‘heroes’ see themselves as such, more than seeing it as their responsibility. idk, it’s always been a little funny to see it presented that way.

[monstrology]

thinking about that final scene of Justified: City Primeval episode 5 between Raymond and Raylan.

*I'm sure there's nuances to this I'm missing without reading the book, but this observation is mostly Raylan-centric because of that.

Raymond: So what do you want to know about the Oklahoma Wildman? It's all there. I left my old case files clean. Raylan: I ain't got those kinda questions. I want to know what's missing. Why I think I can't trust anybody. Why it's all a shit sandwich. Raymond: Look at you, still giving a fuck. Raylan: I try. Raymond: Ah, you remind me of me, man, when I started out. Except you're old. Raylan: I ain't gonna sleep at night if this son of a bitch wins. Raymond: Back in the day, first started out, guy I tangled with....Freddy Keck was his name. He was cute. You know, Freddy shot through my front window one night, not to kill. More like, "C'mon man, let's do it." Like it wasn't nothing--cowboys and Indians. Except Freddy was for real--a stone killer. Raylan: How'd you get him? Raymond: Eh, we couldn't. Raylan: You didn't get him? Raymond: I said we couldn't. Raylan: So what happened? Raymond: Showed up at my house one night. Raylan: He got tired of the games? Raymond: I know I was. But he says, "We're gonna sit and have a drink." It was all a big mix-up. Said if I had any sense of humor, I'd see how comical the whole thing was. He's chattering away. Yeah, he walks behind my bar, reaches down, and then... [pop noise]. Shot him. Raylan: He drew on you. Raymond: Eh, I shot him. Raylan: He had a gun on you. Raymond: Eh, I don't know. Raylan: You don't know? Raymond: Think it was a church key. Raylan: He had a bottle opener in his hand? Raymond: Yeah. What I remember is he's still talking. Hole in his chest, eyes wide open, still talking. I don't know what he was saying or who he was saying it to. I didn't care. The guy would never shut up. Anyway, I cleaned my fingernails with the bottle opener, and that was that. And I sleep just like a baby.

And it reminds me of everything about "Fire in the Hole," episode 1 of the original show. Boyd and Raylan sitting at a table, reenacting the confrontation between Tommy Bucks and Raylan. Tommy, who Raylan tells Boyd, had the gun under the table. How did Raylan know when to pull? Boyd asks.

Tommy went first. "He pulled first, so I was justified." And then Boyd goes to pull on Ava and Raylan shoots him first. Right in the chest, slightly off target.

And there Boyd lay, "hole in his chest, eyes wide open, still talking," like Raymond's Freddy, at least for a little while. Until he heals and then we spend 6 seasons with the most talkative shitkicker in Kentucky. A guy who never shut up.

Presumably, Freddy dies from his injuries and Raymond goes on to live his life supposedly unaffected. He sleeps like a baby. And Raylan implies that he won't sleep until Clement is caught, feeding into his personality of relentless pursuit as a marshal that we've seen throughout the original show. Regardless of his own personal struggles with his love interests or his daughter, Raylan prioritizes the mission of his job over all else. He's particularly insulted by Clement because he went after Willa, which ironically made Raylan push her away so he could go after Clement.

Raylan goes to sleep at night at peace because Tommy pulled first, his shot was justified, and Tommy received the justice Raylan believes was deserved for what happened in Nicaragua. Of course, there's a whole list of consequences that follow that at his job and from Detroit, but he justifies it for himself.

"But what troubles me is, what if he hadn't?" Raylan asks Winona at the end of Justified ep 1. "What if he just sat there and let the clock run out? Would I have killed him anyway? I know I wanted to."

What if there was no justification? What if the criminal in front of him, whom he knows deserves retribution, doesn't commit another crime upon him that it justifies his own violent act? He wants to shoot Clement, he wanted to shoot Tommy. He just needed a reason, first. To stay morally sane and just within himself.

For Raymond, there was no solid justification. He didn't know if Freddy was reaching for a weapon beyond a past history. Freddy was in RAYMOND'S house, behind RAYMOND'S bar. If Raymond had a weapon there, Raymond would know it. Even if Freddy had a weapon on his body, his movement wouldn't be towards the bar, but to his person. He comes up with a bottle opener to open a drink for their sit-down, but Raymond pulls on him anyway, without looking for the proof, without the justification to return fire.

Raylan continuously, confusedly, tries to insist Raymond's narrative fits his own moral code. "He drew on you. He had a gun on you." Raymond denies it. He had no clue. He couldn't get Freddy the legal way, so he got them the violent way, instead.

And he sleeps like a baby.

Raylan, who wondered if he would have killed Tommy if he hadn't pulled first, sits here ~15 years later and the first thought he has about a situation like this is still "they have to pull first--it's justified that way." I doubt he would have slept like a baby, not because he doesn't think Tommy deserved it regardless of pulling first, but because it would have shaken his own morality, the conception of himself that he's built in contrast to the criminal background he grew up in and worked around. It troubles him that he even questions his morality, without having acted on it.

Of course, Raylan is dubious by consistently nudging criminals towards making decisions that thus make pulling justified, but that's the gray side of law enforcement for you. There's also the question of Raylan's trajectory had it followed the book and his shot had killed Boyd. He apologizes to him as he lay bloody and fading away, and yet his survival suggests a subconscious decision to spare an old friend's life regardless of who pulled first--technically, Ava was the one with the loaded and aimed weapon and Raylan was defending her, after all. Raymond, meanwhile, cleaned his nails with the item that accidentally killed Freddy, unconcerned for the nuances of the incident.

All of this just highlights a stark difference between the two, Raylan and Raymond. And even though Raylan doesn't mention his past at all during this story and insight into Raymond's history, you could hear the echoes of Raylan's past in it, looking at all the parallels of two men in similar circumstances with different outcomes.

[crossovernonshipstournament]

I love the thought you are putting into James and Boyd. Like for this poll that is your endgame dynamic. You know your golden children and you've prioritized.

During the poll for Commissioner Gordon and Commander Fox (which was a lovely image thank you) I had a similar moment. Like I could keep coming up with propaganda for them. But...they're not my favorite that's still in the running.

So I left them to the fate and whims of the voters and saved my energy. Also, I feel like Commander Fox and Commissioner Gordon would have wanted Beaks to be continued to be tormented. They've had their fair share of rich jerks they couldn't touch. It's nice to see one get what they deserve.

Thanks! One thing I've learned as a pollrunner that really surprised me is that I have a very strong sense of fairness that comes into play, and trying to balance that while also not pretending that I don't have my own preferences is tricky- it wouldn't be fair if I went around talking about how great all of my personal pet submissions are, so I decided to just prioritize. James and Boyd mean so much to me; quite apart from how much of DTLS is such a big part of my life in so many ways, James and Boyd are very much a projection of my relationship with my own best friend. While we are certainly not the same people as them, we both identify with our respective fave to the point of taking their names, and both identify them as, respectively, closet key and egg cracker for our identities. Boyd means everything to me because my friend Boyd means everything to me, and so his relationship with James, who means so much to me as well, is all tangled up in those feelings. As much as I love all of our other DTLS dynamics and crossover relationships, none of them are ever going to mean as much to me as those two do.

[rockislandadultreads]

Black History Month: some reading to get you started

Celebrate Black excellence with these titles

A Black Women's History of the United States by Daina Ramey Berry, Kali Nicole Gross

A vibrant and empowering history that emphasizes the perspectives and stories of African American women to show how they are--and have always been--instrumental in shaping our country In centering Black women's stories, two award-winning historians seek both to empower African American women and to show their allies that Black women's unique ability to make their own communities while combatting centuries of oppression is an essential component in our continued resistance to systemic racism and sexism. Daina Ramey Berry and Kali Nicole Gross offer an examination and celebration of Black womanhood, beginning with the first African women who arrived in what became the United States to African American women of today. A Black Women's History of the United States reaches far beyond a single narrative to showcase Black women's lives in all their fraught complexities. Berry and Gross prioritize many voices: enslaved women, freedwomen, religious leaders, artists, queer women, activists, and women who lived outside the law. The result is a starting point for exploring Black women's history and a testament to the beauty, richness, rhythm, tragedy, heartbreak, rage, and enduring love that abounds in the spirit of Black women in communities throughout the nation.

Black Detroit: A People's History of Self-Determination by Herb Boyd

The author of Baldwin’s Harlem looks at the evolving culture, politics, economics, and spiritual life of Detroit—a blend of memoir, love letter, history, and clear-eyed reportage that explores the city’s past, present, and future and its significance to the African American legacy and the nation’s fabric. Herb Boyd moved to Detroit in 1943, as race riots were engulfing the city. Though he did not grasp their full significance at the time, this critical moment would be one of many he witnessed that would mold his political activism and exposed a city restless for change. In Black Detroit, he reflects on his life and this landmark place, in search of understanding why Detroit is a special place for black people. Boyd reveals how Black Detroiters were prominent in the city’s historic, groundbreaking union movement and—when given an opportunity—were among the tireless workers who made the automobile industry the center of American industry. Well paying jobs on assembly lines allowed working class Black Detroiters to ascend to the middle class and achieve financial stability, an accomplishment not often attainable in other industries. Boyd makes clear that while many of these middle-class jobs have disappeared, decimating the population and hitting blacks hardest, Detroit survives thanks to the emergence of companies such as Shinola—which represent the strength of the Motor City and and its continued importance to the country. He also brings into focus the major figures who have defined and shaped Detroit, including William Lambert, the great abolitionist, Berry Gordy, the founder of Motown, Coleman Young, the city’s first black mayor, diva songstress Aretha Franklin, Malcolm X, and Ralphe Bunche, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. With a stunning eye for detail and passion for Detroit, Boyd celebrates the music, manufacturing, politics, and culture that make it an American original.

Black Against Empire: The History and Politics of the Black Panther Party by Joshua Bloom, Waldo E. Martin Jr.

In Oakland, California, in 1966, community college students Bobby Seale and Huey Newton armed themselves, began patrolling the police, and promised to prevent police brutality. Unlike the Civil Rights Movement that called for full citizenship rights for blacks within the U.S., the Black Panther Party rejected the legitimacy of the U.S. government and positioned itself as part of a global struggle against American imperialism. In the face of intense repression, the Party flourished, becoming the center of a revolutionary movement with offices in 68 U.S. cities and powerful allies around the world. Black against Empire is the first comprehensive overview and analysis of the history and politics of the Black Panther Party. The authors analyze key political questions, such as why so many young black people across the country risked their lives for the revolution, why the Party grew most rapidly during the height of repression, and why allies abandoned the Party at its peak of influence. Bold, engrossing, and richly detailed, this book cuts through the mythology and obfuscation, revealing the political dynamics that drove the explosive growth of this revolutionary movement, and its disastrous unraveling. Informed by twelve years of meticulous archival research, as well as familiarity with most of the former Party leadership and many rank-and-file members, this book is the definitive history of one of the greatest challenges ever posed to American state power.

Satch, Dizzy, and Rapid Robert: The Wild Saga of Interracial Baseball Before Jackie Robinson by Timothy M. Gay

Before Jackie Robinson integrated major league baseball in 1947, black and white ballplayers had been playing against one another for decades--even, on rare occasions, playing with each other. Interracial contests took place during the off-season, when major leaguers and Negro Leaguers alike fattened their wallets by playing exhibitions in cities and towns across America. These barnstorming tours reached new heights, however, when Satchel Paige and other African- American stars took on white teams headlined by the irrepressible Dizzy Dean. Lippy and funny, a born showman, the native Arkansan saw no reason why he shouldn't pitch against Negro Leaguers. Paige, who feared no one and chased a buck harder than any player alive, instantly recognized the box-office appeal of competing against Dizzy Dean's "All-Stars." Paige and Dean both featured soaring leg kicks and loved to mimic each other's style to amuse fans. Skin color aside, the dirt-poor Southern pitchers had much in common. Historian Timothy M. Gay has unearthed long-forgotten exhibitions where Paige and Dean dueled, and he tells the story of their pioneering escapades in this engaging book. Long before they ever heard of Robinson or Larry Doby, baseball fans from Brooklyn to Enid, Oklahoma, watched black and white players battle on the same diamond. With such Hall of Fame teammates as Josh Gibson, Turkey Stearnes, Mule Suttles, Oscar Charleston, Cool Papa Bell, and Bullet Joe Rogan, Paige often had the upper hand against Diz. After arm troubles sidelined Dean, a new pitching phenom, Bob Feller--Rapid Robert--assembled his own teams to face Paige and other blackballers. By the time Paige became Feller's teammate on the Cleveland Indians in 1948, a rookie at age forty-two, Satch and Feller had barnstormed against each other for more than a decade. These often obscure contests helped hasten the end of Jim Crow baseball, paving the way for the game's integration. Satchel Paige, Dizzy Dean, and Bob Feller never set out to make social history--but that's precisely what happened. Tim Gay has brought this era to vivid and colorful life in a book that every baseball fan will embrace.

[asterekmess]

1-11 Scott/Posey Stans always try to deflect criticism of the way Scott McCall is written in Teen Wolf by claiming that ANY attempt by a fan, a viewer, or a critic of holding Scott to a level of behavior that one would expect of a character who is a main and the self-proclaimed hero of the show is “racism”. Except that their accusations don’t make any sense whatsoever, because Scott’s canonical shitty actions and behavior don’t stem from his race (or canonical lack of thereof.)

Okay hun, this is a doozy, so I’m putting it under a Read More.

2-11 Scott McCall is mean. He’s mean to Stiles, he’s mean to Allison, he’s mean to Derek, he’s mean to Peter, he’s mean to Cora, he’s mean to Lydia, he’s mean to Jackson, he’s mean to Erica, he’s mean to Isaac, he’s mean to Malia, he’s mean to Malia, he’s mean to Kira, he’s mean to Liam, he’s mean to Chris, and he’s even mean to Theo (“You are barely even human!”) Scott McCall is deliberately rude to the Hales, Boyd, Ethan, Danny, Hayden, Jiang, Tierney, and Melissa.

3-11 Scott McCall deliberately USES, INSULTS, HUMILIATES and DEHUMANIZES people in ways that demonstrate that he is fully aware of what he’s doing. Scott McCall deliberately disregards other people’s needs in order to fulfill his own. Tyler Posey being half Mexican doesn’t change the fact that his fictional character Scott McCall is a whiny coward and an abusive piece of trash,

4-11 and that his so called ‘defense squad’ enjoys the power fantasy that Scott can be cruel, can lie, can assault, can lash out, can violate other people’s boundaries, bodily autonomy and consent, can commit premeditated murder, can break the law without impunity, can dehumanize, can gaslight and victim blame his friends to his heart’s content and no one should ever hold it against him

5-11 In both the production and in some Scott supremacist fanfics, there’s often the premise that people are evil and in the wrong if they call Scott out on his bullshit or hold his toxic behavior against him. Take Season 1. As much as the Scott McCall defense squad brigade love framing Stiles and Derek getting shit done and prioritizing people’s life over Scott’s jealous fits and temper tantrums as the height of depravity

6-11 Scott/Posey Stans consciously and steadfastly ignore all the cruel things that Scott says and does throughout the seasons, such as “How much Adderall have you had today?” OR “What are you trying to do?! I just made first line! I got a date with a girl who I can't believe wants to go out with me and everything in my life is perfect! Why are you trying to ruin it?!” OR “The hunters had a reason to slaughter your entire family and pack”

7-11 (As an aside, it’s amazing to me how Fanon rewrites Scott as this brilliant thinker and strategist and mastermind who is so much smarter and better than everyone else in every way even though Canon Scott spends the entirety of Teen Wolf doing absolutely nothing except get his ass handed to him by everyone, whining about wanting to be popular/get his dick wet/play lacrosse, screaming at his friends and girlfriends, being utterly useless when left to his own devices,

8-11 and planning to bite Stiles against his will because he doesn’t know what to do. But I digress.) Or take Season 5. In the rain argument in Lies of Omission (5x09), Scott McCall’s hypocritical, dehumanizing speech to Stiles is one of the meanest, cruelest, most disgusting manipulations I have ever seen a television character deliver to another television character they supposedly cared about. It’s victim blaming and gaslighting at its vilest.

9-11 And, of course, the Scott McCall defense squad focuses exclusively on the idea that Stiles didn’t behave “the right way” in that scene (AKA taking Scott’s bullshit without clapping back like Scott wanted and demanded), and cannot entertain for one moment the idea that Scott provoked that response by dehumanizing Stiles and by accusing Stiles of being a violent, dangerous, inhuman monster and serial killer based on Theo’s words alone.

10-11 After all, it’s part of their power fantasy. Scott being “abandoned” and “mistreated” by his “ungrateful” friends serves another type of fantasy: the poor oppressed martyr. It doesn’t matter why Scott is abandoned or who is leaving Scott, it’s all about Scott McCall’s right to own people and demand his friends’ love, friendship, loyalty, sympathy, forgiveness, obedience and devotion without having to account for his own abusive behavior.

11-11 And that’s Scott Stans’ point: Only Scott McCall Is Important and Damn Derek/Stiles/Liam/Other Teen Wolf character for having a life and motivations that don’t revolve around Scott! To them (and to Canon Scott), the pack exists not to serve all its members, but to serve and validate Scott McWhinyCall. Because, after all, that’s what antis want for themselves – validation in the face of shortcomings and bad behavior.

Wow, that was a lot of anger. Do you feel any better after venting that? I really hope so, it honestly looks p cathartic. Okay, I apologize in advance if I don’t come across as quite so passionate, I’m kinda bleh today and I already used up all my righteous fury in an earlier post, so I’ll do my best.

I honestly understand the worry about people disliking Scott as having racist motivations. As I said in another post, there aren’t a lot of Latino (wait, I read somewhere to use latine? Should I use that instead? I’ll use that, someone correct me if I’m wrong. The thing also said latinx was not great bc of pronunciation issues? I’m not educated enough on this. Halp, please.) Latine protagonist characters in popular television, especially for teen dramas like Teen Wolf. Intentional or not, written into the show or not, Scott is half-latine. His mother is a latine woman. We don’t see them speak spanish or take part in any specific cultural traditions, but that doesn’t make him white. Yes, his character was written for a white guy, but Tyler Posey is the one who got the part and we can’t strip him of his heritage just because the show originally meant for Scott to be white. My husband is almost always mistaken for white, even though he’s also half-latine, but that doesn’t make him any less latine. There’s little enough representation as it is, and if we start being picky about whether characters were ‘intended’ or ‘written’ as POC, everything will just fall to shit. Plus, as a white person, I have literally no rights to decide that Scott’s white. I’m cool with that. Would prefer to just stay in my lane, if I’m honest. With Scott established as being a POC, it’s totally reasonable for other POC and fans of Scott to be worried that those of us who don’t like him have that opinion because of either passive or active racism. There are a lot of occasions where Protags of Color were either liked less, or actively disliked for just being ‘not white.’ It also doesn’t help that Scott is one of very few “good” Characters of Color in TW (whether we agree or not, he is presented as a ‘good guy’). We have Boyd, who dies in 3A and doesn’t get much character developement in the meantime, and Kira, who sticks around for a while, then has to leave because of ‘losing control’ which is apparently a very common stereotype for POC, especially within Fantasy or Supernatural settings. Other than them, the other POC are either bad guys or just morally dubious. I’m not sure where Deaton falls on the scale either. I understand it being frustrating to some people for us to take one of the few “good’ characters and see him/describe him as a villain. It’s important for white people, and honestly, anyone not latine (because even POC can be racist against people who aren’t their race) to be self-aware and analyze the various reasons why we dislike Scott and make sure that we aren’t accidentally being passively racist. Just because we’re sure we aren’t, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t double check. And if we find we are, then it’s up to us to correct that mindset and educate ourselves. There is no shame in learning that you have not great habits or mindsets and working to fix them. That’s how growth works. It’s equally important that when we’re writing fic, we watch how we portray him and the other POC in the show. I’m not saying we can’t write Scott bashing fic. Fuck knows that I’ve written plenty of Bad Friend Scott McCall fic, and I don’t intend to stop. But we still need to be self-critical and make sure that we’re not writing Scott (or the others, please assume from here on out I’m saying Scott and the others) into racist stereotypes. We shouldn’t reduce him to just a “Yes” man, or make him constantly submissive, or constantly vicious and angry and mean for no reason. It’s one thing to write him as doing something bad or cruel and making it realistic for the story. It’s quite another to have him just randomly pop in to say “fuck you” and hit someone (I’m not referencing something specific here, I’m just saying dumb stuff). Honestly, I don’t know enough about this and I’m not really entitled to go into too much more detail. Instead, I’d recommend that even if you don’t think you’re hating Scott for racist reasons, still read This Post about racism in fandom/fanfic. When I read it, it was both reassuring and intimidating. I have anxiety, so I’m usually worried about doing things for ‘the wrong reason’ even when that’s not actually my reason for doing the thing. Reading this gave me a clearer view of my own thoughts, and it honestly made me feel a little more comfortable with my own mentality because it gave me a structure to think about and consider when I’m worried that I’m doing something racist. It’s worth the read. I’d also like to reiterate the suggestion on that post, to check out the blog Writing with Color, which is a great resource for writing Characters of Color. It doesn’t have as many resources for fanfiction writing and the grey area involved in writing characters that your reader already knows, but their ask box is closed at the moment, so maybe when it opens again someone’ll send in an ask about it (If I actually remember to, I’ll do it myself, but that’s unlikely, so if one of you feels so inspired, please do so and help a fic writer out!)

Now. I cannot speak for every single fan of TW who is anti-Scott in some way. Obviously not. But, I can speak for myself and for the experiences I’ve had within the fandom. My issues with Scott are many and complex and a lot of it is intrinsically connected to issues with the writing of the show in general and with the creators and the calls they made. In all the conversations that I’ve had with other fans, I’ve never seen anyone list Scott’s race as a problem. I’ve never seen anyone talk about how they wished he were more submissive or more obedient. Maybe that he would listen to actual adults once in a while, but not that he be unreasonably obedient of white characters. I’m not all-knowing on the subject of racist stereotypes, but nearly every complaint I’ve seen was based on details from the show and specific moments and dialogue, not just a general disgust with his existence. Furthermore, for all the anger I see directed at those of us that prefer Stiles, Derek, or even Peter, I’ve also never talked to anyone who liked those characters who wasn’t willing to admit that there were plenty of points in canon where they fucked up or did something wrong. Again, I don’t know everyone in fandom, so maybe there are people who won’t admit those things, but they aren’t in the majority.

I personally hate the way I see Scott treat people in the show. I hate the really vicious things he says and does and the chronic lack of self-awareness or growth. Even worse, the way the show excuses his behavior, be it intentional or not, has soured a lot of other parts of the show. The clearly impulsive moments that could easily be excused by him being a really stressed out teenager make me a lot more frustrated than they would, had I not known that he would never get better. That he would never stop saying things like that. I can’t even make myself enjoy the genuinely sweet moments with him and Allison or him and his mom, etc. I might hate that he left Stiles’ messages unanswered and skipped an entire day of school during a crisis to hang out with Allison, but I would’ve liked to enjoy their banter, the soft moments between them that are actually really nice. I can’t though, because so many other things about his character have ruined that for me.

It isn’t okay to attack people for disliking a character and throw around such charged words like “racist” and “abuse-apologist” or anything else. First off, this is fiction, and we all need to keep that in mind. These are not real people we’re talking about. Secondly, calling someone racist because they disagree with you (unless they are actively saying/doing something actually racist) isn’t okay and it isn’t an adult way to deal with things. Someone not liking a character doesn’t automatically make them racist. Someone happening to prefer a white character over a Character of Color doesn’t automatically make them racist. Sure, they might have passively racist motivations that even they don’t realize. But it is not up to strangers to come yell and call names without proof. There are plenty of reasons that have nothing to do with race (Not saying “i don’t see race.” I’m saying “Not About Race”) that I like Stiles over Scott, ranging from the fact that he’s physically more my type, to sharing a neurological condition with him, to just preferring Dylan O’Brien as an actor because he makes me fucking cry every time he cries on screen. What’s important is that we self analyze and check ourselves and our opinions to make sure that we aren’t falling into the racist habit of disliking Characters of Color for no real reason. But that isn’t something that other people can do for us, and it’s not their place to tell us what we think. Calling a stranger racist for saying they hate Scott’s behavior in the show doesn’t do anything for racial equality. It just makes people stop listening to the word ‘racist.’

There are times I seriously get frustrated with TW to the point of considering not watching anymore. Of closing my blog and stopping reading fanfic entirely because every single time I read a fic where Scott’s a ‘good guy’ or a ‘good alpha’ or where Derek is glad to be a beta again because he likes following Alpha Scott, I get squicked so badly I have to click out and just sit there for a second to settle. I can’t disentangle the things he does/says in the show from the fic.And I’ve written Good Friend Scott McCall fics. I have multiple wips where he’s either a decent person or he grows from being a dick to being a decent person. With my own work, I know that there’s an awareness to his behavior in the show and an active intent to rewrite/fix his behavior so that he is a nice person. With other people’s works, I don’t have a guarantee (unless it’s mentioned in tags or author’s notes, and I don’t expect people to have to explain themselves that way), and it personally makes me uncomfortable to read something when I don’t know if the writer actually sees Scott that way. It’s a personal preference, and one that I stick to pretty strictly.

Scott brings me no joy, and with him as the main character, I’ve come perilously close to cutting myself off from the most welcoming, loving fandom I’ve ever been a part of (except the Merlin fandom, but I don’t blame anyone who can’t compete with them. They’re fucking magical.). But I’m still here. I still love, if not the reality of the show, then all the potential I see in it when I watch. I love watching Derek and Stiles interact with each other and with the other side characters. I love seeing the glimpses of Boyd that we get, the tiny scenes of Erica, the snarky moments with Isaac. I even like Kira, though I haven’t seen a whole lot of the show where she’s in it/genuinely can’t remember it (I can’t even remember how far I’ve seen total, but I don’t think it was past S4, and I haven’t seen past S2 in months and months) and she spends most of her scenes with Scott, which just....kind of ruins the scenes for me.

That’s the glory of fandom though, of media in general. I don’t have to like Scott. I can love Derek and Stiles instead and I can choose not to read fics where Scott is a major player or an Alpha at all. I can read fics where Kira’s part of the pack without Scott ever getting involved, and see her interact with everyone else. Or fics where Boyd never dies and watch him bake or read or play lacrosse with the pack. I can curate my own experience, whether that means blocking tags or users or filtering fics, or just straight up skipping certain scenes/episodes of the show itself. I cope with my frustrations by coming on this blog and ranting about it. Yeah, this is a public space, but it’s also a space people choose to view. If they don’t like my opinions, they can block me or unfollow me or all of the above. They don’t have to read it, just like I don’t have to read any of their pro-scott stuff. I also read fic that does explore how Scott’s behavior is problematic and cruel sometimes. Fic that either erases him or turns him into the villain, I find fun and interesting and the relationship between him and Stiles cracking into pieces is something I find extremely cathartic, so I read it pretty much every chance I get (though, i’m so picky about fics I read, you’ve no idea). I also write fic. I write the most mushy, self-indulgent sterek fic and Stiles-centric fic and and Scott bashing fic that I can possibly write. It’s a joy and a therapy all its own. Fuck, I’m rewriting the entirety of canon for fuck’s sake and I’ve made so many changes that at this point I honestly have issues remembering what happens in the show, bc I rewrote the damn thing.

At the same time, Scott fans are gonna write their power fantasies. They’re gonna write anti-Stiles stuff and anti-Derek stuff, and whatever else tickles their fancy. They’re gonna make their own rant posts and gifsets. And to be quite honest, I don’t give a single flying fuck. I already have those tags filtered out on Ao3. I don’t follow any pro-scott tumblrs. That shit doesn’t show up for me most of the time, unless it’s not tagged properly, and even then I just click out, take a second, and move on.

No one is required to like or dislike specific characters, and it’s unfair of anyone to tell us otherwise. Fandom is built on choice. The choice to disagree with canon, or to re-envision it altogether, or to love it entirely. No one can take that away from you. So long as you aren’t hurting anybody, just keep doing you, friend. I’m here for you to vent to when it gets to be too much.

<3

[muckduckgoose]

♛ + dollhousemuses?

[ ♛ ] send me a url and i'll tell you the following;

my opinion on;

character in general: I honestly love what the DT17 crew did with the Duck boys, in that they took what are normally just one person in three bodies and turned them into three individual people with each their share of virtues and vices (and honestly did it way better than the 90s Quack Pack series, which just turned each into a teen stereotype). Of the two I see most from Dolly, I love how smart, earnest, and helpful Huey is, while it’s clear he stresses himself out too much trying to be The Responsible One(tm). And Dewey, while he may not be the brightest gem in the bin, is full of heart, as well as guts and determination. And you really gotta feel for him in how so much of his eccentricities clearly come from a fear of never being seen as anything but part of a set of three. how they play them: I love the way Dolly writes; the characters just feel so organically Them. the mun: Dolly seems pretty great, and I can feel the love and devotion they put into the characters when they write them. I’d love to get to know them better.

do i;

follow them: Yup! rp with them: I have, like, one thread with Huey so far. want to rp with them: Certainly! We aren’t mutuals, and while they aren’t mutual-exclusive, they are mutual-prioritizing. And not always in the right headspace for writing, which I absolutely respect. But I’ll happily take whatever opportunity they’re willing to give me. ship their character with mine: I kinda ship Honker with Huey and Dewey for each their own reasons, though only one of Dolly’s versions of each (Huey) would be compatible for such a ship (Dolly’s Dewey is aro/ace). They have Boyd as a secondary muse, which I will repeat from babyboydbaby’s review that I kinda see some cute potential in.

what is my;

overall opinion: Dolly’s great and so are their muses, and I’d love to be able to interact with them more if they’re willing!

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty.

[ablogthatishenceforthmine]

Thoughts on Ava’s Betrayal in “Trust”

In “The Promise,” when Boyd asks Ava why she betrayed him and attempted to kill him, she tells him that it was because it’s what she thought he would do. While I think this is true, I also believe there is more to it than that. Ava realized what Boyd hasn’t, what Boyd can’t: their relationship is beyond repair.

Ava is able to see and face this fact because her love for Boyd is much simpler,  and grounded than Boyd’s love for Ava is. Now, that is not to say that Ava’s love is greater than Boyd’s because it’s not. It just means that her love is less complicated and more straightforward than his.

 Boyd needs their love to be larger than life. He needs them to have this epic love story. He needs their relationship to be mythologized.

Boyd needs to romanticize himself so that he can be okay with what he does. After Raylan shoots him and he almost dies, Boyd is no longer comfortable with being so cold-blooded and senselessly violent. But throughout the series, he fights with that part of himself. He enforces a code on himself, although he seems to constantly change it. He still pursues a life in crime, still commits murder, and acts in other violent ways, but there are lines he says he won’t cross...until he does.

So, after his near death experience, in order to do these things, he needs build and believe in this mythology around himself. He will say and believes he’s an outlaw, not a criminal, showing how he needs their to be some romantic or mythic notion to his criminality. 

And that’s where Ava plays a large part. She and their love give him something larger to be a part of, something larger to fight for. He can use it  to tell himself that everything he does doesn’t come from pure, selfish greed; he’s doing it for Ava, for them and their love, for their future. He building instead of destroying.  That’s not to say that these goals are false. They’re not. And he repeatedly puts Ava before selfish greed, but their epic love story is part of the outlaw mythology that he needed to establish for himself.

Now that’s not to say that Boyd’s love for Ava isn’t real, or that he’s just using her. It’s that their relationship and his love for her provides him with something more than just love. If all Boyd wanted was someone to love in order to provide this function, he could have picked anyone. But he fell in love with Ava, and he makes that love central to how he views himself.

Ava and her love for Boyd doesn’t have the these complications. She doesn’t need Boyd for her sense of self, or to make her feel okay about who she is and what she does. She just loves him. Simple. But because Ava doesn’t need Boyd for her sense of self its easier for her to see that their relationship is beyond repair. Boyd can’t see it because he needs their love or his whole sense of self will fall apart. But because Ava’s love for Boyd is so grounded, she is able to see their relationship in season 6 for what it and and would it could become.

Also, Ava has been in an abusive relationship, with Boyd’s brother no less. Bowman is brought up a lot this season, more than usual. He is often brought up in relation or comparison to Boyd. The season keeps reminding us that Ava’s been in an abusive relationship before, and she got out of it by shooting and killing him.

It’s why she can see the signs of where their relationship is heading, and gets out, earlier than she did with Bowman. After finding out that she has been snitching to Raylan, Boyd tells her that he trusts her but, he doesn’t. He treats her differently. He snaps at her. He yells at her. He manhandles her. He treats her as a subordinate. He treats her in a way he never has before. 

No, none of this is anywhere close to Bowman’s treatment of Ava. But it’s definitely troubling and a deterioration of Boyd’s previous treatment of her. For all that Boyd is and all the terrible things he’s done, he was a good romantic partner to Ava. Hell, in seasons 2 to 4, they had one of the healthiest relationships I’ve ever seen on TV.  They were open, honest, and transparent with each other. Ava tells Boyd that she wants to be involved, even if its dangerous, and  that she doesn’t want him to hide anything from her. He respects her agency, and her wishes. He doesn’t hide anything from her, and involves her in his criminal enterprise. Compare this to Raylan and Winona’s relationship: Raylan tries to keep her sheltered from his job and the life he leads, and keeps things from her for own good. Boyd respects Ava’s decisions and her desire to be involved in his criminal enterprise. Ava and Boyd listened to each other and rarely every yelled at each other. They talked things out. They tried to always understand where the other was coming from, even if they didn’t agree with the others decisions. They trusted each other completely. Boyd valued Ava’s opinion. He conferred with her when making decisions.  In short, take out the crime and the amorality, they had one incredibly healthy relationship. So when you compare Boyd’s previous treatment of her to his treatment of her in Season 6, the direction its heading is pretty concerning.

And Ava, having been a bad relationship before, sees the signs even if there is no outright abuse. Now, I don’t think and am not saying Boyd would have abused Ava if they had escaped with the money together. I’m just saying it would have been a bad, unhealthy relationship. The trust between them has been  permanently broken. It is likely Boyd would continue to treat her in the same manner as described above. Further, for some time, Ava feared for her life from Boyd. She lived with the fear that he would kill her.  Even through it turned out that she was wrong, and that Boyd wouldn’t and didn’t kill for her being a snitch, that doesn’t magically undo the time she spent fearing her would. Living like that, in fear of her life from her fiance, it changed her and them. And they can’t ever go back. Their relationship cannot recover through everything it went through in seasons 5 and 6.

Ava is able to see this, while Boyd has deluded himself that their relationship is salvageable. This is why Ava betrays Boyd, why she realigns with Raylan, and then shoots and attempts to kill Boyd. She knows that they have is gone. Maybe not the love, but the good relationship, the future they dreamed of. And it’s what she thought he would have done: the selfish, cold-hearted move that prioritizes self-preservation. It is self-preservation because she could see where their future was headed when he couldn’t, and that place was nowhere good, even if they escaped with the $10 million together.

[bigskydreaming]

What kind of house/apt do adult successful Scanny have?

I think it would be something smallish and unassuming on the outside, very approachable. Maybe even like, a townhome or a duplex or something like that, depending on what city Scott ultimately settles in with whatever pack he builds up around him there vs whomever stays in Beacon Hills.

I don’t have any specific headcanons for where Scott relocates to, its just very important to me that he does, because like. He deserves to get far, far away from Beacon Hills. There are too many bad memories there. Its where he died. Its where Allison died, Boyd, Erica. Like, all the bad things that linger with Scott came from Beacon Hills and that damn evil attention-seeking tree stump, and all the good things that linger with Scott are one hundred percent the product of his own actions and the relationships he fostered with the people that became important to him. 

There’s nothing in Beacon Hills that gives Scott anything he doesn’t already have by this point, no reason for him to stay other than his mother, who can literally just move as well. But not with Chris Argent. On account of like, well he died too. It was very sad and tragic, I don’t want to talk about it. Tears were shed, its all still really fresh and raw, we should probably just move on. Its what he would want. Probably. Also who cares, ding dong he’s dead and Melissa’s married to some nice doctor who’s never pulled a gun on her son, as well as possessing other qualities that meet somewhat higher standards, I’m sure.

Anyway. We were talking about Scott saying hasta la vista baby to Beacon Hills followed then by a slow motion dramatic walkaway shot before he gets on his motorcycle, adjusts his mirrors, revs the throttle all action movie star-esque, and also sexily -  look, they’re not always automatically the same thing -  and then he drives away forever from that toxic cesspit of a homicidal zipcode where square footage is calculated in terms of dead bodies. Leaving behind all the like, million and one reasons for him to say Bye Beacon Hills, see you never, try not to become a central locus for evil, but also, I don’t care if you do, it is hashtag NotMyResponsibilityAnymore. But also, I mean. It never was. Just FYI.

And then he flips the town off and accelerates off into the sunset while the town eats his dust, and admittedly Scott isn’t really the type to throw around middle fingers even where deserved, but fuck it, I’m projecting onto him and its my headcanon and I say that pile of excrement in real estate form needs to be flipped off and also, like. Its just an aesthetic thing. For the visuals. Its the whole dramatic end scene, roll credits, “I came, I saw and I blew shit up and now I’m off to reunite with my love interest and have vigorous victory sex” vibe. You get it.

So they relocate somewhere, wherever that is. I honestly don’t care, so long as its nice and doesn’t murder them or inflict gratuitous bodily harm every week and the nearest Satanic foliage is at least two statelines away. Preferably with a thriving supernatural community where Scott and his pack can all feel welcome and like they belong, rather than outsiders eternally hiding in plain sight among potential enemies. Like, somewhere where their neighbors are all vampires and Fae and other supernaturals, but only so long as like, the only reason they ever come over is to borrow a cup of sugar. Never to betray them to randomly resurrected enemies or guilt trip them into solving someone else’s centuries old and completely pointless grudgematch of Unnecessary Drama and Also Doom.

And wherever it is, the pack have their own dwellings and much needed privacy. Far enough apart that even supernatural hearing and smell don’t have them all playing Peeping Tom whether they like it or not, every time a couple wants to get frisky, but close enough together that they’re all still together, and know that more pack, more community, is always just a short walk away.

Scott and Danny’s place is some sort of small but cozy townhome or duplex or something like that, as I said. Scott’s always very aware of his presence and reputation and the power he both commands and also is afforded by peoples’ embellished expectations regarding him. So it was really important to Scott, and thus important to Danny, that their home be unpretentious. Inviting and approachable and not ‘above’ anyone else, or trying to be. Somewhere that when you got to their street and checked the address if you’re new in town and looking for an audience with True Alpha Scott McCall, you stop and do a double take and almost have to revise whatever preconceptions you have, or at least put them on hold, because like…this is where the famous True Alpha lives? Its so…ordinary.

But that’s the point after all….because the more he was looked at as standing apart from all others, the more ‘ordinary’ became the only thing Scott’s really ever aspired to be.

So its not poor, by any means. They do well for themselves, the whole pack, like you said, Scott and Danny are successful in this future. They have jobs that afford them both a sense of purpose and fulfillment of longheld interests, as well as the potential for discovering more, rather than getting locked into things that grow stale overtime as they outgrow fantasy careers that seemed more validating when they were kids dreaming of the future.

Also their jobs, whatever they might be, make them at least successful enough that it allows them both a large degree of autonomy. They can pick their own schedules, more or less. They have finances, but none that will be massively disrupted or stress-inducing if Scott has to take time off for a couple weeks to help a neighboring pack relocate somewhere new after they flee from hunters. Something where Scott’s never forced to choose between his job and keeping him and his pack financially afloat, versus someone needing his help and it not immediately apparent how long that might take resolve. The dream is stability and comfort, and enough personal agency for Scott in how and where he gets both of those, that he never feels like he’s letting down either his pack or innocents asking for his help, because the demands of his job or finances make him feel like it has to be one or the other, he can’t possibly do both.

Ideally, that flexible schedule means that when Scott isn’t helping others, something he now does by choice and simply because he wants to and he can, not because he’s made to feel he has to, like its his responsibility and his alone, because certain boundary-blind best friends have decided they want to play Peter Parker but are gonna need Scott to step up and play the actual Spider-Man part and lend his power even when someone else gets to decide for him when its his responsibility. Oopsie, I tripped and fell and my Bitter Resentment and Still Not Over It slipped out. Oh no. How terrible. Much woe.

Ahem. Anyway. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by myself, Scott’s flexible schedule means that when he’s not using it to help others, he has enough left over that he can afford (and justify to himself) using it for himself and his own personal enjoyment and interests, actually prioritize and commit to his own self-care, because a healthy, happy Alpha is a healthy, happy Pack. Someone said that once, probably. Probably not Hobbes. Definitely heard that somewhere though. Trust me, I’m a doctor. 

So with the aid of this newfangled invention produced by cutting edge technology, this quote unquote “Free Time…”  Scott explores other interests. His own. Le gasp, le shocking, le about the fuck time. He explores the novelty of being able to even have hobbies, because depressingly (why am I like this, science side of tumblr), there was once a time when Scott stopped bothering trying to figure out what all he was interested in, because he kinda assumed he’d be long dead before it ever had a chance to matter.

But by the power invested in me by Fuck You, Jeff Davis, in this future, none of that comes to pass. So free time and personal passions for Scott. He has them, in abundance. So like. He gardens, for sure. That’s why I specified a duplex or townhouse instead of an apartment in a complex or building….they live somewhere where they at least have their own garden or yard. Scott designs and implements it personally, something like his own personal Zen garden on a scale commensurate with What He Deserves. He goes outside whenever he’s starting to feel stressed about some obligation or commitment or another, and just….plays. 

That’s what it is to him. He just plants things. Prunes things. Adds fountains or bird feeders or statuary, little personalized touches here and there that make his own personal territory uniquely his and his alone. Gardening in his yard is His Time in His Space, and all the pack know better than to interrupt him when he’s out in his yard working away, unless its an absolute emergency. 

Danny enforces this with an iron fist and an ability to tank your credit score and spread all your most embarrassing pictures internet-wide with just a single keystroke. And Danny is the enforcer Scott doesn’t have to be. People forget that everyone loves Danny….but in no small part due to his usual proximity to Jackson. Next to Jackson, everyone looks like an angel. But Danny, on his own? Can be mean. Will be mean, if you touch or hurt or threaten or even just inconvenience his man, because like, who the fuck do you think you are and also it doesn’t even matter because he just replaced your whole identity online and if you’re nice and apologize and kiss ass without Scott ever having to know What You Almost Did, maybe Danny will have mercy on you and actually let you know what your new identity is, so you can use it to like, make a new life with the details he made up to replace your old personal info that no longer gets you anywhere. 

Danny - that’s Miss Nasty if you mess with his husband - is chaotic neutral with an exception for “this is my list of special people. Touch any of them and my alignment is Chaotic Evil for however long as until I have personally escorted you to your Doom and physically kicked you into a bottomless pit where you will suffer for eternity.” 

But then he smiles and charms everyone into only remembering lol oh yeah, everybody likes Danny, so that once again, everyone forgets that’s at least partially self-preservation because if you don’t love Danny and everyone Danny loves, like, you’re dumb and also screwed. Why are you bad at making good choices. 

Don’t feel bad though. Danny’s very good at making people forget this part, t least until the next time he reminds people of that little piece of trivia. Have you seen him smile? Its like that flashing bulb thing Will Smith uses in Men in Black to make people forget what they just saw or were doing. Except without any supervision and/or morality because fuck your ethics, its Danny’s bewitching smile, he’ll use it however he wants. Get your own.

(The thing is, any best friend of Jackson has to have at least a little capacity for Evil. Danny just hides it well, thanks to the cloaking camouflage of Actually Having a Soul in Addition, and like, being a people person who actually understands how people work and how not to alienate them by being a total uncaring jackass 24/7. Its a fine line, except its really not, and Danny is very talented at all things and possesses an abundance of charm. Plus he’s just hot, and like. Let’s face it. That always helps. I mean, definitely never hurts).

The end result of all this tangent-having, is that Scott has enough him time and enough of a barrier from people constantly distracting him, that the exterior of Scott and Danny’s place, for all its otherwise ordinary appearance, Scott has over time turned into his own personal slice of paradise, and is exactly what that looks like to him. 

See, the thing about Scott is no matter how hard he tries to be ordinary and value being just like everyone else and get lost in the crowd…..he never will quite manage it, because Scott just isn’t like anyone else. He’s good, in a way that too few people even aspire to be, because so many people just think its not possible. Especially not after having lived through the kinds of traumas Scott has, been dealt an especially unlucky hand. But Scott manages it anyway, in spite of everything, spiting every thing that tries to make him be anything lesser….and because of that, he’ll always stand at least a little apart from the crowd, be a little distinct from the rest, impossible to ever fully be lost or muted by any crowd of any size.

And the little slice of the world Scott makes just his and Danny’s, no one else’s. He doesn’t even need to share it with his pack without it being any less inviting to his pack for all that. It reflects this understated aspect of Scott, this impossible to quantify essence of him that he himself is too unassuming to ever fully realize is there, and everyone else just accepts without questioning…because they’ve learned by now when you’re given a gift, just accept it and appreciate it.

So in structure and layout, their home is nothing special, but amidst a neighborhood of similar structures, it pops all the same. It draws the eye without dominating your vision. It makes you want to look at it, want to come closer, want to be around it, much like the man who designed it. Who made it, cares for it, and never neglects it or takes it for granted. Its always green, year round, and filled with a variety of flowers that come from all over the world but can all complement each other and coexist without endangering any of the neighboring plants. None of them overgrowing the garden or in any way being at any of the other plants’ expense. 

They’re like Scott’s pack in that way….of all shapes and sizes, coming from all around the world, of all kinds of types, not even just limited to werewolves. All beautiful, all unique, all existing in harmony. Even though Scott’s never shared this with anyone else, in his mind, each flower or plant he adds to his garden represents one specific member of his pack. Its Theirs, its what he associates with them. In this way, they’re all represented, it reminds him whatever conflict arises internally, its nothing they can’t ultimately all work out without compromising any single individual. And with each plant needing its own special attention and time devoted to cultivating it and caring for it, they serve as proxies for the pack members they represent.  

Due to this, Scott can tell himself with just a glance at his garden - reassure himself, whenever his self-doubts get the better of him and he starts to beat himself up for not being there enough for someone or neglecting someone or not doing better - but with his garden, just going outside and checking it over can remind Scott that he’s not neglecting anyone. Because every time he tends to the plant that represents a pack member, Scott reflects on that pack member as he does so. Just going over what they’ve been up to, mentally checking in on them, casting about to see if he’s noticed any sign something’s been bothering them, making sure to spend one on one time with them. 

He can’t tend to a plant without associating it with their linked pack member….and in this way, as long as he can look around and take in with a glance the sight of his garden, all carefully tended to, no plant neglected, all watered and pruned and harmonious and appreciated….and it serves as a visual reminder with which to reassure himself….he’s not forgetting anyone, overlooking anyone. Nobody’s being neglected, he’s always thinking about his pack and keeping their best interests at heart and if any problems do pop to mind while he’s tending to one of his plants or flowers, of course that would be the first thing he’d make a plan to go check in on and address personally, once he’s making his rounds later and having a little face time and conversation with his various packmates.

Of all the flowers and various plant types in his garden, there’s only one fruit….a single eye catching and lovingly attended orange tree. That’s Danny. They’re his favorite, and orange is his favorite color. There’s just something unique about it. Especially in the midst of so much green.

The flowers nearest the front door and around the external structures of the building, a pillar underneath the small, roofed-in entrance way, perhaps, a gate at the front of the property, next to the driveway, maybe a trellis along the wall just next to the door…..the flowers adorning and framing the entrance to their home are a carefully arranged spray of seven different hues. 

A literal rainbow, advertising this House and All Who Live Here Be Gaaaaaaay.

Scott’s always had a sly, understated sense of humor. Mischievous, but not usually at anyone’s expense, and subtle enough that most people don’t tend to credit him with having much of a sense of humor. He does though….he’s just never needed words to express it.

Advertising himself and his personal pride with a literal year round rainbow that’s still subtle enough that most people don’t clue into its layered meaning or implications without being told. Later in life, stable and safe and more centered, Scott gets a pretty big kick out of how often people fail to see what’s right in front of them. Him living his best life on his own terms and not even being shy about it….and if other people can’t connect the dots on their own….its a pity, Scott muses with a mostly internalized laugh, that most people are just in too big a hurry or too eager to take things at face value to truly see what their surroundings look like and are full of.

Danny gets the joke, and thinks its hilarious how few other people figure it out. But that’s mostly just because Danny can be kind of a dick. He’s sorry not sorry. Its not his fault people are dumb. RIP to 90% of humanity, but he has braincells.

He and Scott complement each other well.

Similarly, just as Scott’s personal space is outdoors, natural, and helps him feel part of the world, feel part of nature, connected to it and in harmony with the natural order of things and not something completely separate….Danny’s personal space is indoors, the extra room converted entirely into his personal office or Batcave. Filled with monitors and screens and hard drives, a Hacker’s Paradise that keeps Danny plugged into the grid, manmade tools and his own cultivated expertise giving him the world at his fingertips. Any needed information or a satellite view of something happening with allies on the other side of the world is just a few clicks of a mouse away.

He’s also got every video game console known to man, because Danny’s Me Time is kicking ass on whatever game the latest redditor or twitterbaiting bigot to catch his ire is high-ranking on. 

And if he also happens to use his gameplay as an opportunity to backdoor into said Wankstain’s systems and do whatever needs doing to make his life and those of all his enabling social circle’s a living hell and a lesson in empathy that comes too late cuz nobody has any for them because they suck and are Satan….

Well. Sucks to be them, and also, what kind of moron makes enemies while online gaming without first erecting even a nominal defense against Superior Intellects who might feel like retaliating against his jokes, that aren’t really jokes so much as the synaptic misfiring of racist braincells and proof that sometimes, evolution shits out a turd?

“That sounds like victim blaming,” Scott notes in an absent kind of tone when watching over his husband’s shoulder one day. Not really judgmental so much as just something to say.

“You say victim blaming, I say pest control,” Danny hums unapologetically. “Sides, can’t be victim blamed if you’re not a victim, and you can’t be a victim if you’re really just a human-shaped mistake who has no redeeming qualities, an online presence that’s the virtual equivalent of bad BO with no medical cause for an excuse, and a social media history that makes a strong case for your best possible contribution to society being a qualifier for a Darwin Award. Would you blame a cockroach for getting itself stepped on by stepping out into the light? I mean, you could, I guess. Just doesn’t seem terribly productive if you ask me.”

“Why do you hate cockroaches? They’re living creatures who never did anything to you, why would hurt them by comparing one to this guy?” Scott asks, because that’s really the more important part of the conversation.

“Dunno,” Danny shrugs. “I’m sure I could find some way to blame it on childhood trauma if you really need an answer.”

“No, just wondering if you’re gonna be done in time for dinner. I’m making tortellini.”

“I’ll be done in ten minutes, I swear. And ready to eat like a metaphor that’s more appropriate to you. Righteous vengeance really works up an appetite.”

“Uh-huh. Just out of curiosity, who exactly are you righteously avenging at the moment?”

“Humanity? Good taste? God, who couldn’t possibly have foreseen this free will thing would go so very wrong? That poor defunct condom that tried its best but in the end, just wasn’t up to the task of keeping this shithead from being unleashed unto the Earth? I dunno. Do I have to pick just one?”

Not really. As stated, Scott’s not actually judging anymore than Danny’s trying to hide this from him. They’re both in total agreement about the kind of people Danny cyber-vigilantes. They just have different approaches about how they should be handled. Scott, while not violent by choice for the most part, does tend to favor the direct approach. He just feels its right that a person know why exactly he thinks they’re a terrible person who deserves what they get. So he tends more towards the approach of: punch a bigot in the face, wait for a second for a whiff of remorse or sign someone might be suddenly reevaluating life choices, because he’s Scott and hope springs eternal, but when no such revelation comes, just shrugging and walking away. Oh well. He tried. Sorta. Well, kinda.

Danny, in contrast, prefers to go for the jugular and leave no hint of who or what might have been behind the all-encompassing full frontal assault that hits every online trace of his target’s miserable and miserly existence. It keeps them paranoid and this keeps him sated. Plus, his stance is when they don’t know what exactly earned them an enemy of his caliber, it forces them to reflect or at least call to mind every thing they can think of doing wrong to someone that might result in that someone hating them this much.

The ironic thing of course is Danny doesn’t even really hate them, because that implies a level of giving a shit he can’t ever quite seem to muster. He mostly just thinks they suck and should suffer for that. And he gets bored a lot. 

Look, his husband and fellow werewolves are off saving the world every other week and being all kinds of kick-ass and action adventure movie-star types in the process. A guy sitting behind at home all the time has to get his jollies somehow. Also, he’s compiled a very engaging soundtrack to accompany his personal heroic undertakings, and it does wonderful things for his self image. Danny’s all about that self-care.

Plus, the first time he and Scott had something of a disagreement on their approaches, Danny unapologetically stated that loving him meant loving his vindictive side, because he personally was quite fond of it and thought it was really something of a Look. Also, making that Look into a Thing might be something of a dealbreaker for him, because he really didn’t want to undersell his capacity to be petty, and how little shame he felt about having said capacity. His essential life philosophy boils down to sometimes people just suck and somebody needs to say so. Maybe by draining their bank account and redirecting the funds to an ironically relevant charity.

“Fine,” Scott had conceded with a sigh. “Just be careful about making enemies like this, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

(That was really his only real concern all along. He’s a Nurturing Nelly. Scott can’t help but be a worry wart when his husband roams the internet highways under a masked IP address, taking on bandits and bigots all willy nilly, with not a bit of concern for himself. Its their biggest common ground, and Danny doesn’t have claws or a killer bite to protect himself with. A bite fetish, maybe, but that’s not quite the same thing, and also neither here nor there, and also also, he would like to plead the fifth while reminding you he can access and pull up your full porn-browsing history if you’d like to press that line of conversation further. Pervert).

Anyway, alls well that ends well, and thus Danny couldn’t help but be charmed at the reminder that his hubby is a man with clear priorities and his biggest is always gonna be the safety of his loved ones. Aww, sweetums.

“Aww, sweetums,” he said, just to see Scott squirm, because the more unexpected the endearment, the more Scott doesn’t know how to take it. And a squirmy Scott is an adorable Scott, Danny has always felt, and he is a man who appreciates his eye candy, as well as a go-getter who knows what he likes and goes and gets it, even if that means playing dirty. Especially if that means playing dirty. Danny likes dirty. 

After all, dirty men need to shower, and showering together conserves water, and having sex while showering together is just a solid application of having eyes, a hot husband, and a healthy libido. It just makes good sense. He’s goal-oriented and a linear thinker, what do you want, leave him alone. He’s valid and you’re just jealous.

Still, exotic endearment applied, he’d then followed up with:

“How dare you accuse me of being so bad at the thing that I am most skilled at that you imply I’m even capable of ever leaving digital tracks like a total N00b. What do I look like to you? A 4chan poster who just figured out how to spoof their GPS for the first time?” 

Danny rolled his eyes, exaggerating his wounded pride. It was the principle of the matter, and he was very principled. Sometimes. Kinda. If principles mean whimsy and whimsy means shh, don’t interrupt me, I’m doing bad things to bad people and this is very important work that must be savored or you really don’t get the full oomph of the revenge-gasm. Yes, he said revenge-gasm and he meant it. No he will not elaborate. Imagination is free.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for your low opinion of me, your valued and valuable life partner. Also, no sex for you, until…..okay maybe that’s too far. You seem like you’ve learned your lesson.”

“You’re too merciful,” Scott had said drily. 

“Nobody’s perfect,” Danny had said lackadaisically. “Also, not to disrespect your tortellini-making expertise, but any chance we can put a pin in dinner until after we go have wild, passionate sex? This pending revenge-gasm is making me horny and I really hate to waste a good head of moral crusading.”

“That was a terrible pun.”

“I have never made a pun in my life, how dare you, my sense of humor is sophisticated. I’m not a peasant, Scott. And where did we land on the sex.”

“Didn’t we just do it this morning?”

“I have needs, Scott.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“And water is wet. I don’t see the relevance. Also, if you don’t want me jumping you 24/7, you have no business being so hot. Its your own damn fault, deal with it.”

“There you go with the victim-blaming again.”

“I’ll do five Hail Marys after I finish doing sinful things to you and racking up another five. Its more efficient to tackle them all at once.”

“Not sure that’s how that works, babe.”

“Eh, guess I’ll just go to hell then. Still worth it. Still your fault. Oh look, I’m naked all of a sudden, how did that happen?”

Scott sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

“R is for Ravish me, if you’re really looking for suggestions. I can probably do the whole alphabet if you need. Or just do me. Whichever.”

Scott cut off further melodramatic peacocking with a kiss.

Things proceeded to a total media black out from there. Further voyeuristic attempts at seeing the Alpha and his mate get down, get down, would necessitate the invocation of the cautionary tale of the last pack member to not properly respect the sanctity of the inner sanctum of the Vindictive Master of Digital Identities and Other Important Details. His name is Chester, middle initial A., surname with a phonetic similarity to certain orifices. That wasn’t always his name, but it was once Danny got done with him, and that was only after Scott gave him the Pointed Stare of One Who Will Look More Benevolently On Those Who Demonstrate Both Mercy and Restraint.

Tis very much a tale of woe, as Chester is 6′5″, 260 lbs of visually intimidating werewolf muscle, and facial features that when accompanied by choice words and phrases, rather does call to mind certain similarities to certain orifices.

Like I said. Danny is very good at what he does. And everybody loves Danny.

….Aside from all other motivating reasons, its just a good idea in general. 

Y’know.

Practically speaking.

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

The Motel Roundabout

Explicit | 12,139 words | Slutty!Stiles | archive of our own

[Part 9 of the “Unrated Scenes that were Cut from the Show” series: Motel California s03ep06]

Summary: The Beacon Hills High cross-country track team stops at a disgusting old motel for the night, Stiles decides that he wants to have some dirty, messy fun with his friends.

Stiles fiddled around with the handle of the motel room door, bashing his body’s weight up against the old splintering wood a mere couple times before he was able to successfully bust through the rust-coated hinges. It was clear that old rundown motels off the side of otherwise empty highways didn’t prioritize safety for the occasional resident.

But it didn’t necessarily matter. The Beacon Hills High cross-country team was only sticking around until the morning before getting back onto the road. Nonetheless, Stiles knew that it was more than enough time to score some fun. Being able to turn an entire motel into one’s own personal playground of naughty opportunities wasn’t a chance to let slip away.

“Well, it seems like somebody at least tried to cover up the smell of mildew with some cheap air-fresheners.” Scott grimaced, setting his overnight bag down to the ground. “And I don’t even really want to know what kind of grossness has happened in this room.”

“How about we add some of our grossness to the collection?” Stiles joked, grabbing suggestively at the crotch of Scott’s jeans with an eager squeeze.

“Is that really where your mind goes to?” Scott questioned.

“Almost always.” Stiles laughed, taking a moment to survey the tiny motel room. “I mean, doesn’t it get you just a little bit hard thinking about all of the hot shit that might have gone down in here?”

“I doubt anything good happened here.” Scott replied, eyeing the semi-stained carpet and the tattered furniture.

“That’s fine.” Stiles breathed. “There’s just something about this place that makes me want to do bad things—dirty, loud, and unforgettable bad things.”

Scott walked over to the threshold of the door and poked his head out into the night air, looking down both sides of the outdoor walkway just to make sure that nobody was walking past. He then shut the door and walked over to the bed—sitting down atop the dusty comforter. He took off his backpack and pulled out one of his notebooks, intent of finding the list of suspects for the ritualistic sacrifices that were happening around town. And after flipping through several pages, he found the one that he wanted.

“If we’re going to spend a whole night here with nothing to do, we might as well go through our list of suspects for who’s responsible for the sacrifices.” Scott explained, thumbing at the notebook paper.

Stiles groaned out in boredom. “That’s work. Not even the fun kind of work. Like, actual…legitimate…boring work that pulls time away from what kinds of non-boring work we could get ourselves into behind Finstock’s back.”

“We’re stuck in a motel in the middle of nowhere.” Scott said. “There’s nothing else to do.”

“Well—can I at least suck your cock while you go through the list of suspects?” Stiles asked, walking over and plopping down to his knees in-between Scott’s spread thighs.

“So, you consider detective work too much work, but sucking somebody off isn’t?” Scott asked, half amused his friend’s boldness.

Stiles took a moment, as if to honestly ponder, and then nodded his head in agreement. “For your information, sucking dick is more like a hobby. Investigation is technically another hobby of mine, but I’m not necessarily in the mood for it.” Stiles paused. “Plus, don’t act like you’re not totally up for getting your dick sucked.”

Scott scoffed and set aside his notebook. He unzipped his pants, reached inside, and pulled out his cock through the opening in his boxers and jeans. Meanwhile, Stiles hummed in anticipation and wasted no time whatsoever with taking Scott’s hardness into the delicate warmth of his mouth. He didn’t want to waste any time getting Scotty off, because Scott was only one of the potential guys to fuck around with at the motel.

There had to be time for everybody.

“Okay—okay.” Scott groaned happily, picking his notebook back up. With one hand gripped onto the notebook list, he pressed his other palm onto the top of Stiles’ head to help guide the rhythm. “The first person on our list of suspects is Mr. Harris.”

Stiles grunted with frustration, momentarily pulling off of Scott’s dick. “Hmmm, I’d give him a two-out-of-ten.” He slurred, messily licking at his lips.

“What do you mean, ‘two-out-of-ten’? As in a scale of how guilty you think he is?” Scott asked.

“What? No! As in how willing I would be to fuck him.” Stiles explained, leaning back down to continue blowing Scott. “He’s a fucking asshole, so he doesn’t get to try out my asshole. That’s the way it works.”

Scott chuckled. “How about Deaton?”

“I’d give him a hard six.” Stiles said. “The whole ‘Obi-Wan’ thing he usually has going on kind of turns me on.”

“Jackson?”

“Oh…he’s a nine.” Stiles acknowledged. “He’d get a ten, if he weren’t such a fucking dick.”

“Peter?”

“We’ve fucked before. Trust me, he’s a nine. In more ways than one.”

“Derek, then?”

“Ten-out-of-ten.” Stiles confirmed, boldly. “No question.”

Stiles snorted and then craned downward again to take Scott back into his mouth. Rapidly, he bobbed up and down—taking Scott as deep as he could into his throat. Scott’s thick, curved cock hit Stiles in the back of the throat in just the right way, making him grunt and choke out beautifully pornographic sounds into the motel room. Stiles loved it and loved it even more considering how short-circuited Scott became the longer he had his cock stuffed down somebody’s throat.

Scott tried his best to stay focused on the sacrifices and who could possibly be responsible. His trembling hand gripped harder and harder onto the notebook, bending it slightly out of shape. Scott tried to keep his sentences structured and arguments solid whilst he recounted some of the crime scenes and analyzed potential theories as to why things were happening, but the strong swipes of Stiles’ tongue kept making his lose his train of thought.

With a wheezed gasp from Scott, Stiles chirped with success as Scott’s load splattered thick and heavily into his mouth—smearing wickedly across his tongue. Stiles swallowed down everything that Scott had to give, continuing to suck at the sensitive overworked head of Scott’s cockhead for a handful of extra seconds until Scott finally had to cry out and push back against Stiles’ shoulders to stop the overstimulation.

“That—that was good.” Scott said, stuffing his spent cock back into the confines of his jeans.

“Damn right.” Stiles replied, standing up from where he was knelt down. He casually wiped at the corners of his lips with the pad of his thumb. “I’m the best that there is when it comes to sucking cock. Don’t you forget that, Scotty.”

“What are you going to do now?” Scott asked.

“First, I’m going to go grab something to eat out of the vending machine I saw near the check-in office.” Stiles said. “And then, I guess I’ll just see what other kind of shenanigans I can get up to with our classmates.”

+

Stiles eagerly barreled downstairs to the ground-level of the motel with the first intentions set primarily on getting something sugary to knock out the taste of Scott’s expired load. As he made his way towards the front office, he dug around in the back pocket of his pants for a couple dollars, but then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Boyd standing in front of the vending machine. And suddenly, Stiles’ mind was completely off of getting food and onto finding out a way to get onto Boyd.

“Hungry?” Stiles asked suggestively, stepping up beside Boyd. He playfully nudged their shoulders together as the two of them stared into their own reflections on the glass of the vending machine.

“Don’t think I can’t smell that cum on your breath.” Boyd said, crossing his arms. “You’re not down here for some old, expired food from this machine. You’re down here for something else.”

Stiles clicked his tongue, unapologetically. He maneuvered himself around and slotted himself in-between the vending machine’s face and where Boyd was standing. All the while, Boyd just watched and took note of Stiles’ provocative nature. He breathed in the aroma of confidence that practically oozed off of his fellow teammate’s body, as though he bathed in it on the daily. Admittedly, it was enticing.

“So, uh—” Stiles started, flirtatiously fiddling around with the taut fabric of Boyd’s shirt. “Scott told me about what he saw back at the abandoned bank when Derek rescued you.”

“He’s got a wild imagination.”

Stiles snickered, trailing his fingers delicately down the clothed muscle of Boyd’s broad chest and sculpted abdomen. “Ah, yeah…sure. So he was lying about Derek’s cum-filled ass hanging off of your fat cock? It doesn’t sound too far out of the realm of possibility.”

“Oh, it doesn’t?” Boyd questioned smugly, leaning his face closer to Stiles’.

“No, not really.” Stiles answered. “And if you’re up for the challenge, I want you to give me what you gave Derek.”

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Boyd asked, bringing his hand up to caress the side of Stiles’ jawline. “Look, Derek’s an alpha and even he had trouble taking the brute force of a beta werewolf’s thrust game.”

“Dude, it’s insulting that you would underestimate what a human can take.” Stiles argued playfully. “I took Derek and his thick-dicked uncle once. At the same time. One took my mouth. The other took my ass. And I’m still standing here, willfully waiting to have you take me for a little test drive.”

“I guess I’ll just have to put you to the test and see if all that big talk comes with a good bite.” Boyd said, nudging his own pelvis forward to crash suggestively into where Stiles where most certainly already hard.

Stiles took the motion as an invitation and surged forward, catching Boyd’s lips in a smoldering kiss. The two let their tongues swirl around together with reckless passion and a pure need for more stimulation. Meanwhile, their hands pawed at one another’s bodies in lewd exploration. Boyd clasped his hands at the sides of Stiles’ hips, pushing up under the fabric of Stiles’ shirt so that he could properly feel the warmth of his classmate’s skin.

Boyd was pleasantly surprised to find the kind of muscle definition that he did under Stiles’ shirt. For a seemingly scrawny guy who spent most of his time warming the benches of lacrosse games back at school, Stiles was fairly lean. Boyd especially liked the small treasure trail of soft hair that led up from where Stiles’ pants rested at his waistline and up his abdomen. Even better were the undeniably sensitive nipples that Boyd found himself nearly mindlessly pinching and tugging without end.

“Damn.” Stiles groaned, halting the kiss. “I could cum right now…just with you doing that.”

“Fuck that.” Boyd said, bringing his thumb up to press against the bottom of Stiles’ wet lips. “What happened to all of that big bad talk you were just spitting a couple minutes ago before I decided to let you have a taste? Don’t tell me you’ve got a sensitive trigger.”

Stiles laughed. “I said that I ‘could’….not that I’m actually about to ruin all the fun. Don’t worry. You’ve still gotta show me what you’re packing under the hood.”

Boyd smirked, unbuckling his belt. “Now that’s about all the work I’m gonna do for you. Get on your knees and show me what else that mouth can do, besides talk a ton of shit.”

Stiles didn’t waste time. He dropped down to his knees and quickly got his hands on the button and zipper of Boyd’s jeans, making quick work for the situation. And before Stiles even had the time to think, Boyd’s thick cock fell out of the confines—already completely hard, yet struggling to hold up under its own phenomenally sinful weight. Stiles nearly passed out at the sight alone. There was a part of his soul that questioned if he really was ready to tackle what he was about to do, but Stiles refused to cloud his mind with doubt.

“You—you fucked Derek with this?” Stiles asked, gripping his fist around Boyd’s length. His fingers were just barely able to wrap completely around the girth. “—And he was still able to walk around afterwards? Are you fucking joking?”

Boyd carded his hands through Stiles’ hair. “He’s a werewolf. He heals. But you’re human, so while you’re down there sucking my cock, maybe try to think of an appropriate excuse to explain to Coach why you’re running with a limp during the cross-country competition.”

Stiles scoffed at the insinuation that he didn’t know how to handle a big dick. He wrapped his other hand around Boyd’s cock, seeing as how it was most definitely a two-hander kind of situation. Nonetheless, Stiles was more than delighted at the task before him. And whilst he remained knelt down before Derek’s beta, knees digging almost painfully into the motel’s shoddy cement path, Stiles stared up to catch Boyd’s brown eyes sparkling yellow.

With a lustful smile on his lips, Stiles leaned inward and started to take Boyd down into his mouth. He started first with a handful of seemingly timid tonguing at the leaking cockhead, and then refused to disappoint Boyd’s obvious anticipation any longer. Inch by inch, Stiles worked his throat around Boyd’s girth, taking everything that the beta had to offer, until his nose was pressed solidly into the soft hair at the hilt of Boyd’s dick.  

Tears immediately stung Stiles’ eyes. Before he could even continue on, Stiles had to take a moment to adjust to the feeling of Boyd stuffed deep in his throat. He didn’t even need to take a look in the mirror to know that his throat was lewdly bulged out. The impressed smirk on Boyd’s face was already more than enough proof.

After a brief adjustment period, Stiles began moving—slowly pulling his mouth off and back onto Boyd’s length. He refused to close his eyes or even wipe away the tears that were beginning to pour down his cheeks. Instead, he continued to stare right up into the beautifully bright yellow of Boyd’s eyes. It made things much more intimate and admittedly made Stiles’ own cock twitch where it remained crudely stuffed in the tightness of his boxers and pants.

Boyd placed both of his hands on the sides of Stiles’ head, making sure that the confident pace that Stiles had already elected to set didn’t lull or tire out. Stiles looked amazing on his knees with a big cock stuffed down his throat—lips spread open as far as they could manage and eyes glossy with tears. Boyd liked to watch the way that his cock speared in and out of Stiles’ wet mouth, watching the way that drool trailed out and slobbered down onto the cement below where the both of them remained. He loved the muffled grunts and whimpers that uncontrollably echoed deep in Stiles’ abused throat. And the fierce look of determination that sparked wildly in Stiles’ amber eyes was almost dangerous.

“Fuck—did that werewolf bite make your dick bigger or something, because this is—this is—!” Stiles grumbled messily, pulling off of Boyd’s cock. He coughed, letting the smoothness of the werewolf’s precum ease the dull burn that radiated deep in his throat.

“Come on.” Boyd snickered, patting at the side of Stiles’ cheek with the palm of his hand. “I haven’t even fucked you stupid yet and you’ve already lost the ability to form a sentence.”

“You’re—big.” Stiles managed, continuing to stroke Boyd.

“Yeah.” Boyd said, bringing Stiles’ mouth back onto his dripping cock. “I know.”

The pace kicked up without warning as Boyd became greedier with the warmth of Stiles’ mouth. Boyd kept his hands on the sides of Stiles’ face, making sure that the boy’s head remained stationary. And as Stiles found himself locked in place, unable to move, and completely lost to the power of Boyd’s direction, Boyd began to fuck rapidly into Stiles’ throat.

The sounds of wet slurps and gags from Stiles’ throat became rhythmic and certainly louder as Boyd refused to dial back the near brutal pace. In fact, Boyd could smell arousal practically boiling within Stiles’ blood. He could feel Stiles’ skin get hotter. He could feel the human’s body shaking with uncontrollable desire. It was almost as if getting a cock rammed down his throat made Stiles hornier and hornier by the minute.

Boyd reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, quickly turning on the recording function of his camera. He aimed the camera down to where he had Stiles in-between his legs, making sure to get solid footage of the way that his cock spearing into Stiles’ throat and the way that his heavy balls slapped violently against Stiles’ chin. The tear-filled eyes, the blushed cheeks, the sweat-covered forehead, the choked off gags, and the hungry desire in Stiles’ amber eyes—Boyd got it all on camera. And Stiles performed like he was born to get fucked on tape.

Eventually, Boyd pulled out of Stiles’ throat and then bat his heavy, spit-slicked cock against where Stiles’ lips were reddened and puffy from the onslaught of Boyd’s rhythm. Stiles, however, took the moment of freedom to catch his breath and wipe up the corners of his lips to make himself less of a mess. He chin was practically covered in a slick of werewolf precum and salvia. And whilst all that could be wiped away with the sleeve of his hoodie, Stiles found it impossible to wipe away with achiness that had settled in the bone of his jaw.

“Come on now…” Stiles managed out a small laugh, completely out of breath. “Don’t tell me you’re out of stream already, Vernon.”

Boyd smiled and hooked his hands underneath Stiles’ arms, using the positioning as leverage to hoist Stiles up to stand on his own two feet. He took Stiles’ messy mouth in for another kiss, licking into Stiles’ worn mouth with enthusiasm. Stiles nearly melted into the softness of Boyd’s lips and the passionate swipes of the werewolf’s tongue.

“Goddamn.” Boyd said, pulling away. “My dick tastes good on your mouth.”

Boyd pecked against Stiles’ lips one more time to take one last taste of what he had just done to Stiles’ throat. He then grabbed onto Stiles’ clothes and hurriedly spun him around, shoving him forward into the vending machine. It was really out of common courtesy, because Stiles would most definitely need something semi-sturdy to brace himself on for what was about to be delivered to him. Stiles would be more than grateful in the end.

Slowly, Boyd hooked his fingers into the waistband of Stiles’ pants and boxers, easing them down to reveal Stiles’ backside. He made sure to keep things slow and unhurried for the moment. Boyd watched with a wide grin as the stiffer fabric of Stiles’ pants slowly curved over the roundness of Stiles’ ass. Boyd whistled out in satisfaction, giving the fair skin and particularly harsh slap with the open palm of his hand—watching the redness of the slap mark slowly fade away.

Stiles impatiently pushed his ass backwards into Boyd’s hardness, looking back over his shoulder at where Boyd was standing. Admittedly, there was just a twinge of nervousness nestled deep inside his stomach, considering how much of an honest challenge it had been to take all of Boyd down his throat. And yet, nothing was too much of a challenge when it came down to getting fucked. Stiles wasn’t about to complain. In fact, his own desire was much more of an abundantly overwhelming feeling compared to nervousness. It coursed powerfully and potently through his veins.

“I hope you weren’t planning on wrapping up.” Stiles called out, bracing himself for Boyd’s intrusion. “I meant it when I said I wanted what you gave Derek. I still want your load dripping out of my ass once we’re done and you go back up to your room for the night.”

Boyd didn’t respond. He just laughed and spat down onto his fingers, reaching down to prod teasingly at Stiles’ puckered entrance. He wanted to give Stiles a moment to collect his strength and brace himself. Boyd knew that even Stiles’ special brand of unwavering confidence would be shaken to the core at the feeling of a huge cock rammed into his inner walls. And before Stiles even got the chance to stay a word, Boyd slowly pressed the head of his cock inward.

Stiles groaned out into the darkness of the night, tightly gripping his hands at the edges of the vending machine. He kept his breathing steady and pressed his sweaty forehead into the cold glass of the machine, letting his body become quickly overwhelmed with the feeling of Boyd pressing deeper into his ass. He could feel Boyd’s intense werewolf heat instantaneously spread throughout his body, making his knees momentarily weaken.

Simultaneously, Boyd threw his head back and tightly shut his eyes. He let himself become engulfed in the unbelievable feeling of his cock sliding deeper and deeper into the available blazing heat of Stiles’ inner core. He had always wondered what it would be like to fuck Stiles—the obnoxiously loud, unyieldingly determined little freckled-faced human with a tight ass, cock-sucking lips, and dangerously innocent bright eyes.  Boyd already got a taste of what it was like to fuck the boy’s throat. He was certain that Stiles’ ass was even a grander prize.

“So you’ve fucked Derek and his uncle?” Boyd asked. He nuzzled his mouth against the back of Stiles’ neck, taking time to kiss passionately against the hot skin whilst he edged in the rest of his cock into Stiles. “And you sure as hell raced down here to fuck me with the smell of Scott’s load still on the tip of your tongue. Are you always this horny?”

“Basically, yeah.” Stiles answered breathlessly, grinding back into where he was speared open on Boyd’s thick cock. “But I have to say, there’s something I just can’t put my finger on about this damn motel. There’s something about it that has had me worked up since we pulled into the lot on the bus.”

“Is that really your excuse for your own damn need to bang out a couple orgasms?” Boyd questioned, thrusting hard into Stiles. “’The motel made me do it’?”

“Don’t tell me you can’t feel something.”

“I can feel your heartbeat throbbing against the head of my cock and I can feel you clenching down around me to keep me from pulling out.” Boyd said, continuing his thrusts. “But let me tell you something…I’m sure none of that shit has anything to do with this motel.”

Boyd huffed out, firmly grasping at the sides of Stiles’ hips. He could feel the tips of his fingers pressing deep bruises into the soft skin of Stiles’ body whilst he worked on picking up the pace of his thrusts. It wasn’t long before he was thrusting as hard as he could manage without completely tapping into his werewolf strength. Even without some extra juice, Stiles was mewling like a bitch in heat.

Stiles was hardly able to retain some form of composure as Boyd drilled into his ass. His body pitched forward with each and every thrust, knocking his lithe body into the glass and metal of the vending machine. The sounds of skin slapping against skin sounded extremely loud on account of the far that the surrounding area was entirely silent. If anybody was outside of their motel room, they would surely get an earful of something lewd, but Stiles didn’t care.

Meanwhile, Boyd watched attentively as his cock pounded in and out of Stiles’ tight hole. He was amazed at how well Stiles’ body swallowed him up without much resistance. The thickness of Stiles’ plump ass wobbled and bounced violently with each thrust and even more so each and every time Boyd decided that Stiles deserved another firm spank. Boyd also found himself mesmerized by the beautiful way that their contrasting skin tones crashed together in lust under the harsh fluorescent light of the motel’s parking lot.

“Keep going—oh god, keep fucking me.” Stiles grunted, throwing his ass back to meet Boyd’s incoming thrusts.

Boyd could barely contain his smile before he let out an unbelievably ferocious roar, leaving Stiles momentarily deafened. Without warning, Boyd turned up the heat and started to pound into Stiles’ human frame with reckless abandon. Stiles asked for it and Boyd was more than happy to deliver. Restraint was thrown entirely to the wind and Boyd squeezed out as much of his werewolf strength that he could manage.

Stiles’ mouth dropped open in an attempt to scream out in surprise, but the only sound that managed to leave his body was a barely audible dry squeal. His fingers gripped at the sides of the vending machine in a desperate attempt to brace himself, but it was hardly helpful. Even the heavy machine rocked around with the forceful hammering of the beta werewolf from behind.

Boyd watched gleefully as he hammered into Stiles’ body. He let go from where he was holding onto Stiles’ hips, figuring that there was no real point in even trying to keep Stiles sturdy. The human was already speared open on a fat cock, taking everything that he was getting, and flailing around like a cum-hungry ragdoll.

Stiles did his best to take everything that Boyd continued to deliver—mentally exhausting himself in order to keep from passing out from exertion. The pounding was ruthless, nearly beyond anything that any of Stiles’ other hookups had ever given him. Each thrust pitched his body forward, occasionally knocking his forehead into the glass of the vending machine. Stiles wanted to respond. He wanted to scream, groan, and moan, but the only sounds he could make were submissive chirps.

With a particularly sharp inhale of breath, Boyd’s rhythm faltered dramatically. As Boyd’s body shook involuntarily, he punched the length of his cock into Stiles’ body one last time with a finishing thrust. The force behind Boyd’s concluded momentum was enough to send Stiles’ debauched body into the glass of the vending machine. The glass cracked slightly, finally succumbing to the pressure of having two sex-crazed bodies humping against its surface.  

Stiles breathlessly groaned out a weak, ‘oh god’, as he felt Boyd’s cum devastate his inner walls with a flood of hot werewolf cum. It poured into him with heavy surges, searing directly against Stiles’ thoroughly abused prostate. Every inch of his human body convulsed uncontrollably whilst Boyd’s heavy load began to ooze messily out of his plugged hole—leaking down the back of his thighs and his legs. He was utterly ruined and in desperate need of a bath.

Just then, Boyd wrapped his hand around Stiles’ waist and grabbed hold of where Stiles was hard and throbbing. As he started to stroke Stiles’ cock, Boyd refused to pull out from where he was still stuffed inside of Stiles’ hole—continuing to unload weakening spurts of hot cum. Boyd knew that he couldn’t just fuck Stiles full of cum and leave him out in the middle of a parking lot without at least jerking him off.

It took barely a couple of minutes of stimulation before Stiles cried out and felt his own cock erupt in Boyd’s capable grasp. His body convulsed again, this time because of his own orgasm. The only thing that he could do was press his forehead back against the semi-cracked glass of the vending machine and stare down to where Boyd’s hand remained around his dick and where his newly spent load was dripping down the dark metal of the machine in front of him.

“Satisfied?” Boyd asked smugly, finally pulling out of Stiles’ hole and watching what seemed to be gallons of his cum immediately pour out from where Stiles was pink and splattered up with a werewolf’s load.

“If I say ‘no’, will you give me another round?” Stiles breathed, slightly chuckling.

“I’m heading back to my room to try for some sleep.” Boyd said, landing a powerful slap against Stiles’ ass cheeks. “And if you don’t want to underperform at the cross-country competition tomorrow, you’d try for it to.”

Stiles shrugged, turning around to make-out with Boyd for a closing moment. “I’ve still got enough time to get fucked out of a couple more orgasms.”

As Boyd headed back up to his room for the night, Stiles took a moment to collect his frazzled thoughts. He leaned back against the well-used vending machine under the dim lighting of the motel’s parking lot. Stiles bent down and pulled his pants back up from where they were puddled at his ankles, tugging them up and over where he was still wet and coated with Boyd’s profuse cum. He was soiled mess, but it felt like a badge of slutty honor.

+

Stiles casually walked back upstairs and into the motel room that he shared with Scott, chewing down on a chocolate bar that he has righteously claimed from the selection of vending machine goodies downstairs. He had worked up an immense appetite from his time at Boyd’s mercy and since there were no restaurants around, candy was an obvious choice for dinner.

Scott was laid out on his stomach on the bedsheets of the motel room bed, reading through his notebook and chewing mindlessly on the eraser of his pencil. It was somewhat interesting to know that Scott had been upstairs doing boring homework the whole time Stiles had been downstairs getting fucked three ways from Sunday. The least he could have done was tune into the sound with his werewolf ears and show some support by jerking off.

“Woah, I thought you were just going downstairs for something to eat.” Scott piped up, turning his attention to where Stiles stood at the door.

“I did.” Stiles said, waving around his half-eaten chocolate bar. “I also bumped into Boyd and got him to fuck me. And holy shit, I can’t believe I’m fucking alive. He practically split me in half. I’m going to be leaking his cum for a month.”

“Jesus.” Scott breathed, seemingly repulsed at the thought.

“Oh, come on.” Stiles scoffed, chomping down on the last bit of his candy. “It’s basically your fault. You were the one who had to go and let it slip that Derek got his ass railed by Boyd. It was too enticing of a visual to keep me from not trying it out for myself.”

“Was it everything you wanted?”

Stiles reached back and squeezed at where a giant wet spot had formed on the back of his pants from Boyd’s spent load. “Well….Boyd kinda fucked me through a damn vending machine.”

“And that’s….good?”

“Damn right.” Stiles confirmed proudly. “But I’m not about to let the rest of the night go to waste.”

Stiles didn’t bother hanging around to wait for Scott to respond. More than likely, Scott would have questioned Stiles’ intentions for what he had planned for the rest of the stay in the sleazy motel of sin. But even Stiles couldn’t really say for sure. The rest of the night was completely up to fate, so as long as it involved some sort of combination of sex, cock, cum, and sweat. So Stiles wiped himself down to get rid of Boyd’s excess cum and then put his tattered clothes back on, stepping back outside.  

+

Stiles paced around the corridor outside of his motel room, mentally scanning through the list of potential fucks that he could get into some more late-night naughty business with. Unfortunately, there weren’t a lot of fellow cross-country classmates that he was throbbing with anticipation to fuck around with. Most of them were complete strangers who liked to pretend that they were “straight”, and despite that being kind of a turn-on, Stiles was in the mood to move down the line of Derek’s betas.

Aching for new stimulation, Stiles quickly made his way a couple doors down to where he knew Isaac was put up for the night. As he rapidly knocked on the door, his mind wandered back to the memory of that time back in the locker room with Danny, Derek, Isaac, and a very reluctant Scotty. Stiles had taken Isaac then, but only for a brief moment in a double penetration stunt that had left Stiles sore for days afterwards. Stiles wanted to explore Isaac in a one-on-one kind of way.

Isaac opened the motel room door with an inquisitive look spread across his face. “Are you looking for something?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Stiles said, eyeing the way that Isaac’s blue eyes dazzled in the shitty fluorescent of the motel’s lights. “I’m kind of looking for a nice fuck and your dick happened to come to mind.”

“Are you offering to put out?” Isaac questioned.

“What?” Stiles gasped sarcastically, shuffling past Isaac into the seclusion of the motel room. “What kind of guy do you think that I am?”

It didn’t take long for sparks to fly. In fact, they didn’t much fly. But rather, jet off into the confines of the motel room—burning streaks of passion into the filthy wallpaper that soured the walls. Stiles leapt forward, shoving Isaac back against the closed door. Their mouths found each other’s quickly, without preparation and without calculated thought. That was the best kind of way to go about things. The wildness was hotter.

“You fucking reek of Boyd.” Isaac noted in-between breaths. “What the hell did you let him do to you?”

Stiles snickered, biting marks into Isaac’s neck. “He hosed me down.”

Isaac clumsily led Stiles over to the edge of the room’s available bed, shoving him backwards to topple onto the mattress. He made quick work of ridding the human of his pants and boxers, which were noticeably dingy from whatever disastrously sticky mess Stiles had gotten himself into with Boyd. Isaac didn’t really need any of the intricate details, because the smell of Stiles’ arousal was powerful enough to blow the roof off of the motel.

Boyd had his turn. Now Isaac wanted his.

As the pants and boxers were carelessly tossed down to the ground, Isaac watched the slutty way in which Stiles’ hairy thighs and toned legs fell open. The sight alone was enough to entice Isaac’s beta senses. His mouth fell open and salivated with desire. Isaac could very easily see where Stiles was still leaking profusely with what Boyd had unapologetically deposited. It made him momentarily pause to ponder as to whether or not Stiles would be able to take more. But for a human, Stiles was strong and way more than willing than others. Not only that, Stiles still looked incredibly tight and flushed pink—ready for more.

Isaac took his positioning down at the bottom edge of the bed, slotted in-between where Stiles’ legs were spread open. And before Stiles could even think to spark up more conversation, Isaac dove downward and speared his tongue into where the human was flushed hot with anticipation and still dripping lewdly with another beta’s hot load. He thrashed his tongue inside of Stiles, humming in satisfaction to the sound of moans that whimpered out of Stiles’ mouth in response.

Stiles moaned, groaned, and bit back snickered laughs of mindless disbelief whilst he writhed around atop the scratchy motel bedspread. He reached down between his spread legs and hooked his slender fingers into the soft curls of Isaac’s blond hair—establishing a firm grip of guidance. It wasn’t as though Isaac didn’t already know what to do, but Stiles couldn’t bear to just lie back. He tugged at Isaac’s hair like he was pulling on reins, encouraging the beta to keep his rhythm and voracity.

Technically, Isaac was the third fuck of the night and it was obvious that the beta was putting in the effort to be a more than memorable fuck. Scott had been the timid one, kept on the fence about what he really wanted and what he wanted to do. Boyd had been much more confident, right to the point, and unafraid to leave a lasting mark of what he conquered. And then there was Isaac…and well, the night was still young and it was obvious that Isaac wanted to take advantage of that.

Isaac ferociously growled out, rattling the motel room with sound as he unintentionally wolfed out. He pulled away from Stiles’ hole and looked up into the human’s smoldering hazel eyes, shooting a fanged grin in Stiles’ immediate direction. Meanwhile, Stiles grazed his fingers from where they had been locked onto Isaac’s hair, down Isaac’s face, letting his hand softly cradle the beta’s face, which had become overgrown with wolfed-out facial hair.

Stiles shushed Isaac with a loving coo to his voice, thumbing at Isaac’s fanged mouth. “Keep it down, wolfie. You’re gonna make Scotty dash in here thinking I’m getting mauled by some wild animal.”

“Shut up.” Isaac snorted. “He’s probably jerking himself dry to the pretty sounds you make when my tongue hits your hole.”

“Maybe—” Stiles replied, securing one of his hands back to Isaac’s hair. “—so get back to making me make them.”

Stiles was lost to twenty more minutes of bliss. The blaze of Isaac’s tongue working itself inside of his body with vicious lashes was some of the best stimulation Stiles had ever felt. His limbs tingled with energy and there was a pit of heat radiating deep inside his gut—right where he wanted to feel Isaac’s cock spear deep into him.

It was obvious that Isaac could continue on with the rimjob into the unforeseeable future. Isaac clearly loved the taste of Stiles overworked body, especially when it was mixed with Boyd’s flavor. And it was clear that Isaac loved training up his unmistakable skill with eating somebody out. But Stiles wanted so much more. Isaac’s tongue could only reach so far, and despite how amazing it felt to bend to the mercy of the beta’s wicked tongue, Stiles was left wanting something to touch him deeper. He wanted Isaac to touch him where Boyd had done so—so efficiently, so passionately, and so unforgivingly.

“Come on, Blondie.” Stiles joked, tugging Isaac back up to look at him. “You’ve won a shot at the big prize of the night.”

Isaac slapped the open palms of his hands onto the meat of Stiles’ thighs, playfully. He popped up from where he had been knelt down and crawled onto the mattress, letting himself settle atop Stiles’ splayed naked body. Their mouths connected fantastically whilst they hungrily chased each other’s tastes, allowing their tongues to momentarily play as they let their energy buffer for the lewd acts ahead.

Stiles’ fingers hooked underneath the hem of Isaac’s t-shirt, pulling it up and over the wolfed-out beta’s head and tossing it down to the dingy carpet of the room. The two kissed again—once, twice, and for a third time, before Isaac lifted himself up from where he was laid atop Stiles’ body. Isaac swung around, kicking his feet off the edge of the mattress, and then removed his pants and boxers until his hard cock was free to dribble precum down his shaft instead of pooling messily in the crotch of his boxers.

Isaac eagerly positioned himself in-between Stiles’ legs—slightly canting the human’s lower half up. He spat down onto a couple of his fingers and then reached down, pressing them into Stiles’ gushing wet heat. It wasn’t like Stiles needed to be stretched out. He had already gotten that fill from Boyd downstairs in the parking lot and from Isaac’s lengthy tongue job. The boy was incredibly wet with Isaac’s saliva. But that was all beyond the point. Isaac wanted to play. He wasn’t impatient. He wanted to chisel away Stiles’ sanity bit-by-bit, fucking as many orgasms out of Stiles’ body that he could manage.

Stiles melted into the languid pumps of Isaac’s digits. They were long and piercing, but just as skilled as the beta’s tongue. Isaac was fearless in his plan to take Stiles apart. With the plan set into motion, Stiles was under his power and unable to do anything other than cry out and writhe around in a desperate attempt to escape the looming threat of an orgasm.

But Isaac gave chase with his precision, madly pushing Stiles towards an inevitable orgasm. Isaac hooked his intruding fingers with each pump, making sure that they were curved enough to press directly into Stiles’ abused prostate. He watched sparks shimmer in the teary brightness of Stiles’ eyes—pupils dilated with overworked bliss. The sight of Stiles unraveling under his touch added fuel to Isaac’s encouragement. So he kept at it, just as strong and proud as he had been during the rimjob.

As Isaac’s fingers repeatedly pumped their way into the bundled pleasure center of Stiles’ body, Stiles tried his best to keep control, but it quickly proved to be an unwinnable fight. He writhed and cried out, flailing around whilst desperately gripping his own hands into the mattress comforter and onto wherever Stiles could reach on Isaac’s body. But the fingerfucking continued and it wasn’t like Stiles wanted it to stop. It felt so good and the stimulation was so overwhelming, it filled Stiles’ brain with static.

“Isaac, don’t fucking—stop…fuc-king dammit!” Stiles babbled out frantically—body tensing up with shock as he felt Isaac’s finger push him over the edge.

Stiles convulsed with a particularly harsh orgasm, shouting out and spraying hot cum over the somewhat ridged depth of his sweaty stomach. His toes twitched involuntarily, his teeth shivered, and his eyes slammed shut. His heartbeat thumped violently in his head. All the while, Isaac’s fingers refused to stop their intrusive rhythm—pumping to the beat of the throbbing release that was dragged out of Stiles’ worn body.

Isaac breezed down and took Stiles’ lips in for a crushing kiss, swallowing down the human’s feeble and unintelligible pleas of pleasure. Isaac ravished the boy’s flushed skin—starting first with Stiles’ reddened lips, then down to suck against where he could feel Stiles’ heat pulse and pump rapidly in his neck, only to finally move down to his heaving chest. Isaac nibbled gently at Stiles’ nipples, tugging at them just enough to elicit tiny mewling gasps in response. But when he began to slowly withdraw his fingers from where they remained inserted inside Stiles’ heat, Stiles cried out angrily.

“Hey—what the fuck?” Stiles questioned, grabbing onto Isaac’s wrist to keep him still. “Don’t stop. Keep going. Do it again.”

In an instant, Isaac complied. He jolted his slicked fingers back into Stiles’ heat for the second time—punching a surprised, bellowed huff of breath out of Stiles’ breathless lungs. Stiles groaned out at the returned stimulation. He tossed his head backwards into the cushion of the mattress, refusing to relinquish his firm grasp on Isaac’s wrist, using his own wavering strength to guide the beta’s fingers into himself.

Stiles fucked himself hard with Isaac’s long fingers, staring directly into the beta’s yellow glowing eyes. There weren’t any words spoken between the two, just noises—grunts and moans. And yet, both of the two were speaking all kinds of dirty talk to one another inside of their own heads, lips occasionally quivering and pursing with intensity. Their concentration on one another refused to waver.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to cum again, much to Isaac’s delight. He snickered to himself as he felt Stiles’ exhausted body tighten and clench down around his fingers. Isaac watched Stiles’ erect cock spurt out more cum in thick globs, which blasting into the air and landed back down onto where the human’s previous load had already settled. Isaac felt compelled to slip his fingers through the sticky pearlescent coat of cum that was splattered across Stiles’ freckled stomach and chest, but he fought back against the urge in exchange for another round inside Stiles’ hole.

“Again—let’s go again.” Isaac muttered, panting like a wolf in heat.

Isaac tugged his hand out of Stiles’ instructive grasp, taking the power and direction back into his own. He shoved his fingers back into Stiles’ hole, chasing his hope of making Stiles cum for the third time in their combined session of sin. He pressed his fingers in harder and quicker—unapologetically setting a much more brutal pace than before. Isaac practically went mad with his desire, rapidly plunging his fingers into Stiles’ body—surging his fingertips into the boy’s prostate.

“D-d-don’t stop.” Stiles whined—voice pitchy from the vibrations of Isaac’s fingering. “Put—some of th-that werewolf juice—into it, Lahey.”

Isaac snapped his fangs together—jaw clenched in a powerful display of his own werewolf might. He quickly withdrew his two fingers from where they were rubbing against Stiles’ prostate and then swiped them through the sticky mess that was pooled atop Stiles’ torso. And before Stiles could complain about the lack of fingers inside of his ass, Isaac plunged his cum-slicked fingers back to where they had been, using the extra lubrication to move even quicker.

The squelch of the fingerfucking assault filled the space of the stuffy motel room. Mixed with the aggressive demands from Stiles and the subtle growls that rattled inside of Isaac’s throat, there was no doubt that Scott and Boyd were well aware of what explicit acts were happening. Whether or not they were both hard and jerking themselves off to the sound, remained a mystery. But regardless, it didn’t slow Isaac and Stiles. They went out there like they were starved, not bothering to care if they were being observed by an audience through thin walls.

When Stiles came for the third time by Isaac’s hand, he nearly passed out. His mind momentarily short-circuited and his vision fluttered into blurriness. For a moment, Stiles felt lost—completely beyond himself. Outside of his mind. He could feel his body react as it twisted and contorted around in ecstasy. He could hear himself scream out. He could feel his hands and the bluntness of his fingernails reach out and claw into the meat of Isaac’s shoulders. It was almost as if he were floating above himself, watching his body spasm with another punishing orgasm.

Isaac fucked Stiles through his orgasm, twirling his fingers around into Stiles’ devastated prostate. He kept moving his fingers around—drawing them out and then plunging them back into the boy’s sticky heat. Isaac did it again and again, working through the same motions, refusing to stop until Stiles’ cock was finished spurting out its third load. When Stiles’ body finally stopped involuntarily convulsing, Isaac withdrew his fingers, and then quickly filled the boy’s empty guts with his throbbing cock.

“Fucking, god—yes!” Stiles wailed, hands still gripped tightly into Isaac’s shoulders.

Isaac hoisted Stiles up from where he was laid out atop the bed, bringing him into the strength of his capable arms. With his large cock still speared into the human’s body, Isaac used his strength to pull Stiles off and on of his dick—feeling Stiles attempt to clench down around him with each movement. But the human was a ragdoll—limp and drained beyond belief, practically drooling in mindless bliss as Isaac jerked his weakened body around. It felt amazing. Stiles took him so well without much resistance. Isaac likened the skill to Stiles’ inherent sluttiness, as opposed to all of the prep that helped open him up.

Stiles hung off of Isaac’s fat cock. He swung his legs around Isaac’s slender waist and clasped his arms around the backside of Isaac’s neck, doing what he could to keep himself sturdy. But it didn’t do much good. Isaac fucked far too furiously. Stiles could barely catch his breath, let alone keep himself from getting jerked around like he was some lifeless, plastic sex doll. And yet, Stiles loved it. He panted and groaned into Isaac’s ear, urging the beta to move faster and fuck harder.

Isaac’s fingers had felt amazing, but Isaac’s cock felt otherworldly. Stiles couldn’t get enough. He clenched down on Isaac’s shaft—almost instinctively, but mainly because he didn’t want it to end. Stiles didn’t want to feel empty again. He didn’t want to go back to his motel room and go to sleep like he was supposed to do…not when he could keep riding and sucking and letting his friends touch him in all kinds of obscene places.

“Take it.” Isaac purred into the nape of Stiles’ neck, kissing at the sweaty skin. “Oh god—take all of it, Sti.”

At once, Isaac creamed Stiles—blowing his huge load into the boy’s overworked hole. The heavy flow of thick seed quickly filled Stiles to the brim, eventually sputtering out from where Stiles’ rim clenched down around Isaac’s pulsating cock. The hot cum dripped down from where the human and beta remained connected, splattering down against the motel’s already stained carpet. And for a moment they just froze in place—Stiles cradled in Isaac’s strong arms, surrounded by heat, and a hose of hot cum gushing down to the ground.

Eventually, Isaac dropped Stiles back down onto the mattress. He pulled his spent cock out of Stiles’ wet hole, snickering to himself at the sound and unmistakable outpour of fresh cum that oozed out onto the bedspread. Patting Stiles triumphantly on the shoulder, Isaac took a seat next to Stiles on the edge of the bed. They sat there for a moment in silence—just basking in what they had just done, coming down from their highs, allowing themselves to catch their breaths.

“I’m going to pass the fuck out on the track tomorrow during the competition.” Stiles started, easing himself up from the messy bedspread. “But hey—maybe I’ll knock the competition unconscious with the smell of all this cum.”

“Just load up on coffee or something.” Isaac ran his hands through his own sweat-matted hair. “Do you want some kind of enticement? Want me to promise you another fuck if you don’t totally embarrass our school?”

Stiles laughed, grabbing a clean towel from the bathroom. He rubbed the crusty, over-washed towel against his body—scooping up as much loose cum as he could manage. “If we win, we celebrate with a fuck. If we lose, we cheer ourselves up with a fuck. It’s a win-win.”

Isaac leaned back on his hands, casually watching Stiles clean himself up as best he could manage. Stiles wiped down the cum that had pooled on his own torso from all of the orgasms that had gotten fingerfucked out of him. When that was done, he wiped down the backs of his hairy thighs and ass, where Isaac’s deposit continued to ooze out in thick rivulets. It was a shitty cleaning job, but Stiles wasn’t making it a perfect clean up. He planned to take a shower once he got back to his room, but he needed to get dried enough to slip back on his clothes.

“Well, I’m gonna hit the sack.” Isaac said, standing up from the bed. He pulled Stiles in for another kiss and then slapped his ass tenderly with a snort. “—and fuck, give that hole a rest, dude.”

+

It was time for bed. That was the plan. It was late—way, way too late to get some genuine restful sleep in time for the morning cross-country competition. But getting some sleep would be better than getting no sleep whatsoever. And yet, the moment Stiles stepped foot outside of Isaac’s motel room, he felt his energy suddenly replenished. It was as if drowsiness and exhaustion no longer existed within the universe.

Stiles felt worked up, in fact. He felt hot underneath his skin. There was a stirring buzz deep inside of his stomach, a twitch of interest tugging at the foreskin of his cock, achiness inside of his bones, wetness at the rim of puckered cum-soaked hole, and an unstoppable tingle at the tip of his salivating tongue. Stiles swore that he could feel something pulsing around him from the motel, injecting itself directly into his body. It was like some kind of power, an influence—maybe? But whatever it was, it made Stiles hungry for more of what he had gotten from Scott, Boyd, and Isaac.

Outside of his shared room with Scott, Stiles reached for the doorknob—pulling his own hand back before he could decide to open it. He sighed, swiveling around to beam out to the night sky and the parking lot below. He ran his hands through his messy hair and bit at his fingernails, caught up in deliberation as to whether or not he should get his ass to sleep or get his ass into somebody else’s motel room for just a couple minutes, an hour at most.

Maybe just a cock….maybe two. Stiles rationalized with himself, pacing around in the chill air of the night. He eventually made up his decision, though it wasn’t a difficult one to make. He still needed more. He felt satisfied from what he had gotten from the other werewolves, but he wanted more, and he’d get himself more. So he marched down to the motel room at the end of the outdoor hallway—giving a few simple knocks at the door.

Danny opened up the door, somewhat surprised to see Stiles standing there so patiently. The first thing that Stiles noticed was that Danny was completely naked. His tanned skin glowed under the intense rays of the moonlight. Not only that, but Danny wasn’t just naked, he was hard as a rock—with messy hair and shiny lips. Danny didn’t appear to be torn from slumber. If anything, he looked bright and aware, despite the late hour of the night.

“Hey.” Danny said.

“Hey—did you know I was coming over or something?” Stiles asked charmingly, nodding down to where he could see Danny’s cock jutting out towards him.

Danny snickered, leaning against the threshold of the motel room door. “It’s late as hell, dude. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I mean—shouldn’t you be asleep? You’re competing tomorrow too.”

“I’m the fastest one on our team. Don’t worry; I’ve got this shit covered—”

“Hey—he was busy sucking my fucking cock, you dickwad!” A disgruntled, immediately recognizable voice called out from somewhere else inside of the dimly lit motel room. “How about you go slob on your butt-buddy McCall’s knob, Stilinski?”

Danny rolled his eyes, ducking his head in shame. Although, it was obvious that he wasn’t genuinely annoyed or embarrassed. After all, the fiery arrogance of Jackson Whittemore was part of his preppy jock charm. Still—Jackson’s interjection was the perfect opportunity to shift things towards what Stiles was cruising to find. So instead of heading back to his own room for the night, he clicked his tongue and shoved past where Danny was standing—tapping Danny supportively on the shoulder.

Stiles came to stand in front of the motel bed, where Jackson was propped back against the bed’s headboard with this arms strongly planted behind his head. He was just as naked as Danny, but the ridges of his abs were even more defined than they normally were—heavily shadowed from the room’s surrounding dimness. Meanwhile, Jackson’s dick was standing at attention—thick and cut, occasionally twitching towards where it remained pointed towards the ceiling.

Of course, it wasn’t surprising that Danny and Jackson were up so late, taking advantage of sharing the same motel room for the night. Stiles had caught the two best friends fucking themselves brainless many times in the locker room showers after lacrosse games whenever Beacon Hills High scored the win, but he had never gotten to join in on their collective celebratory fun because Jackson was a greedy asshole who liked to show off, but didn’t typically like to share.

“I’ve already slobbed on Scott’s knob tonight. Let me slob on yours.” Stiles said, gesturing down to Jackson’s cock. He turned back towards where Danny was standing by the front door and then gestured over to him, as well. “—and yours too, Danny-boy.”

Jackson’s thick eyebrows furrowed in surprised confusion. He straightened his posture, pressing his back straight against the headboard, and then crossed his arms. “Why the hell would I let you anywhere near my cock?”

“Come on, Jacks.” Danny shut the motel room and walked over towards the bed, dipping the mattress down as he settled himself on it—next to where Jackson was sitting. “He’s good at it.”

“He’s sucked you off before?” Jackson questioned—somewhat frustrated, yet somewhat aroused at the mental image that it presented. “When did this happen?”

“Yeah, he’s sucked me off. I fucked his ass, too.” Danny admitted proudly, looking over to where Stiles was grinning ear-to-ear as though he had just been given the biggest compliment. “He basically fucked four of us at the same time—Me, Scott, Isaac, and this dude named ‘Derek’….I could’ve sworn I told you this before.”

Jackson’s eyes widened with surprise, but quickly settled with a glimmer of interest. He looked up and down where Stiles stood at the foot of the bed, picking up the heavy scent of cum that was soaked into the boy’s skin from the previous escapades that he had gotten himself earlier in the night. Fine—maybe cocksucking was Stiles’ gift. He talked a lot, way more than what was tolerable according to Jackson. So maybe getting some cocks shoved down his throat would be a way to put Stiles to good use.

“You’re lucky I’m horny, Stilinski.” Jackson commented, putting his hands back to where they had been previously placed behind his head in a relaxed manner. Danny followed suit. “I don’t just let anybody suck my cock, so be thankful I’m a generous person.”

“—and curious.” Danny added. “—he totally wants to take that pretty mouth of yours for a spin.”

A tint of blush blew across Jackson’s freckled face for a moment as he looked over to Danny, but Danny just shot back a quick smile—seemingly impressed with himself for being able to embarrass Jackson. Eventually, Jackson looked back over to where Stiles was standing around expectantly. He wrapped his own hand around his throbbing cock and enticingly waved it around, showing off his girth in order to fish around for a good reaction from Stiles.

Stiles tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it away. He ran his fingers down his torso, through the hair of his treasure trail, feeling the distinct stickiness that had remained from all of the cum that Isaac had fingerfucked out of him. Whilst Jackson and Danny watched from where they laid on the bed, Stiles undid his pants. He shucked them down to the ground, along with his boxers—already hard and dripping fat pearls of pre-cum.

The mattress dipped slightly at the bottom edge when Stiles knelt down onto it and crawled on top, tiger-crawling his way up to where he could actually get his mouth properly leveled with Jackson and Danny’s hardened cocks. He took Danny into one of his hand’s first, leaning forward to take the eager goalie into the drooling heat of his mouth. But he was almost instantly interrupted by Jackson, who sipped his fingers into Stiles’ soft hair, and tugged him away from Danny.

“Hey, I’m the generous one, Stilinski.” Jackson said, tugging Stiles’ mouth down towards his cock. “Show me you appreciate it first.”

Stiles sighed, laughing to himself about how eager Jackson really was, all while trying to maintain his rough and tough arrogant exterior. He wrapped his fingers around Jackson’s cock, letting the beta’s heat scorch and pulsate rapidly against the palm of his hand. Stiles gave Jackson a few strokes, thumbing gently at the leaking slit of the jock’s dick. Stiles clearly had the power in the situation, despite whatever Jackson wanted to believe. And deep down, it was clear that Jackson knew he was at Stiles’ mercy for the moment.

“Okay, Jacks…before I get started, I gotta ask you something. It’s serious, I swear.” Stiles said, giving Jackson a few more languid strokes.

“What?”

“Are you sure you need me to get you off—?” Stiles drew his thumb into his mouth, savoring the saltiness of Jackson’s pre-cum. “—cause, I mean—the whole ‘cocky jock-itude’ you’re batting around with seems like it’s kinda doing a good enough job for you already.”

“Oh, go back to your own room and fuck yourself, Sti—mmhrumf.” Jackson groaned, losing his train of thought to the feeling of Stiles deciding to take the fat head of Jackson’s cock into his mouth.

Jackson eased into the feeling of Stiles’ tongue wrapping around his cock. He slipped his fingers into the human’s hair, carefully guiding Stiles’ movement. Although, he applied barely any instructive pressure, allowing for Stiles to take his own liberties in regards to the speed and technique. It didn’t necessarily bother Jackson, because Stiles obviously knew what he was doing. He was undoubtedly skilled, much to his surprise. Jackson hadn’t truly believed Danny when he vouched for his cocksucking talents.

Stiles smirked the best that he could whilst he started to suck Jackson off, satisfied with himself for being able to literally stop Jackson mid-threat with a simple swipe of the tongue. He kept the weight of Jackson’s cock in his mouth, enthusiastically lapping around the beta’s throbbing shaft and leaking head. He kept the bobbing motion to a minimum, occasionally deepthroating Jackson’s dick and holding it inside of his throat for a moment. Stiles hummed with snorted laughter every time he did it, finding the sound of Jackson quickly sucking in a breath of air to be funny.

Occasionally, Stiles his mouth off of Jackson’s cock, spitting down onto the shaft and giving it a few strokes to vary up the sensation. As he jerked Jackson’s slicked up cock, Stiles bent down even further to devote some time and attention to the stud’s balls. The response from Jackson was a resounding moan and demand for more. Naturally, Stiles obliged—drawing immense pleasure from Jackson’s own satisfaction.

Stiles pulled his mouth away from where they were sucking at Jackson’s balls, smiling up to where Jackson was red in the face, completely entranced by the feeling of getting his cock sucked. Stiles then turned his attention back over to where he had originally tried to focus his attention, taking the head of Danny’s cock into his mouth. All the while, Stiles kept both of his hands around each of the two’s sizable girths, making sure that neither of the two were ever left without some kind of stimulation.

“See, I told you he was good at this.” Danny slurred, looking over to where Jackson sat beside him. “I think he’s a natural.”

“Either that or he’s practiced a shitload.” Jackson suggested. “Which one is it, Stilinski?

“Both.” Stiles mumbled, momentarily pulling off of Danny’s dick.

“Yeah, I fucking bet.” Jackson pinched at his own nipples, easily slipping under the feeling of Stiles’ hand gripped firmly around his dick. “I bet McCall’s taken that mouth for a few lessons, huh? After lacrosse practice, maybe? All those times you couldn’t get in with Danny and me, Scott let you fool around with his cock, huh?”

Stiles laughed, pulling off of Danny for the second time. “You’ve got it so wrong, dude.”

“How’s that?”

“Scott’s a puppy.” Stiles admitted, switching his focus back over to Jackson’s cock. “He’s basically still getting used to the fact that I’ll suck cock and ride dick all day long if I’m in the mood for it. And he’s definitely still getting used to letting his best friend suck him off.”

“That’s a shame.” Jackson scoffed, gripping the back of Stiles’ head. This time, he was determined to control Stiles’ cocksucking. “He still hasn’t learned to take advantage of the shit that drops into his lap—literally.”

Jackson shoved Stiles down onto his cock, shoving in as much of his length as he could manage until he heard the human choke with a wet gargle. He pulled Stiles off for a moment, letting Stiles catch his breath, but then took the boy back down with swiftness. He set the pace quicker, drinking in the delicious sounds of Stiles’ throat struggling to take such a length down his throat. But the heat of Stiles’ throat was addictive, Jackson could barely contain himself.

“Don’t fucking break him, Jacks.” Danny cried out, tugging Stiles into his lap. “—I still want my turn.”

“Fucking fine, but don’t fuck out all of his energy. I’m going to be pissed if he ends up passing out or some shit before he gets to make me blow.”

Danny was even rougher and his cock was bigger than Jackson’s, but by only an inch and a half. He clasped one of his hands on the back of Stiles’ neck, bringing the boy over to where his shiny, spit-slicked cock stood prominently—waiting for a nice throat to close around it. Danny leveled Stiles’ precious lips above the head of his cock and then thrust his hips upward, taking Stiles by surprise. But Stiles adjusted just as quickly as he could manage, swallowing down Danny’s length.

“That’s right—take that cock.” Danny cooed. “Come on, you’ve down this before. Don’t bitch out on us now, dude. We’ve both got some nice loads to feed you, but only if you work for it.”

Stiles cooed in acknowledgement around where Danny was stuffed down his throat. He kicked up the energy and started to furiously bob his head up and down off of Danny’s cock—gagging and coughing, sometimes chuffing out a delirious, snorted laugh before he was hooked back down. Tears stung his eyes and poured down his flushed cheeks, but none of that deterred Stiles from continuing on. Danny tasted great, so did Jackson. And both of them had big loads to spurt—Stiles was sure of it.

Losing track of time became something easy to do. Jackson and Danny passed Stiles’ mouth between the two of them for what felt like hours and hours, despite the fact that it was only a good twenty minutes or so. Stiles’ voice was scratchy and hoarse whenever he spoke and answered the dirty questions that were asked of him. He never once let his enthusiasm waver. Stiles’ mouth stayed wet and sloppy, actually dripping with saliva and pre-cum. Meanwhile, Stiles’ cupid-bowed lips were red and plump from all of the abuse.

It was obvious that Jackson was going to be the one to cum first. He couldn’t really hide it. Even as Stiles was getting his throat dominated by Danny’s massive length, Stiles took immediate notice to how antsy Jackson had become. He could hear Jackson’s breathing kick up and become just a tad bit raspier than it had been for the previous thirty minutes. Not only that, but Jackson’s body hair was standing up on edge, his skin broke out in a muggy sweat, and he was desperately trying to hide his elongated wolf claws underneath the blankets—out of Danny’s field of vision.  

“I—I’m gonna—fuck, bring your mouth over here, Stilinski.” Jackson managed, pawing helplessly at Stiles’ sweaty hair.

Stiles pulled himself off from where he was deepthroating Danny with a lewd pop, following Jackson’s wailed demands. He held his mouth open and let the weight of Jackson’s bare cock rest at the tip of his tongue. At the same time, Jackson took his own cock into his hand and hurriedly jerked himself off—huffing and puffing, staring down to where Stiles was patiently waiting in his lap to swallow his load.

With a shout, Jackson blew his load—spewing hot onto Stiles’ tongue, surging thick pulses of seed. Some of the spurts were so powerful that they overshot Stiles’ open mouth and creamed the boy’s upper lip and nose. Jackson just watched in bewilderment, unable to pull his eyes away from where his unyielding load quickly filled Stiles’ mouth, nearly overflowing. But then as Jackson’s orgasm waned, Stiles closed his mouth and gulped down everything that Jackson had given.

“Fuck yeah.” Jackson groaned, combing his hand through Stiles’ hair. “Swallow everything.”

“Come here, Stiles—you still have a load to take.” Danny said, pulling Stiles back over to his cock.

Danny cupped both of his hands at the sides of Stiles’ head, shoving his fat cock back down Stiles’ throat. Without mercy, Danny began to skullfuck the boy—even going as far as to add his own thrusts into the movement. Each time that he pulled Stiles down onto his cock, Danny stuffed it down to the hilt—letting the boy’s cum-covered button nose root itself in the soft curls of hair at Danny’s crotch. He repeatedly pulled Stiles off and on of his dick, never once letting his rhythm falter—not even letting Stiles guess as to when the load was coming.

Without warning, Stiles felt heat blast harshly against the back of his throat. His mouth sputtered around where his lips were wrapped around Danny’s girth. And as Danny held his head in place, Stiles worked his throat and swallowed down the pumps of fresh cum that shot down his throat as they arrived in rhythmic bursts—happily humming at the taste and heat that oozed heavily down his tired throat.

Even when Danny finished blowing his load, Stiles kept the goalie cock inside of his mouth, sucking down the still-erect rod. Stiles suckled at the sensitive head of Danny’s cock, grinding his own hardness down into the mattress that he was laid down on. Stiles kept his eyes closed and let himself get lost to the feeling of Danny inside of his mouth—chasing the waning taste of cum and wrapping his tongue around Danny’s heat.

Stiles eventually ground his dick harder into the mattress below—once, twice, three times more, slowly and mindlessly, until he felt a powerful shock pierce through his own exhausted body. He blew his own load, feeling it spurt wildly underneath where his stomach and crotch were pressed down into the shitty mattress bedspread. He pulled his mouth off of Danny’s dick and let his face fall into Danny’s inner thigh—panting out against the boy’s skin as he let his orgasm wash over him completely.

“Well, shit.” Jackson said, wiping sweat away from his upper brow. “Did you really have to jizz-up our bed, Stilinski?”

“Oh fuck off.” Stiles said breathless, void of any real energy.

After a few minute of collecting his energy and tiredly bickering with Jackson, Stiles finally sat up from where he was laid out. He leaned forward and took a particularly sloppy kiss from Danny, then turned to Jackson and punched him in the shoulder—thanking the both of them for giving his throat a much needed work out. He scooted off the edge of the bed and clothed his bottom half, but decided to use his shirt as a rag to wipe down his spent cum that had stained across the bed.

“So how about that, fucker?” Stiles jeered jokingly, thrusting his hips in the air in Jackson’s direction. “Maybe now you’ll let me join you two in the showers after lacrosse wins.”

Jackson scoffed, thumbing at where a tiny smile began to tug at the corner of his lips. “Don’t get your hopes up, cocksucker…we’ll see.”

+

When Stiles finally returned to his own room, he slammed his weight into the door—forcing the rusted hinges to actually move. The door flew open and Stiles fell down to the ground with a loud groan of discomfort. Once he reclaimed a standing position, he shut the door and looked over to where Scott was sitting in his bed—obviously naked, with the bedsheets pulled over where he was hard, in order to retain some modesty.

“Whatcha doing in here, Scotty?” Stiles asked, already knowing the answer. He bit down on his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the laugh that started to tickle his throat.

Scott looked mortified, babbling and stuttering over his own words. “I was just—you were—holy fuck, I heard everything. You didn’t stop. You just kept going.”

“I figured you might have been listening.” Stiles snorted, shrugging his shoulders as he made his way to the bathroom to run himself a bath. “Don’t blame me, though. I’m pretty sure the motel made me do it.”

[adrianfridge]

If Teen Wolf were made for me, and the characters had to be monogamously paired off, here’s how my show would look...

Buut, disclaimer first: shipping is not a zero sum game. I can love a ship that’s different from your ship, and both ships are still valid. In fact, I may love the same ship as you, I’m just trying to prioritize my mountain of rare pairs lol...

Stiles/Jackson (Stackson)

my Stiles OTP

Both are shitheads with an inferiority complex (and, god, I love them anyway)

Stiles’s been obsessed with hating Jackson for longer than he’s been obsessed with loving Lydia and there’s a fine line between love and hate

Stiles would put Jackson in his place and Stiles’s super possessive nature would work with Jackson’s submissive nature

Jackson would totally help Stiles overcome his self-image as “fragile human”

Scott/Isaac (Scisaac)

my Scott OTP

Both have deep sense of loyalty and obligation

They’d empathize with one another’s abusive father history

Scott’s even temper would help Isaac get out of his prickly shell

Isaac would move mountains for Scott

Kira/Malia (Malira)

my Kira OTP

Both have a naivety to them that’s in stark contrast to their actual intelligence and intuition

Kira’s the sweet and bubbly girl who’d keep Malia optimistic

Malia’s the rough and blunt girl who’d keep Kira practical

Lydia/Allison (Allydia)

Both are incredibly capable yet constantly underestimated

Lydia’s super confident while Allison is super down-to-earth

Allison would shut down Lydia’s condescending remarks and help her become a more genuine version of herself

Lydia would shut down Allison’s insecurities and help her reach her ambitions

Derek/Braeden (Draeden)

Both are survivors

Braeden’s upfront honesty teaches Derek how to trust

Derek’s ability to dote teaches Braeden not everything’s a job

Erica/Boyd (Berica)

Both are former outcasts

Erica’s charisma and in-your-face attitude balances Boyd’s quiet contemplation and having-your-back presence

Erica gets a solid rock while Boyd gets constant entertainment

Liam/Brett (Briam)

Both grudgingly have affection for one another

Brett makes Liam confront his inner demons, and although it comes off as assholeish, Liam sees Brett deeply cares about his well being

Liam would be great at giving Brett a reality check

Peter/Jennifer (Pennifer?)

Both went on homicidal vengeance spree which involved dying and coming back to lie as well as manipulating the emotions of the people around them, particularly Derek

They’d make a great team going up against Gerard and the hunters

Gives extra meaning to power couple

Danny/Theo (Mahealaeken?)

Talk about pairing the spares... but both are adept at keeping big secrets and also making themselves be well-liked

Danny has a history of crushing on bad guys (Matt and Ethan) and shrugging off arrogance (Jackson) and he’d probably have a soft spot for Theo after Theo comes back from hell

Theo wants an in with Scott and, if Danny didn’t conspicuously stop existing, he’d be an integral part of the pack and also smart enough to see through Theo, which is why Theo would have to try extra hard to convince him

Anyway, this is just me musing on an AU of Teen Wolf. If I really had my way, I’d use polyamorous ships such as Sterekson and Alliscisaac, but I’d totally take a mainstream show with this many queer ships.

[auburnfamilynews]

Photo by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images

An Auburn tight end has not had over 200 yards receiving since Phillip Lutzenkirchen in 2011. Will that change in this season?

It’s been a tight end heavy past few days here at College&Magnolia. Last Monday, 3-star tight end Landen King committed to the Tigers. On Wednesday, I explored why Auburn has suddenly prioritized signing tight ends. Today, it all culminates in a simple question for the 2020 season. Can a single Auburn tight end produce 250+ receiving yards?

At first glance, it seems almost impossible. CJ Uzomah, arguably Gus Malzahn’s best tight end on the Plains, had a career best 154 yards in 2013. Phillip Lutzenkirchen is the last Auburn tight end to cross the 200 yards receiving mark doing so in 2011. But even he didn’t reach 250. So how is there even a debate?

Well a quick review of tight end production under Chad Morris suddenly makes this a much more intriguing question.

Four tight end have crossed the 250 yard receiving mark under Chad Morris. Two more came just yards short of doing so as well. All but two put up better years than Uzomah’s career best in 2013. Put simply, expect more tight end usage in the near future.

But how far away is that future?. Thankfully, your brilliant C&M contributors are on the case to provide their insight on today’s topic. Over/under 250 receiving yards for a single Auburn tight end this fall.

AUNerd

I am as a bullish on this Auburn passing offense as any member of the AU internet but even my homerism has limits. While I fully expect the tight end to become much more involved in Auburn’s passing attack, I am skeptical we see a huge jump in production this fall. The Tigers returns their three leading receivers from last season. They also have a loaded backfield with playmakers that can make an impact in the passing game as well. I am also not certain Auburn has a “guy” at this position just yet and expect tight end receiving production to be spread out over 2-3 players. I am taking the under pretty confidently.

Verdict: Under

Ryan Sterritt

I’m definitely on board for Auburn using the tight end more this season, and with Auburn’s recent recruiting at the position, it’s clear the position has become a priority. Auburn has signed four TE/H-back’s in the last two seasons (Luke Deal, Tyler Fromm, JJ Pegues, Brandon Frazier), plus taking Jay Jay Wilson as a transfer and going heavy in the tight end market in 2021.

All of this to say, it would be a huge disappointment if Auburn didn’t use the position in the passing game with Chad Morris calling the shots. To go along with the players mentioned at the top, CJ O’Grady led Arkansas in receptions each of Morris’s two years in Fayetteville. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that YES, a tight end will get to 250 yards for Auburn this year. I’m not brave enough to guess who it might be, though.

Verdict: Over

James Jones

Historically, Auburn’s numbers from tight ends are horrendous. The only TE that appears anywhere respectable in the career stats is Philip Lutzenkirchen for touchdown receptions. Auburn has put plenty of TEs into the League (Ed West, Walter Reeves, Fred Baxter, CJ Uzomah), but none of them really tore it up at Auburn.

That changes in 2020. The play-caller obviously values the position, and I think John Samuel Shenker has already proved himself to be a valuable red zone target. I think he just barely breaks the 250-yard barrier, but I’ll go out on a limb and say he finishes second on the team in receiving touchdowns.

Verdict: Over

Zac Blackerby

Auburn fans have been screaming “Throw it to the tight end!” since I was a little kid going to Auburn games with my dad. Fast forward to today, they’re still doing it. It looks like Auburn's coaching staff is going out of its own way to show the Auburn fan base that it means business when it comes to throwing to the tight end in 2020 and beyond but I don’t see one guy stepping up at the position.

It seems to good to be true for Auburn to field a tight end to get over 250 yards through the air. If they have one in 2020, John Samuel Shenker is the best bet. Gus Malzahn put Shenker on the field last year and loved his ability to block down field. That mindset will get him opportunities due to being on the field more but I don’t think he will make that big of a splash in the passing game to cross the 250-yard threshold.

Verdict: Under

Jack Condon

The work was done above, Chad Morris has had a pretty good track record of getting the tight end involved in the passing game. I think one of my lasting memories of a Morris-led offense is Dwayne Allen and Tajh Boyd connecting 7 times for 80 yards and a touchdown in the 2011 Auburn-Clemson matchup. Perhaps that’s skewing my perception of this question, but it leads me to hit the Over button on this poll.

On the other hand, Auburn and tight ends don’t really go well together lately. Aside from the occasional safety valve or the complete change of pace play, we haven’t used them. In a handful of memorable plays, even the good gains weren’t as great as they could’ve been. Phillip Lutzenkirchen fell down on his way to a sure touchdown in Glendale, and I can’t get Cooper Wallace flat out fumbling a ball on his way into the end zone back in the early 2000s. However, it’s changing this year. I think we’re going to see John Samuel Shenker make an impact as a versatile player with his blocking skills leading to a much more open alley for him to be Bo Nix’s guy in the middle of the field.

Verdict: Over

Will McLaughlin

You guys have heard that Auburn is the new TE U, haven’t you??” With the passing attack opening up this year and Chad Morris recruiting several Tight Ends, I think we will see a rise in TE production this season and I think 250 yards is doable.

Verdict: Over

Some optimism amongst the C&M braintrust that 2020 shall be the “Year of the Tight End”. Now we pose the question to the wise members of this community. Tell us, are you taking the over or the under in regards to an Auburn tight end eclipsing 250 receiving yards this fall?

War Eagle!

from College and Magnolia - All Posts https://www.collegeandmagnolia.com/2020/6/22/21298857/c-m-roundtable-over-under-250-receiving-yards-for-a-single-auburn-tight-end-this-fall

[princeescaluswords]

So, they think Scott’s certainty that Derek did ANOTHER horrible thing, after all he had already done, to Scott in particular, is Scott.... framing Derek? The inability to read a scene is astounding.

Can we talk like serious adults for a moment?

No, not you.

These people didn’t start out believing this stuff.  No one watched Teen Wolf and thought that Scott McCall was as bad as Peter Hale, Gerard Argent, Deucalion, or Theo Raeken.  They had to have understood, at least on some level, that Scott wasn’t going to be the perfect True Alpha in episode three and if he had been, it would have been bad storytelling.

They had to have some degree of empathy.  If someone, no matter how good looking, had broken into their house, threw them up against the wall, and threatened to kill them unless they did exactly what Angry Handsome White Werewolf said, they wouldn’t have decided that he was only trying to help and did what was requested of them.  They would have called the sheriff, the police department, the FBI, the NSA, and the National Guard.   If someone put a gun to their significant other’s forehead and ordered them to grab another victim by the throat yet cause no further physical harm, they would have done it without hesitation, rape victim or not.

Their perspective changes to suit their agenda.  They hate Season 1 Scott because he (and Stiles) jumped to the conclusion that Derek Hale was a murderer and called the police because Scott discovered that, as the only werewolf Scott (and Stiles) knew about (because Derek hadn’t told him about the alpha yet), he had buried half of a murder victim with, whose lower half was covered bite marks, in his yard.  This, supposedly, is ‘framing.’  However, they hate Season 5 Scott because he won’t hold Theo Raeken as a suspect (suspect of what we don’t know because “no one’s done anything wrong”) on the strength of Theo Raeken’s father’s signature which changed over eight years and totally-human Handwriting-Expert Stiles doesn’t like him, the way he didn’t like Derek, doesn’t like Peter, suspected Deaton, suspected Kira, and suspected Liam.  They don’t see a contradiction in these conclusions.

Oh, I’m sure that some of them have drunk so much of this Jonestown Kool-aid that they now literally believe the Scott is a Moronic Evil Mastermind Tyrant and Sinister Deaton, the Villain Who Never Hurt Anyone and Never Profited from the Non-Existent Evil Things that He Performed Off-screen of Which No One Had Any Evidence Ever.   There is a core group that have internalized this alternate narrative, and no amount of pointing out the inconsistencies and inanities of their  position is going to change their minds.  They have too much invested at this point, but what are they invested in?

They are providing cover.

The vast majority of fandom don’t think that Scott or Deaton were evil.  They just don’t like that the narrative focus of the show was on a Latino and not a white person.  They look at Season 1 Derek, sad and lonely, and feel sympathy for the tragedy that’s befallen him, all the while looking at Season 1 Scott, crying while his body shifts in the bathtub into something not human, quaking with fear as an alpha crawls up on top of him and mind controls him into killing his friends, having a panic attack because his life is slowly crumbling around him, being corned in a locker room by two adult werewolves and mentally violated, coughing up black blood as he dies alone in a forest, screaming in denial after the girl he’s fallen in love with looked at him like a monster, and staring, wide eyed and unbelieving, as a treacherous power-mad liar takes the only chance of him becoming human again away from him, and the fandom says “So what? When are we going to go back to the white characters?”

They don’t like minority characters, especially those who didn’t prioritize their favorite white characters.  Scott didn’t constantly listen to (read: Obey) always-right Stiles or meant-well Derek.  Deaton wasn’t sympathetic to Peter, was disdainful of Derek’s choices, and was unaware that he was supposed to be Super-Duper-Archmage-to-be Stiles’s magical mentor.   That’s why Deaton is somehow secretly evil and Scott is selfish and oblivious.  They didn’t kiss enough white ass.

You see, they don’t talk about Danny, Boyd, or Mason being secretly evil monsters and there’s a very good reason why.  Danny never stopped supporting Jackson no matter how badly Jackson treated him and stayed in his lane during Jackson’s arc, unlike Scott who actually opposed white people’s bad behavior.  Except for that one slip-up, Boyd faithfully followed Derek’s sub-par leadership until it killed him, saving his last words to talk about how much Derek misleading him and using him as a child soldier was worth it.   Mason was a human excuse-machine for Liam, always there to give Liam someone who believes in him even after he beat a friend of his to the point of death.  You might notice that fandom never pushes Mason to have his own development the way they did for Stiles.  Can you see the pattern?  I can.

What about Braeden?  Who’s Braeden?  Oh, you mean that black woman who, for most of the fandom, is only supposed to herald Derek’s return, like the first robin of Spring.   If she had her own wants and needs, fandom can’t remember them.

In much the same way that alt-right neo-Nazis provide cover for the majority of racist white political behavior, these extremists provide cover for the rest of the fandom.  It’s their distracting positions, such as Scott was somehow the Anakin Skywalker of Teen Wolf, which allows the rest of fandom to say things like “I don’t hate Scott, but ... I don’t like how his narrative was more important than literally any other white character; I will make fun of his morality, his pain, his wants, and his heroism; or I will create content that reduces him to a loyal follower, an emotional-support animal, or a minor obstacle.”  It allows the fandom to portray Deaton as evil and selfish simply because he’s black.

They’re the tip of the spear.  If you’re concerned by racism in fandom, you have to spend time and effort diffusing these extremists positions before you can actually grapple with a fandom that can’t seem to find any value in a character who isn’t white.  

[asterekmess]

1/7 I’m actually a fan of the idea behind Scott and Stiles’ friendship and the story Scott told. Scott and Stiles worked together well when they first started in Season 1, because they were obviously complementary. I even liked how Stiles was able to shrug off Scott’s jealousy and possessiveness and kept putting up with Scott despite Scott treating him like trash (“I just made first line! I got a date with a girl who I can’t believe wants to go out with me, and everything in my life is perfect!

2/7 Why are you trying to ruin it?!”) and ditching him for the popular crowd as soon as he could. It wasn't a perfect friendship, but it worked well enough. The problem, of course, is that through the course of the show, Stiles grew up and Scott didn't. Stiles would lock himself up and sacrifice his own life to save everyone else’s (that’s literally the theme of Teen Wolf Season 3B). Meanwhile, Scott would gladly sacrifice other people’s life to save his own and to keep his true alpha title

3/7 (Scott begging others to do his dirty work for him is literally the theme of Teen Wolf Season 6A&B.) Stiles focused on responsibility and building relationships with other people, while Scott took them for granted; it bugged me how many times Scott would treat people as friends that he could make demands of just because he said so (Stiles, Lydia, Boyd, Danny, Kira) and then abused other people’s patience (Derek, Chris, Isaac, Allison, Malia, Liam.) Scott boasted about being a true alpha and

4/7 smarted off to his enemies because he knew that his friends would have his back. Until the last, for Scott McCall, it was always someone else's fault when Scott McCall fucked up. There's nothing more annoying to me than Pissbaby Scott Getting Pissy in the club in Rave because Allison had the nerve to prioritize saving Jackson’s life over Scott’s jealous fits and temper tantrums.

5/7 There's nothing more pointless than Scott lying about Kira’s fox to control her and then playing up his shitty little chest wound that had long healed just to convince his friends not to abandon him again. Scott was so tone deaf to other people’s pain, traumas and history that it seemed like he was obsessed with minimizing what they had gone through and making it ALL about himself instead. And even that wouldn't have bothered me if they had allowed Scott’s friends to say "Quit it, Scott.

6/7 You're 18, not 8." If they had allowed Stiles to get angry with Scott without portraying it as a crime, or Derek to beat the ever living crap out of Scott for violating and dehumanizing him, or Isaac to clap back when Scott abused him in front of Melissa, or Kira and Allison to shout at Scott when he lied to them. But the production didn't. The show basically said that "Stiles is a hero and a good friend because he lets Scott use him and gaslight him to his heart’s content and doesn't leave.

7/7 The show basically said "Allison loved being yelled at and stalked around so much, she started dating Scott." The show basically said “Derek realized that Scott violated and dehumanized him for his own good, so he doesn’t have to hold it against him.” The show basically said “Isaac accepted being hit and abused by Scott because he deserved it for looking at Scott’s woman.” It didn’t have to be toxic, but it ended up being that way.

A lot of my issues come around to the writing of the show. I honestly believe that we’re a little spoiled in our fandom world. There are so many fics with so much depth. So many writers that put so much effort into making proper foils and character arcs. They wait and wait and wait, revising until they know they’ve got the fic exactly how they want it, and then they post it.

Writing a tv show doesn’t really allow for that. Sure, they write a script and it gets looked over a few times, but there’s no time to stew in it. To consider how that episode’s script and plans interact with previous episodes, to consider how it will effect future episodes and the direction they should go in. The time is crunched, there’s a couple read-throughs and then you get those actors in front of the camera and go. I get it. I hate it, but i get it. My frustration came in my expectations of the forethought that I believe would’ve gone into the show before it ever came out. BEFORE it gets a pilot or green-lit, or whatever the terminology for that is (I’m a stage actor, not a tv actor), it was my assumption, that there would be so much thought out. If I’m working on a series of fics, I have at least a basic plotline for every volume. If I’m writing a 100k fic, I make an outline and I decide on the general plot and then? Then I decide what the character development/arcs will be. Taking a writing class, you get told constantly to think about how the characters should change from beginning to end. You get told to consider turning points in the story. You need to have a concrete understanding of each character’s personality, backstory, behavior, and have a PLAN for what to do with each other them and how you intend for them to grow (be it good or bad)

So when I went to watch this show the first time, I was totally caught up in YEs werewolves! Yes full moons! Yes, fangs and claws and superstrength! YEs even the human gets to do fun stuff! But that excitement quickly faded, because the foundation I thought I was seeing, wasn’t actually there. I saw Scott attacking people and yelling at his friend for trying to help. I saw Derek threatening people and clawing Jackson. I saw Jackson and Lydia being stuck-up and that stereotypical ‘popular’ kind of pompous and cruel. I saw Stiles being vicious and impulsive. Allison showed up as this...perfect person? I saw it and I thought that was the point. That they would all learn and grown and depend on each other and that this show about werewolves that spent so much of Season 1 talking about ‘pack’ would turn these people into a pack. That they would call each other out for their various issues and everyone would grow. That Allison would seem like this beacon of goodness, until she revealed a deep character flaw that she would have to work on like everyone else. And then we got to the second season, and it all just went sideways. Derek just got meaner and Erica and Isaac both joined while being just as mean. Boyd seemed like a decent dude, that voice of reason. And then he was barely there. Stiles kept hitting on Lydia and wouldn’t stop. Scott was awful to Allison. It all got worse and they were suddenly split into Sides. Derek and the other Hales that popped up were never actually a part of Scott’s pack/group. They were always on the outside, even after Derek just sort of...gave in and said Scott was in charge now? It was frustrating and confusing, watching bits of their personalities flip-flop all over the place to suit a plot that felt like it was just trying to cater to the audience, without having any actual backbone of plot. If you write something JUST for other people, it’ll never have integrity. The growth of these characters was constantly either completely skipped (characters going from bad to good in an instant), cut off at its ankles (killed off or sent away), nonsensical (Derek had to lose all his powers to become a full-shift wolf, and that somehow had an effect on his personality??), or it never happened (Scott. And, to some extent? Stiles.)

I find that I have the most fun in this fandom when I take canon and use it as a sort of malleable clay to play with and make my own worlds out of. I get to keep my favorite characters around (Boyd, Erica, and Isaac, and even Jackson sometimes), get rid of characters I don’t like (Ethan and Aiden, usually Jennifer and Gerard, and sometimes Scott), and toss what I’ve got into an au or a canon-divergence and see what they do. I mean, that’s basically what all fandom is, but for this one, it’s a bit like SPN. I refuse to acknowledge anything that happened in SPN after like...season 6 or something. I haven’t even seen past s8 (just like in TW i haven’t seen past S4) and it doesn’t matter. i mold the tv show to make whatever I want.

Canon gave me some good ideas, but I don’t like to stick to it too strictly in my own creative works.

I’m sorry that canon let you down, but fanfic will always be here for you.

[princeescaluswords]

I love when Sterek or Steter fandom come at us with claims of having such and such devastating evidence of our heinous crimes (on anon no less) and then.... never produce it. They're so pathetic and cowardly, hoping they can unnerve us like cyber bullies stuck in 2014. But that is their MO, claiming things with no proof and lying about it

I love it as well, but to be quite honest, those aren’t the people I’m worried about.  The weaknesses in the positions of the Sterek and Steter extremists are obvious to the casual observer.   I feel that they are motivated by lust, decadence, and the temptation of the forbidden.  If I may be so bold, not a single one of them would find life in a world run according to the philosophies of Peter Hale pleasant or even endurable.  If any of them were treated by someone the way Derek Hale treats Scott McCall in the first two seasons of the show, they would be on the phone to the police immediately.   If someone threw them up against the wall and spoke to them the way Derek did to Stiles, they wouldn’t call it banter, they’d call it abuse.  If they had a sibling who behaved like Stiles, they’d be on Reddit complaining about him.

The weakness of their position is revealed in their arguments.  They know the production determined that Scott would be the hero protagonist and a glance at his actions and behavior shows this to be irrefutable.   So, they fixate on his flaws and missteps -- included in the story to demonstrate the growth of the character and to prevent him from being a Mary Sue -- and try to use those to delegitimize his role.  Racism is extraordinarily handy in this pursuit, but it often fails when confronted by people who feel the same as I do.  They do not like this at all.

Their tactics, as a consequence, grow shrill.  They’ll fill people’s anonymous inboxes with aggressive and repetitive accusations while simultaneously accusing people of harassment.   I know what harassment is, and it’s not  responding to a post with commentary on an Internet platform designed to encourage people to respond with commentary.  They’ll dox, threatening people  with exposure of their identities (I know this because they’ve done it to me  -- I’ve never been threatened with someone linking to my Facebook page before.  It’s enlightening, but unfortunately for them, I seldom say something I regret, and when I do make a mistake, I like being corrected).  They’ll claim receipts whose efficacy vanishes like a vampire at brunch when those receipts’ full context is known.  And they always have funny gifs. 

No, those aren’t the people that concern me.  They’re annoying and sometimes enraging, but their greatest crime is the cover they give the more casual and seemingly harmless racism of the vast majority of fans.  

You see, racism in the Teen Wolf fandom seldom takes the form of ugly attacks against the main character (or his girlfriend Kira, or his mentor Deaton, or his pack member Mason, or his ally Braeden, or his ally Boyd, or his acquaintance Danny, or his girlfriend’s family.  The exception to this is the villain Monroe, the attacks against are usually incoherent misogyny).    Racism in the fandom usually takes the form of benign neglect or obtuse manipulation, such as:

Every time a fan portrays Gerard forcing Scott to force Derek to bite him in Master Plan as the worst thing that happens on the show while ignoring the action’s context, including the fact that Gerard had Jackson’s claws to Allison’s throat and Scott believed that doing so would save Derek’s life, yet at the same time explaining every shitty thing Derek did to Scott in Season 1 and 2 (stalking, violence, manipulation, lies, and betrayal) was ‘for Scott’s own good’, while with the same breath pretending that Stiles wouldn’t congratulate Scott on outwitting both Gerard and Derek.  

Every time a fan suggests Scott is a bad friend because he doesn’t prioritize the treatment of Stiles’s low self-esteem -- a situation they exaggerate to an uncomfortable degree -- over not becoming Peter’s murder beta or stopping the Argent/Hale feud or protecting people from the Alpha Pack.  They present it as Scott spending all his time with Allison (or, weirdly enough, with Isaac) when in fact Scott spends most of his time fighting villains who are older, stronger, and more knowledgeable than he is.  Yes, Scott chooses to save lives rather than make Stiles feel special, and to them, that’s disqualifying.  They consider this Scott failing in the duties of friendship, but neglect the suggestion that Stiles’s vicarious use of Scott’s lycanthropy to augment his self-esteem isn’t a violation of those same duties.

Every time a fan repeats the mantra “Stiles is always right,” when it is ludicrously easy to show that Stiles is the farthest thing from ‘always right’ there is, because they’re not really saying that he never makes a mistake.  Their implied meaning is that Stiles should be the one making the decisions but always without the commensurate responsibilities, a ‘power behind the throne.’   These are the same people who glorify Stiles’s darker nature and trumpet his insecurities, yet still think that he should be in charge. 

Every time a fan tries to make Liam Dunbar’s anchor Theo Raeken when we see repeated instances that Liam’s true anchor is Mason Hewitt.  Because Liam couldn’t focus his humanity in his best friend who stood by his side since the episode after his first appearance.  Nope, his anchor must be the man who inspired him to commit murder and manipulated him for thirty episodes.  

These statements have one thread in common -- a denial of the minority characters’s importance to the story.  How do I know this?  Because they don’t spend any time talking about how Derek betrayed Scott in Co-Captain.  Because they don’t spend any time talking about how Stiles demonstrated zero faith in Scott after A Novel Approach.   Because they ignore Scott’s success in turning enemies to allies, something Stiles never did.  Because they treat Scott anchoring in Allison as sexual obsession and a crime against Stiles’s relationship, but propose that Stiles shifting loyalty to Derek and Liam discarding Mason for Theo are desirable outcomes.  I do not feel the fact that the characters diminished in these fandom trends (as well as others) are minority characters is a coincidence.

[princeescaluswords]

The selective memory of fandom is astounding, I tell you. Glimpsed a fic "Stiles kicks Scott's ass for trying to hurt Peter" like did y'all forget everything he did to Scott? And ironically, it says "never under any circumstances try to hurt anyone Stiles loves".... y'all know that's Scott in canon, right? This also proves my point about pushed from the pack fics, if Stiles is oh so unhappy and frustrated and hates Scott's guts, why does he fucking STAY?!

My, you’ve pointed out a lot of fandom pathologies here.   They tend to overlap each other but what’s even worse, they tend to contradict each other.

For example, take the idea that Peter would be a better alpha.  What supposedly makes Peter a better alpha?  Because he’s only willing to stab his enemies in the back?  That’s he’s willing to employ humiliation and torture in revenge? That’s he willing to brutally kill not only the people who wronged him but innocent bystanders and even his own family to  achieve his goals.

And even when he’s not on a murderous rampage, what makes him a better alpha?  When does Peter ever do anything to make the packs he belongs to stronger?   When he manipulates Derek into asking Ennis to Bite Paige?  When he refuses to help rescue two of his pack mates because he’s too weak to be of use? (I’m sure that this is one of the reasons that Stiles canonically despises him).   When he tries to convince Derek to murder Boyd and Cora or to let them just kill a few innocent bystanders?   When he doesn’t show up for the mall fight?  When he manipulates Derek into giving up his alpha powers?  Where he murders the Mute for personal satisfaction?  What exactly are the glowing qualities that make him the better alpha?

The thing that always blows my mind when considering this is that if Scott emulated Peter the way people wanted him to, Peter would be dead.  Derek would be dead.  Stiles would be dead.   Each of those people were a threat to Scott and to Scott’s pack, and each of those people were in positions where Scott could have easily killed them.  It’s mind boggling.  The only thing that would make these people think that Scott was a good alpha would be something that would also make everyone hate him.  (Which is, of course, the point.)

But it was never really about Scott being a bad alpha.  It was about white prioritization.   They wanted the story to be about the Hale flops, so they have to somehow twist Scott into a worse alpha than Backstabbin’ Petey or Bad-Decision Derek.   As much as Bad Alpha Scott is about trying to shift the focus of Teen Wolf to the white characters, so is Bad Friend Scott about trying to shift the sympathy to white characters.   

Stiles loves Scott, even if that love manifests itself in possessive, intrusive ways.   But Scott’s returning love is not possessive.  They could write Stiles with Derek or Stiles with Peter, and they know that Scott, while he might have a problem with it, would never try to dictate who Stiles is friends with or especially whom he loves.  It’s not required.  Parts of the fandom not only twist Scott into a bad friend to reduce his influence on Stiles, but they also twist Stiles into a bad friend in order to remove Scott from the narrative completely.   Stiles in these stories never comes out to Scott and says “I think you’re wronging me” – which canon Stiles would absolutely do.  They have Stiles whine, and sulk, and sneak around, and they sometimes even go to the extremes of having him plan to hurt or even kill Scott.

What type of person would kill a former friend because they grew apart?  What type of person seeks revenge because their best friend wouldn’t do what they said about that best friend’s life?  

But you see, it’s never about Scott’s and Stiles’s friendship.  It’s about making sure the story is about the white people, because to them it should be.  How do I know that?  Many reasons.  One is that I’ve compared the number of Steter stories where Scott is turned into the Great Evil That Must Be Destroyed, even though he has hope for Peter, even though he spared Peter, but I’ve read only one or two stories where Derek’s behavior makes Peter or Stiles inclined to disavow him.  

[princeescaluswords]

Can we touch on how fandom deems Deaton ~shady~ for ~withholding~ information yet loves Peter for being a sly ~chess master~? Or how meta and fic will wholesale transfer Deaton's canon mentor and father figure role with Scott to Stiles? Because he's only acceptable when providing a service for white boys, in all their Spark!Magic!Stiles fic, he is written as his mentor

It comes from the expectation that as a Magic Negro, Deaton is meant to serve the white characters.   The idea that he could have a separate agenda from the Hales or Stiles and be uninterested in helping them is simply inconceivable.  Deaton was Talia’s Emissay, an ‘advisor to the pack’ in the words of the production.  The production makes clear that this is voluntary, and the characters are grateful for Deaton’s help.  He provides free access to his supernaturally-secure animal clinic, supernatural insight, and medical care.  In the show, Stiles – Stiles! – scolds Lydia during Currents “Could you just try it, please, okay? Let’s not forget who this is for… Scott’s boss, the guy who has saved our collective asses on more than one occasion.”

But to many parts of the fandom, that Deaton chooses when and how he helps is damning.  As a black man who provides special knowledge and assistance, to the fandom that means he must serve the white characters.  He must tell what they want to know when they want to know it, and he must never render judgment upon them.  He must know his place, and if he doesn’t know his place, he must be shady.  Or outright evil.

This comes from the same place as the rage at Scott for rejecting Derek’s demand that he join his pack (and to a lesser extent for rejecting Peter.)  Scott must be impulsive, obsessed with Allison, oblivious, if not outright stupid if he doesn’t listen to the Hales.   Parts of the fandom will call Derek a failwolf and then still scold Scott for not following him.  It comes from the same place as fandom scrambling to make Scott and Stiles co-parents to Liam, when the only thing that Stiles has done is mock the boy for his mental disorder and use Liam as a hound dog.  (Yeah, he did come up with a mantra in extremis – which the fandom will quote endlessly while ignoring Scott’s work with Liam.)

And you’ll notice that no one holds Peter’s agenda against him.  He demands payment for his assistance from Lydia and Derek.  The production lamp shades that “Peter only helps in order to manipulate you into giving him what he wants.”  But that’s fine.

This attitude is a manifestation of white privilege and white supremacy.  People are going to say I’m going overboard, but sometimes you can discern a pattern through repetition.  For instance, in addition to the denial of the show’s lampshading and the fact that they see Peter as superior in assistance, these people have not a single problem with Noah Stilinski abandoning his ethics as an officer of the law to protect his son and give him the love and support he needs, but it is the height of shadiness for Deaton to prioritize Scott over others, even though Stiles said “I know that Deaton’s been like a father to you.”   

What’s that saying about things coming in threes again?

Take the whole knot of meta surrounding the Tree Alpha hypothesis.  Remember as Season 03A played out and after, people like DarachMoon, AthenaDark, and their colleagues hypothesized that Deaton outright lied to Scott about the true alpha story (even though Deucalion believed it was true, Jennifer believed it was true, and Peter believed it was true.)  In their wonderful and not-at-all racist theory that Scott was the result of Deaton’s experiments with the Nemeton and/or that Deaton used the Nemeton to steal the Hale Spark for Scott (even though Scott was manifesting as an alpha long before Derek gave it up), using Scott’s supposed self-righteousness as a cover for his nefarious task for his mysterious ends.  (What those ends would be, they had no hypothesis because there was no indication of any nefarious ends in the show.)

There’s no motivation for Deaton’s actions given.  It doesn’t matter that if he was planning to steal the Hale spark for Scott, why would he possibly try to help Derek find Boyd and Erica by getting Isaac’s memories back.  All of their meta was predicated on the idea that he had to be shady because he didn’t put white people first.  Once you’ve established that the black person is a threat, there’s no limit to the amount of depravity you can pin on them.