#just that it came from Isaac

[justashamwithwastedpotential]

Isaac just called me a weird little creature trying their best

[harbingersecho]

READY AIM FIRE

[azure-clockwork]

How Does it Feel to Read Classic Sci-Fi?

Orson Scott Card: Two of the most interesting books you’ll ever read if you’re willing to look past a handful of things. And then you find the planet of Chinese people who worship having debilitating OCD. And the Mormonism. And the fact that the author is wildly homophobic and ought to read his own books.

Robert Heinlein (or at least the Wikipedia Summaries): I guess that’s a neat concept—oh, it’s a sex thing. Um. Gotcha.

Ray Bradbury: Man, I gotta read this thing for class huh. Well here’s hoping it’s good! *three hours later* oh. that’s why he’s famous. this will stick with me forever and I will never look at the phrase ‘soft rain’ the same again. christ. And then repeat 3x.

Isaac Asimov: Wow, this is such an interesting concept! I wonder how the exploration of it will influence the plot! Wait, hey, are you going to add any characters? Any of em? No like, with character traits other than ‘robot psychologist’ and ‘autistic’ and ‘woman’? None of em? No, ‘detective’ isn’t a character trait. Those are all just facts. Aaaand now I’m bored.

Ursula K. Le Guin: Hah, get a load of this guy! He’s never heard of nonbinary people before. Lol, what a riot; how dumb do you have to be to comprehend that these people aren’t men *or* women actually? Oh, wait, what’s happening. Oh shit, it was about society and love and learning to understand each other? And now I’m crying? And perhaps a better human being for it??

Andy Weir: Alright, this guy’s a really good writer. Funny, creative, knows so much engineering stuff…ooh, a new book! …I guess he can’t write women. Well, he wouldn’t be the first sci-fi writer…ooh another new book! And it’s more engineering problem solving and—wow. It’s not just women he can’t write. Please stop letting your characters talk to each other.

Lois Lowry: Oh, I remember this being fun when I was a kid! Wouldn’t it be fucked up to not see color? …upon reread, it would be fucked up to have your humanity stripped away, replaced with a tepid, beige ‘happiness’ for all time. Yeah.

Tamsyn Muir (let me have this ok): Haha, “lesbian necromancers in space” sounds fun. Lemme read this. Oh wow, yeah, this is right up my alley. OH GOD WHAT. NO. FUCK. OH SHIT WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING AND WHY IS IT REFERENCING THE BOOK OF RUTH AND HOMESTUCK BACK TO BACK!!! AHHHHHHHHH!! Now give me more please.

[weirdbabs]

this panel right here almost feels like it might as well have been a bright, neon sign flashing "HIJACK" pointed right at spender's head, which i only realized midway through chapter 1 in this readthru, 8 years after it was posted.

up until this panel, spender had only called max "max" 6 times (once in chapter 1, compared to 6 maxwell's which i think was a mistake, and 5 times in chapter 4, once because he was interrupted by max) preferring to call him maxwell (13 times! 10 after max had told him it's just "max"!). if he hadn't called him max 4 times on the ghost train, i feel like it wouldve been even more obvious in hindsight

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

oh no I’ve lost control of my life

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[sillyxaly]

Still trying to randomly get my creative juices out. I don't need to write a whole chapter, not even a whole scene. Breaking free from what I think I have to do to do it 'properly' helps a lot. So below the cut you find two of my oldest ocs drunk. Dont steal this or whatever because I love and adore them but also they are just drunk and nothing special happens.

"You were right.", Skylar giggled, voice crisp and clear in the form she had chosen for the night despite the alcohol tainting her cheeks with a blush. She was leaning forward slightly over the table, the long ears of her elven disguise drooping a little as swirled the wine in her glass. "I should not have gotten you drunk.", she added with a chuckle. That finally managed to draw some reply from Isaac, be it just slurred noises as his head lay on the table. A demon knocked out after one glass of wine. What a sight. "Did you really never drink before?", she took a sip of her own glass, Hazel eyes lingering on her companion. Isaac managed to raise his head a little and steady it in place via a palm on his own forehead. "Did not.", he started, words still slurred but not so much Skylar had to suspect he was speaking whatever language they spoke on the lower plane. She noticed her own dislike for calling it that. She would need to find a substitute when she was less drunk. "Probably against the rules." 

Now it was Skyler's head meeting the table as she groaned from the depths of her heart. "Your rules forbid all fun! You don't need any of those.", she knew she would fall on deaf ears, only the wine made her say it anyway. Isaac grasped at one of her golden locks and gave it a little pull. “Needed a lot. How can I expect-", with his free hand he gestured vaguely upwards at the ceiling. "Can't even follow the rules.", his head hit the table once again. Now both of their heads were on the table, slightly tilted so they could watch each other. Skylar pointedly ignored the continued tugging at her hair. The golden locks were far too pretty for Isaacs intoxicated mind not to grasp at them. Was it greed? Envy? What of the sins running through his veins would that be? "Drinking one glass of wine won't make you a bad person dumbass.", she righted her head and sighed the way dogs do when their spoiled lives are so incredibly hard. "You know I don't say it because you don't wanna hear it but the rules are dumb okay?" "They are not!", Isaac was promptly so offended his head shot up only to regret it in an instant. Skylar in turn, surprisingly quick-witted for a blessed moment, grew out wings and stretched one out to cushion his head as it fell back down. "Thanks...", was muffled by caramel colored feathers which definitely were softer than the wooden table. "Look... I don't want to offend you but if those rules tell you, you're bad they are dumb. You're a good kid." Isaac had by now closed his eyes, a good thing probably, the demon should sleep off the wine while they were left unbothered, Skylar had some doubts he would be any good at running or flying away. "I'm pretty sure older than you.”

[lususnatura]

" let's skip the formalities, shall we? " / from isaac ?

as it stood, remaining confident in the face of someone who clearly had it out for him was a skill that blamore was still developing. but that day, he felt with utmost certainty that if he really wanted to, he could quickly turn the tables on isaac — for the other was visibly carrying a gun on him and lord only knows what he might've planned to do with it. though, it wouldn't be wise for blamore to attack him only because the creature suspected isaac didn't have the best of intentions. so it simply decided to wait for the ball to drop.

that is, if there was to be one. it wasn't impossible that he was only there to try to gather information or something of the like. but the fact that the other set foot into blamore's safe-haven like he owned the place kind of rubbed him the wrong way. it made this clear by overtly sizing isaac up, an incredulous laugh (which was meant to somewhat startle him) filling the room, ❝ ahh... you're really not from around here, are you? because if you were, then i think you'd think twice before speaking to me like that. ❞

blamore stepped out from behind the countertop in front of him afterwards. and as a result, it revealed all of the flora that was making up its body, which was being concealed by the structure. blamore's bony tail twitched out of irritation, ❝ i don't put up with rudeness, you know. so why don't we try this again: my name is blamore, and who are you? ❞

[billpottsismygf]

.

[scoopdi-woop]

When a character with a disorder caused by trauma has trauma

[mydearzero]

Bribes | Stiles Stilinski x Reader

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: You get paired with Stiles to write a paper for Coach's class. But when had Stilinski grown into his awkward features? When had he grown out his buzzcut? Why was he suddenly so insanely fuckable?

Contents: NO Y/N, afab!Reader, smut, Stiles is a bit cocky lmao, fucking in the jeep, reader is related to Coach (wether adopted or not doesn't matter), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, clumsy sex, playful banter, oral sex (v receiving), casual sex, coming inside, mentions of birth control, making out if I missed any warnings please let me know!

3.5K words

Had to get Stiles out of (pls into plEASE) my system SOMEHOW, so here you go. This one is dedicated to @uglypastels for indulging my obsession and continuously sending me Dylan O'Brien thirst edits <3 <3

“Just so you’re aware, this paper is as high on my list of priorities as the Pope is in Amsterdam,” Stiles dropped his binder on the table, startling you out of your daydream. He was exactly 4 minutes late, not that you were counting. It was still impressive, seeing as he just came from practice. 

“Believe me, I, too, would rather be hanging around with Isaac Lahey, yet we’re both here. Let’s just get it over with.” Stiles snorted a laugh, but didn’t comment.

You didn’t not get along with Stilinski. You weren’t sure if you could be called friends, exactly. You’d known each other pretty much all your lives, just like the majority of your school. Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly a metropolis. 

You sighed and laid out your notes, Stiles following your example. You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Those are your notes?” 

There were only doodles, random calculations and sporadic keywords scribbled on the loose piece of crumpled paper he straightened out next to your notebook. 

“I’m surprised, too. There’s actual words. I don’t usually get that far.” The smirk on his face could only be described as smug. You groaned. This was going to take forever. You divided the topics for the paper amongst yourselves and silently got to work. The ‘silently’ part didn't last long, however. It never did with Stiles.

“Are you still living with your uncle?” He questioned suddenly. You frowned at the question, confused, but nodded either way. 

“So can’t you just, I don’t know, cook him dinner and have him give us a good grade?” The gleam in his eyes nearly made you laugh. Nearly. Instead, you flicked him on the side of the head. He whined something about unnecessary violence, but it fell on deaf ears. 

“I’m not bribing my uncle just so you can slack off, Stiles. Besides, I’m never really sure if he even likes me,” you wondered out loud. 

“You and me, both…” Stiles grumbled. 

You glanced at Stiles as he scribbled furiously, seeming to finally get some of his research done. His knees wiggled excessively as he wrote about the economic effects of pandemics. You wrote down a few key parts of the paragraphs in your book before turning to your laptop and beginning the outline of the paper. Stiles hummed quietly as he read the entry he’d just written, tapping his pen furiously against the table. 

“Can you stop that?” You requested, his incessant movement distracting you more than his general being already did. He glanced up, an amused expression on his face. 

“What,” he tapped his pencil faster. “This?” You contained the urge to roll your eyes and stared at him blankly. He stopped the movement for perhaps one whole minute before picking it back up again. 

You only glanced up pointedly this time. He added a jiggle of his knees in challenge. You rose from your chair, leaned over and snatched the pen out of his hand, throwing it across the library. “Fetch.” 

Stiles gaped up at you in surprise. The timing of it was very unfortunate, but you’d never really noticed how Stilinski had grown into his awkward features. Something must’ve shown on your face, because Stiles now looked just as confused, perhaps intrigued, as you felt. While you’d been confident in throwing his pen across the room in annoyance, having him look up at you like that made it so you weren’t sure if you wanted him to get up. You cleared your throat and sat back in your chair. 

“Unbelievable…” Stiles muttered under his breath as he got up to get the pen. It gave you time to recompose. You didn’t look at him as he sat back down, but felt his eyes burn a hole through the side of your head. 

An unfamiliar tension hung in the air while you worked in silence. You snuck glances at Stiles, who was finally focussed on his writing once more. His hair was longer, still messy and unstyled from practice. The grey workout gear perfectly accentuated his broadened shoulders. He bit his lip after reading a complex entry, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on your own, or on your neck while your hands tugged on his now perfectly tuggable locks. 

A few times his eyes met yours. You’d quickly dart them back to your notebook, pretending you hadn’t been looking, knowing damn well he’d seen.  

Oh my god. Get. it. together.

“Did you finish?” You dared ask after a while, having completed your own part. All you had to do was put your parts together, wrap it up and finish. 

“I’ll give it to you, but you have to give something to me first,” Stiles spoke in a challenging tone. For a split second back there you’d wondered how he was still single after all this time, but now you were reminded. He was insufferable. 

“What could you possibly want from me, Stiles? Just give me your damn part.” 

“A kiss.” 

“What? No!” You sputtered. Stiles’ tongue poked the inside of his cheek cockily as he raised an eyebrow, pointing to his lips. 

“Guess you’ll have some explaining to do to your uncle why you’re only handing in half an assignment, then.” 

“This is coercion, Stilinski! Should I call your dad?” You crossed your arms, refusing to look him in the eye. The librarian shushed you loudly. You could feel heat rush to your face, but didn’t relent. Asshole. 

Stiles leaned closer, running a finger over the side of your face. Your heartbeat increased what seemed about tenfold.

“It’s not coercion if you want me to.” His breath hit your neck as he spoke, sending goosebumps down your arms. “And I’m getting the feeling you really want me to.” 

You jerked away from his reach, coming to your senses. You gathered your things into your bag, mumbling something about your GPA being fine, anyway. You stomped away from the table, heart racing. You were mad, not because he was suggesting something you didn’t want, rather that he’d clocked exactly what you wanted so easily. 

Concerned Stiles would follow you out of the library, you hid behind a few bookshelves in a section nobody usually visited. You caught your breath, placing your palm on your chest. You dropped your bag on the floor, turning to peek around the bookshelf to see if Stiles was still stationed at the table. Relieved, you saw he’d indeed decided to follow you out of the library.

You turned back to grab your bag and head out, but were met with Stiles’ face mere inches from your own. You were startled, but he grabbed your waist before you could fall over. His hold was strong. Your hands instinctively went up to his chest, steadying yourself. Had he always been this tall? 

One of his hands wandered slightly lower, rubbing small circles on your lower back. Your eyes met his, which were just shining with mischief and an underlying sense of self-satisfaction. His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip. 

“Can I be frank? You’re incredibly annoying,” you stated, slinging your arms around his neck, finally giving in. 

“You can be whoever you want as long as I get to kiss you, Frank,” Stiles laughed. You groaned but pulled him close either way. 

“Shut up.” 

Stiles obliged and put his mouth to yours aggressively, tugging your body against his. One of his hands wandered up, cupping the back of your head to bring it closer. You tugged at the small locks at the back of his neck, eliciting a sighed moan from Stiles. 

“You’re so hot,” he confessed when you broke apart for a second. He turned you so you were pushed with your back against the bookcase, a few books falling to the floor. Neither of you cared as your kiss continued, deepening by the second. His hands held your hips as he started grinding against you, sweats low on his hips. His mouth made its way down your jaw, moving to suck hasty kisses on your neck. 

“Stiles…” you sighed blissfully. Heat gathered in your stomach at the soft, breathy noises coming from his lips combined with the sound of them against your skin. He put his knee between your thighs.

“Knew you wanted this as much as I did, fuck,” Stiles groaned. The pressure from his knee was delicious, but not enough. It was almost as if he could read your mind as he slid his hand into your bottoms, working your underwear out of the way somewhat clumsily. 

“God… so wet for me,” he moaned. You could only reply with breathy whimpers, trying to make as little noise as possible. Stiles shushed you, placing his unoccupied hand over your mouth as the other started rubbing small circles over your clit. You closed your eyes and let your head fall against the bookcase. Your knees went weak at the sensation, not much holding you up besides Stiles. 

He slipped his hand out of your underwear, bringing a finger up to his mouth. He casually licked it clean. He hooked his thumbs into your bottoms, seeking eye contact and asking for non-verbal permission to tug them down. You bit your lip and nodded enthusiastically. When your underwear hit the floor, so did Stiles’ knees. Your eyes darted around your environment, but the school was nearly empty at this time, especially the library. 

You had to slap your hand over your mouth when Stiles made contact with your clit, his tongue tentatively licking between your folds. Your breathing was laboured, chest heaving as Stiles took his time exploring. Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth, holding in your moans. Your hands shot to Stiles’ hair. Perfectly tuggable, indeed. 

He groaned when you gave an exceptionally sharp tug, taking the time to look you in the eyes. The vibrations of his lowered voice felt good. You had seemingly no control over your hands, fingers tightening their grip the closer you got to the edge. 

“Shit, baby… So good for me. Gotta stay quiet…” Stiles mumbled. A small, high pitched keen left your lips. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep the silence up. You looked down once more and saw Stiles palming himself over his sweats as he continued eating you out, rhythmically grinding his hips in time with his mouth. 

The sound of a bag zipper closing got your attention. You smacked Stiles’ shoulder to stop, wanting to whine in frustration at just how close you’d been. Stiles paid you no mind, lost in giving you pleasure. You put both your hands on his shoulders and pushed him away, careful not to tip him over. It was only then Stiles noticed the noise of someone packing up to leave. He scrambled to stand up, trying to help you get redressed. 

“I got it, I got it,” you hissed quietly. 

“Who’s there? You can’t be here anymore! Library’s about to close!” It was the librarian who’d shushed you earlier. You grabbed your bag in a hurry. 

“Would you still rather be hanging out with Isaac?” Stiles asked jokingly, wiping his chin. You whacked his arm, storming past him to the doors. He followed quickly, arm wandering over your shoulders as you walked out of the now deserted school. You didn’t speak as Stiles led you over to the Jeep, insisting on driving you home, at least. 

You sat in the passenger seat as Stiles ran around to the drivers’ side. You wiped your hands on your thighs, huffing a frustrated breath. You hadn’t even finished the paper, and now you got cock-blocked on top of it. So not worth it. You turned to Stiles as he put the keys in the ignition. He’d never looked hotter than that very second, lips bruised, hair tousled and still pent up, besides maybe when he looked up at you with his face buried between your legs. Okay so maybe a little worth it. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna pull over and we’re gonna have sex in the back seat like right now,” Stiles joked. Or at least, you assumed it was a joke. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, threat or invitation?” 

“Option D? All of the above? I mean, D is definitely an option.”

“Pull over and we’ll see how much of an option it is.” 

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice, pulling over in a small clearing as soon as he saw the opportunity. He took off his seatbelt, scrambling to get out of the car. He opened the door for you, closing it and letting you in the back seat. You laid back across the seats and manoeuvred your top off, throwing it at Stiles. He caught it, quickly discarding it somewhere in the car. He shimmied his pants down his legs, not bothering to take off his shoes. You did the same, leaving you in your underwear. Stiles stopped to take a proper look. 

“You’re gonna kill me. You’ve already killed me and this is my pre-hell Heaven trailer of what could’ve been. God iwantyousobad.” You pulled him on top of you as you laughed. 

“Less talking, more fucking, yes?” 

“Yes, I agree. Wholeheartedly,” Stiles nodded furiously, tugging his shirt over his head with only one hand. Hot. He finally closed the car door behind him before he could forget. 

“I’m going to assume you don’t just casually keep condoms in your car?” You questioned. Stiles closed his eyes and tightened his lips in frustration, mentally scolding himself. He finally had you in his Jeep, half-naked, ready to fuck, and he didn’t have a freaking condom??? He finally shook his head no, sighing and pulling away from you slowly. 

You leaned up on your elbows and whispered in his ear. “Hmmm… Guess you’re just gonna have to come inside of me… Wouldn’t want to make a mess of the car…” 

Stiles pounced at that, kissing you like his life depended on it. He tugged your underwear back down your legs, now very familiar with your pelvic region. He struggled to undo your bra, cursing under his breath. You laughed and lended a hand, undoing it and slipping it off your shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles groaned. “Promise me to thank Coach for pairing us up.” 

“You did not just mention my uncle as a reaction to seeing me naked,” you complained. 

“I did. Not sorry. He did me a favour.” 

You ignored the comment and decided to kiss him to shut him back up. Him and his mouth… God his mouth. You were still pent up from the library, and if he didn’t fuck you soon you were pretty sure you’d go crazy. 

“Stiles, want you,” you whined impatiently. He was too busy paying attention to your nipples, taking one between his teeth as he made eye contact. “Shit,” you gasped.

Your hands wandered down his torso, stopping at the hem of his boxers. You tugged them down, setting his very hard cock free from its confinement. The tip was red, dribbling with pre-cum. He was obviously just as pent up as you felt. You gave him a few experimental tugs with your hand before lining him up with your entrance. 

Stiles took over, taking his time to slowly push inside you. You put your hands on his shoulders, holding your breath at the stretch. He was so much bigger than you’d expected. You both moaned when he bottomed out. You felt so full, it was insane. You dug your nails into his shoulders and gave him a nod, indicating he could move. 

He set a slow pace, testing the waters. He was enthralled by the jiggle of your tits with every movement. Typical. His hands moved up to hold them, almost as leverage, as he picked up his pace. 

“Fuck, so good,” Stiles moaned. You were about to move a hand down to touch yourself, but Stiles stopped you. 

“Let me make you feel good, let me make you come.” He put one hand on your shoulder to steady himself and brought the other down to where you were joined. He continued to thrust, putting his fingers on your clit. It took him a second, but he found a rhythm where he could thrust and stroke at the same time. 

“Oh my god, Stiles!” You moaned, the added sensation feeling amazing. The sound of his hips slapping against yours was filthy to say the least. You moved to hold onto something above your head as Stiles sped up. Your hands soon found the little ledge, and you gripped it to the best of your ability. 

Stiles bent down to kiss you, pace still unrelenting. The new angle of him bent forward sent his cock exactly where you needed it. 

“Shit, oh my god.” It was all the confirmation Stiles needed to keep it up. 

“So pretty, so tight around my cock. Such pretty tits. You feel so good,” he mumbled against your lips. 

The pace of his hips became more erratic, both of you nearing the edge. Your knuckles turned white with how tight you were gripping the car door. 

“Gonna come inside you,” Stiles moaned. “Fill you up so nice.” 

“Yes, Stiles, please!”  

“Fuck, so good, so good for me,” Stiles was becoming more talkative and less coherent as he lost himself in the pleasure. He was mouthing at your jawline, sucking another hickey where there were already plenty. 

“Fuck, Stiles, gonna come,” you whined. You could feel his smile against your neck. Smug idiot. He then started rubbing your clit exactly the way you liked it. Combined with him hitting that spot inside you over and over and over again, you were seeing stars. 

“Don’t stop, please,” another moan left your lips. 

“Come for me. Come on my cock. So pretty, so good,” Stiles blabbered. 

“Fuck! Stiles!” You keened, tightening around his dick as you came. He kissed you again as his hips stuttered, thrusting a few more times before painting your walls with his cum. His head fell on your chest as you both caught your breath.

When his breathing had slowed, he groaned before lifting himself off you, chuckling as he pecked both your nipples, then your lips before looking for something to clean you with. He settled on the shirt of his lacrosse uniform. 

“Ugh, gross,” you mumbled as he wiped you clean. Stiles shrugged. “It was going into the wash, anyway.” 

Stiles put his underwear and sweats back on, opening the door and getting out so you could have the space to redress yourself. When you reached under the seat for your bra, you pulled out a baseball bat. “Why do you have a baseball bat in your car?” 

“No… Particular reason. Safety. Lots of dangerous animals… out there.” 

“So you settled on a bat?” You wondered, holding the object. Stiles nodded, not meeting your eyes, his locked on your still naked chest. You threw the bat at him and laughed, reaching under the seat again and this time pulling out your bra. 

When you were finally dressed, you got back in the passenger seat so Stiles could drive you home. It wasn’t a long drive, as you’d already been halfway there before pulling over. He drove up the driveway, and you cringed on the inside, hoping your uncle wouldn’t see who dropped you off. You took your bag and got out of the car, walking around to the drivers’ side where Stiles was already leaning out the window. 

You looked at him and gave him a small smile. You leaned forward to give him a kiss goodbye. “You better email me your part of the paper tonight, Stilinski.” 

“You bet, babe,” he winked and gave you a salute, watching as you laughed and turned to walk inside the house. 

You closed the door and took off your shoes, hanging your coat and leaving your bag by the door. “I’m home!” 

Coach took one look at your appearance and frowned. Right… maybe you should’ve straightened yourself out before walking into the living room. Disheveled hair, hickeys on your neck, it wasn’t exactly rocket science as to why you were home later than usual. 

“If you’re gonna be having boys over, do it when I’m not around, please? I have enough of them to deal with at practice and in class. And at least have the decency to tell an uncle who he’s dealing with.” 

You cringed as the Jeep’s headlights very obviously flashed through the window at that very second, Stiles driving home. It was anything but unrecognizable. 

“Stilinski!? You’re sleeping with STILINSKI?! God, kill me now. If I’m now expected to have him over for Christmas dinner you better throw me off a bridge. And you BETTER use protection because I’m NOT gonna have Mini-linski’s running around.” 

[alexistalkscomics]

Why Is The Jewish “Representation” In Agatha All Along So Problematic???

When it was first confirmed that Joe Locke was going to have a role in Agatha All Along, most fans quickly came to the conclusion that he would be portraying Billy Kaplan AKA Wiccan which unfortunately ended up being correct.

The problem with that casting you ask?

Joe Locke isn’t Jewish and he is playing one of Marvel’s most prominent Jewish characters. Whilst many goyim (non-Jewish people) often inaccurately perceive Jewishness to solely be a religious identity which is a massive oversimplification of what it means to be a Jew, Jewish people are actually an ethnoreligious community which means that we’re our own distinct ethnic group and culture that have a traditional religion that is intrinsically tied to our identity and culture regardless of individual Jewish people’s levels of observance.

And because we are an ethnoreligious group, that makes the casting of Joe Locke, who is not ethnically or religiously Jewish, inherently problematic to say the least, especially when placed into the wider context of Jewish representation in the MCU.

Marvel Studios has previously been criticised for the way that it’s approached adaptations of Jewish characters for the MCU with the two main examples being casting Elizabeth Olsen as Wanda Maximoff, who is Romani and Jewish in the comics, and Oscar Isaac as the Ashkenazi Jewish Marc Spector in the Moon Knight streaming series and in both cases, the heritage of the characters were either downplayed or just outright erased. So for anyone who understands the issue, it should be clear that the MCU has a poor track record when it comes to representing Jewish characters and that Agatha All Along’s adaptation of Billy Maximoff/Kaplan is just another addition to the list of disrespectful adaptations of Jewish characters.

What is the specific problem with how Billy has been adapted in the MCU?

Well, in order to answer that question, the answer has to effectively be split into two parts:

In the most recent episode of Agatha All Along, we finally learn the backstory of Billy (who had previously only been referred as “Teen” due to a spell that prevented his identity from being found out) and as part of that, we are shown a flashback to the day of Billy KAPLAN’s (the capitalisation will make sense in a bit), Bar Mitzvah, a sacred Jewish ritual that marks the transition into adulthood and the responsibilities that comes with being a Jewish adult. In this flashback, Billy (who if you’ve payed attention, is being played by a non-Jew) is shown wearing traditional religious garments and handling what is potentially an actual Torah scroll.

Within Judaism and Jewish culture in general, handling a Torah and then reading from it is seen as both a great honour and responsibility for any Jew who is called for an Aliyah so seeing a non-Jewish actor who has no experience as a Jewish person and in interviews, has mocked fans who criticised his role in the show, wearing my culture and religion as a costume to advance his career just felt wrong to me. I love Marvel and I take great pride in superhero comics being an art form that was created by Jewish immigrants so seeing one of the biggest franchises in history cast a non-Jewish actor to appropriate Jewish culture just felt disgusting to me. At least with Moon Knight, all we got was the smallest references to his Jewish heritage rather than being subjected to seeing the christian Oscar Isaac partake in sacred closed rituals.

And now, moving onto the second part of the answer to the above question, after we see Billy reading from the Torah and are then shown the party following the ceremony, we learn that the flashback takes place concurrently with the final episode of WandaVision. Because of that, the party has to end early so that guest can evacuate and soon, Billy and his parents are in a car accident where Billy dies…

…until his body is quickly revived after the soul of Wanda and Vision’s artificially constructed son, Billy MAXIMOFF possesses and takes control of Billy Kaplan’s body whilst erasing everything that made Billy Kaplan who he was. The reason why this is especially problematic is because of the great importance of the soul within Judiaism. According to Jewish laws, one of the most important things that distinguishes Jewish people from goyim is a Jewish soul and in Agatha All Along, one of the main protagonist who is an adaption of a Jewish character who was created by a Jewish writer is reimagined as a non-Jewish soul that hijacks the corpse of a Jewish teenager to use as a meat puppet. It becomes even worse when later on in the episode, “Billy” is shown rejecting his identity as Billy Kaplan which effectively takes the undertones of ethnic erasure and cultural appropriation of Joe Locke’s casting and makes it an essential part of the characterisation for this incarnation of Billy.

In Conclusion?

In the Marvel Comics, Billy Kaplan is a proud queer Jewish man who was partially based on the lived experiences of his creator who is also a gay Jewish man. Becuase of that, he holds a special place in the hearts of many fans who see a piece of ourselves in him and we deserved to see the really Billy Kaplan be brought to life in a way that would honour the source material that we love and introduce mainstream audiences to a really cool and fascinating Jewish superhero who can open up so many possibilities for the more supernatural side of the Marvel Universe to be explored in further MCU instalments.

But instead, we got the bare minimum of Jewish representation followed by the complete erasure of that “representation” with the ultimate end product being a show riddled with the underlying rot of antisemitism.

[certified-muppet-enjoyer]

I GIGGLED SO HARD AT THIS HELP 😭😭😭

Bunsen and Beaker vibes tbh

[fangirl-writes]

Tell me you want this

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Stilinski!Reader

Warning(s): canon-level stuff, blood, making out, mentions of sex

Summary: In a life that is constantly on the move, you appreciate the small moments much more. Especially if they're with Isaac.

"It'll just heal in a few minutes, you know," Isaac said.

"I know," you replied, sitting on his bed next to him.

You pulled a baby wipe from its package and held Issac's chin between your thumb and forefinger, moving his head to look him over.

It had been a particularly bad fight, for everyone. The kind of fight where you needed the rest of the night to just heal; physically, mentally, emotionally.

And, of course, you wouldn't let Isaac do it on his own.

You began wiping at a spot on his face, gliding the cloth over the apple of his cheek.

"If Stiles finds out about this, he's gonna be upset," Isaac said, watching your face contort as you worked.

"Yeah, well," you moved his head to the other side, frowning at the mention of your brother. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

You and Isaac had known each other forever. Being in the same grade, it would’ve been hard not to notice one another, but even besides that you had a connection. You were sort of friends.

Not the kind that hung out outside of school, but the loners who ate lunch under the bleachers and spent free periods in the library.

You also covered for him whenever he wasn’t in school, finding out about his home life after his dad had a particularly bad day.

You’d cleaned him up then, too.

Isaac gently grabbed your wrist, "and Derek-"

"Derek's not gonna hurt me."

You'd long since perfected sneaking into Derek's loft to see Isaac. You suspected that he knew you were there. Being a seasoned werewolf, you were sure he could hear the extra heartbeat, if not smell your scent.

But you didn't care, and clearly neither did he.

But Isaac? Isaac cared.

Ever since he became a werewolf, and you were further pulled into the bullshit that came along with that, he’d been protective in a way he hadn’t before.

You weren’t sure if it was a wolf thing or if Isaac felt some kind of obligation to you. Either way, you wouldn’t let him keep you out of it.

Tossing the wipe in the trash, you put your hand to his now clean cheek. "Relax."

He eyed you for a long moment, searching, before he took a deep breath and leaned into your touch.

The shape of his jaw pressed into your palm, his hand wrapping around your wrist gently, as if just to touch you.

Silence surrounded you, only the sound of your heartbeats and breathing cutting through.

That and the tension that hung palpably in the small space between you.

"You know," he pulled at the new hole in his shirt. "I think you better get this one, too."

You smiled, shaking your head. "I guess I better."

He wasted no time in pulling the material over his head and tossing it somewhere else in the room, making you laugh.

You scooted closer to him, crossing your legs under you and pulling another wipe from the package.

"Oh, Isaac," you said, taking in the wound. "It must've hurt."

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised how much the adrenaline can mask...and I'm used to pain."

He was so close now, close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek as you cleaned him up.

You focused on the task at hand because if you didn't, you'd notice the way he was staring at you. And you weren't sure what you'd do if you met his eyes.

He was fitter than he used to be, the tone of his chest and abs more prominent, his arms more muscular.

You unconsciously lifted your other hand to drag it down his chest.

He shivered under your touch. "Y/N..."

You swallowed, stilling your hand on his shoulder as you continued to clean him up.

"Y/N," he said again, making you look up at him.

His eyes were already on you, as you suspected, looking at you with so much intensity you wondered what he was thinking.

"Yes?"

He was so beautiful, especially this close.

You could see every line on his face, every freckle, every mole. The sculpt of his nose, the part of his lips. The dim light made the blue of his eyes seem darker, or maybe that was just the way he was looking at you.

He lightly pushed down your hand that had stilled on his chest so that he could lean closer, brushing his nose against yours.

"Tell me you want this."

His breath fanned your lips, and you sucked in a breath. "Isaac-"

"I can hear your heartbeat," he said. "I can tell how nervous you are...don't be. Tell me you want this."

You released the breath, shakily. "Yes. Yes, please, kiss me."

He leaned in, pressing his lips softly against yours.

You kissed him back, hesitantly. So hesitantly that he stopped, but didn't go far, allowing you the power to continue if you wanted. And you did.

More confidently this time, you kissed him. And he kissed you back.

You didn't realize how much you'd wanted this until now. How kissing him felt akin to breathing; natural, easy, like if you stopped, you might die.

It was a natural progression that he pulled you closer by your waist, his hands rough but gesture gentle, slow.

Your hands slid their way over the shape of his arms, then shoulders, then neck before they finally stopped to tangled themselves in his hair.

He hummed into your mouth, dragging his tongue over your bottom lip, and you parted them. His tongue slid over yours, experimentally, trying to find a rhythm.

You tugged against his hair.

That caused him to moan.

His fingers were ghosting just under your shirt when-

"Isaac, I need you to- oh my god."

You jumped apart, faces burning, as Derek stood in the doorway of Isaac's room.

It was pointless to try to look innocent, Isaac was shirtless for Christ's sake.

"Okay, I've clearly let this go on too long, I don't need you having sex in here."

"We weren't going to have sex!" Isaac protested, and you hid your face in your hands.

"Maybe not yet," Derek replied, crossing his arms. "How'd you get here anyway?"

"Walked," you replied sheepishly.

"Great, now I'm going to have to take you home. They're going to think I've kidnapped you."

"I can walk home."

"After that fight today? I'm surprised you made it here, let alone getting back."

"I can take her back," Isaac offered.

"And have you get busy in my car? Yeah, no, thanks."

"We wouldn't-" Isaac groaned. "Fine."

"Let's go. Now."

Too embarrassed to protest, you stood and followed Derek out the door.

Boyd and Erica were sitting in the main room and looked at you with wide eyes when they saw you come out of Isaac's room.

Great, you thought. Now it looks like a walk of shame.

"Y/N, wait."

You turned as Isaac came out of his room, holding your jacket in his hand.

"You, uh, forgot this," he said, blushing as everyone looked at him.

Face hot, you took it from him. "Thanks."

You put it on as Derek grabbed his keys and the two of you disappeared out the door.

Then Boyd and Erica's eyes drifted back to Isaac.

"...what?"

Erica split into a grin. "So, Stilinski, huh?"

"Shut up."

[stargirlshojo]

ghost headcannons part 1538293729

- thor and sasapis have very deep friendship and are the closest of all the ghosts (spent like 200 years together before isaac came around)

- nancy and flower lowk good friends and flower doesn’t mind hanging out in the basement

- flower and alberta host music club and they talk about their favorite musicians from the 20s and 60s respectively

- trevor likes to give hetty back rubs for free but she must not tell anyone or they will drop as a currency

- alberta loves to make sam and jay put on movies set in the 20s so she can nitpick every detail about their inaccuracies

- flower and thor LOVE scooby doo

- it’s pretty common for animals to see ghosts and i just know dogs would love hetty and she’d HATE it (but secretly wishes she had a lil lap dog)

- jay wanted to watch the percy jackson series and thor FORBID it (says it is made by danes and percy is too puny to be neptune’s son)

- thor LOVES talkshows and sitcoms

- trevor loves listening to hettys robber baroness stories

- hetty watches over jays cooking and nitpicks everything he does even tho the woman never had to cook and he’s a literal chef

[ghostieblr]

he knows

When people ask him what changed his mind, why he's back in Beacon Hills instead of at the fancy FBI job he earned through merit and luck, he just smiles and laughs it up. Insists this is how it just worked out. That the job was good, and being in the field was surprisingly easy for him, but the remote research work landed on his lap once and he realized he'd much rather do that. Working the field was great, but being able to actually spend time with his old man gives him more joy.

The old ladies call him a good man, tell him he's such a good son, and share their own turmoils with him. The old men sneer at his choice until he lets slip just how much he makes, and then they're singing praises, too.

After a couple of weeks, the noise dies down. He is no longer the novelty, the townspeople ready to move on to the next new, shiny thing that catches their attention.

What doesn't die down is whatever is spreading inside him. The burn under his skin is licking up towards his heart, coming out through his pores, charring him to immobility as the sun dips down and comes back up.

After week three, he's unable to move from the bed, and none of their research is bringing about any clues. No one knows why this is happening to him, and they have all accepted this.

That he is going to die. There's no coming back, no cure for this sudden illness that has taken him. None of the books that Deaton provides, that Lydia translates and pours her time into, have a single clue.

It's not as painful, if he's honest. Not now. It was at the beginning, the heat sudden and startling, the pain that comes with it bright and unending. But he's been with it for a while now, gotten used to the constant warmth. A false sense of security.

The only thing left for him is to stop feeling altogether. At the rate his body is shutting down, it's not too far, now. Another day or two, maybe three if he's unlucky.

He's said his goodbyes. Told his father to keep on living, to not only honor the memory of mom, but his, too. There's grief laced in each of their interactions, each word spoken with a weight that brings tears to Stiles' eyes and a tremble that rocks his father's body. It's an ugly sight, and it so happens to be his last. Nearly his last.

His dad's a strong man, he'll survive. He's enlisted the help of Lydia to do so. Asked her to be the child he'll not get to be for him. Through teary eyes she had agreed, and he's watched the two of them get closer in their quest of trying to heal him, and then grieve him. She's like the daughter he never had, and she is good for him. Stops him from drinking alcohol and makes him healthy food, even when he refuses to listen, and Stiles can do nothing but lay on his bed as the voices float up from the kitchen.

Scott and him never did resolve their differences. Scott's been a part of his life enough to warrant him a last goodbye, and despite everything that has happened, Scott promised to him to be there for his dad. He promised many things, but has delivered none, and has only been by to see him on day one — when Stiles had allowed Lydia to bring in the McCall Pack to help him cure himself.

It's as if Stiles being dead was an accepted outcome for him, and Scott has grieved him to the point of utter indifference since. If he's grieving in silence that's another thing, but for now, Stiles isn't dead. People do come in and see him.

Lydia, of course. His dad. Jackson flew from London to come see him, and he hasn't left since, feet set like stone in Beacon Hills, despite the final acceptance of their failure. Isaac came with Jackson, and it's so silly, he thinks, that being on the verge of death can bring together people you would never see in one place by choice.

Kira has stopped by multiple times, as have Malia, Liam, Mason, Jordan, and surprisingly, Hayden. She insisted he's a hero, and cried while hugging him.

Scott hasn't come again. And, honestly, it's not as bothersome to Stiles as someone else not coming in to see him.

Cora has face-timed him, and Peter was there, he knows. The two of them were there, and when he'd asked about Derek, Cora had snapped out, "He's an idiot," while Peter had calmly told Stiles, "He's determined."

Stiles is smart enough to put together the fact that Derek has been pursuing his own leads to find the cure, but he'd hoped that once the finality of his situation reached him, he'd see Derek one last time.

He wouldn't burden Derek with the knowledge of his own feelings. Wouldn't confess like in the fairytales, and hope for a true love's miracle. Stiles is honest to himself these days, and he'd rather go with unconfessed feelings than burden Derek, because somewhere in their interactions, Stiles has developed a pure hatred for anything that could even remotely hurt Derek.

He supposes this is love, and how ironic is it, that this is the most intense feeling he's ever had, and he can't even speak aloud about it?

So he lounges in his bed, waiting for the light to take him. Each time he closes his eyes he knows he's closer to never opening them again, and tonight, as he hears Lydia turn the pages of a book, and Jackson walking outside in the hallway, and his dad sobbing in his own room, and Isaac cooking, he just wishes tonight's the night. He cannot have the people he care about clinging onto false hope.

He closes his eyes, and behind his eyelids, he sees his family. He sees his mom, beckoning him; his parents, smiling, as he runs towards them for a family hug; Lydia, when she told him she loves him in the Jeep, and the night when he came back, declaring that he's not supposed to leave her, ever; Jackson and Isaac laughing at his expense, but not in a mean way, instead enjoying each other's company like the friends they've become these days; Derek, as the last time Stiles saw him, smiling softly at him while he rambled on about the way he convinced the FBI to let him join the mission that saved Derek's ass.

He remembers, with immense clarity, the moment he realized he's in love with Derek. The heartbreak of saying goodbye to him, of watching his brows furrow at the clear lie of, "You should go," and hesitant step forward he'd taken before realizing it.

He'd said, "You should go or Cora will leave," and left the, "I want her to," unsaid.

He sleeps, and wishes to dream about a world where Derek didn't leave and things happened differently. Where somehow, they found their way to each other, and Stiles never got ill like this.

Instead, he dreams about a purple light guiding him to a tunnel that simply looks white, like that is all there is.

He follows.

He doesn't wake up, again.

At least, that's what he thinks — until his eyes open and he's face-to-face with —

"Derek?"

*

The whole place is white. The only splash of color exists on Stiles himself, his clothes rumpled with sleep, and on Derek, whose jeweled eyes are shimmering with unshed tears and sparkling joy.

"Derek, what the hell did you do?!"

Derek doesn't deem that a question worthy of replying. Instead the werewolf picks him up and hugs him so tight Stiles worries about not being able to breathe, and then realizes, with a startling clarity, that he is not in pain.

Still in embrace, he asks, a little choked up, "Why am I not in pain?"

Derek takes an exaggerated sniff before reluctantly pulling back and fixing him with a look that screams of resplendent joy, but also like he's waiting for a reprimand. He says, "This is Bardo."

Stiles stills. "Bardo," he repeats. He's dived into enough books to hear what Derek is leaving unsaid. Bardo is where spirits go after dying. It's an in-between space for spirits with unfinished business, one that opens only on a land with a Nemeton on it. Beacon Hills fits the criteria for it, and Stiles the criteria for having wishes he didn't get in his life, but he doesn't... He doesn't fit the other criteria. "Derek Nobody Will Tell Me What Your Middle Name Is Hale, that place — which apparently is this place, what the hell — is for supernatural spirits. Me?" He laughs, humorless and frantic. "I am not a supernatural creature. I'm just a human who used to run with a Pack."

Derek's worry melts away into nothing, as if Stiles would miss the fact that for Derek to be here, he has to be dead.

"Don't think I don't understand that you're dead, too! Deliberately!"

There. That is the face of a chastised puppy. "But it worked?" Stiles squints his eyes and motions for Derek to go on, who sighs but complies with the command. "The illness that took you was a Supernatural fever, last recorded with a Spark centuries ago. I tracked down the journal —"

"Wait, hold on, Spark? Where have I heard that word..." The Vet clinic, years ago. The Kanima in the club. The mountain ash line that never should have formed because there was much too less of it to complete the circle. As the realization hits, he closes his eyes and rests his fists against them. He isn't ashamed to let out a scream of rage as well.

When he lets his arms fall back down to his side, Derek takes one of them and starts rubbing comforting circles on the back of his hand. "You are one," he says softly, like he's trying not to spook Stiles with the declaration. Like Stiles' world didn't just shift irrevocably as he put the pieces together. "I don't really understand why your powers never unlocked, because traditionally speaking they should have kicked in your teen years. With the added clusterfuck of those years they definitely should have. They did not."

Again, he laughs humorlessly, and gives Derek a "duh" look. "Our lives have rarely dared to be traditional." He thinks back to all the awful things that have happened over the years to him, but mostly, as Derek put it, in those years. The Nogitsune was definitely the worst thing to happen to him, and holy shit. "Do you think it chose me because of my power? Rather than her?"

Derek doesn't answer for a moment. Then he says, "I think that is why you survived. Because of your Spark."

Oh. That... makes sense. Sort of. But that is the past, and they're in the present, and they're in fucking Bardo of all places. "Derek, I think I really need an explanation. Like right now. Including why you thought killing yourself was the best fucking idea."

Derek winces, but he also looks determined once Stiles' glare eases off of him. And they're still holding hands, which he realizes with a warmth he actually enjoys feeling. "When I got the call, I had an inkling... So I followed my instincts and ended up at probably our oldest vault."

"You knew what I am." He doesn't even feel angry. Somehow, Derek knowing a thing about him that nobody else does (and he is not counting Deaton as a factor here at all, that cryptic asshole), it feels nice.

Derek uses his free hand to tap at his chest, once, twice. "Instincts," he says, with the same effect as saying, "Werewolf," like he once used to, as if that was the answer to everything. "This illness confirmed it for me. I found a journal at the vault that belonged to that Spark, and in it, he detailed how the illness felt, how it spread, and how within weeks he could do nothing but lay on his cot." Derek swallows, his voice turning rough with choked up emotions. "Stiles, just reading it was so awful. I can't imagine..."

Derek Hale doesn't cry. He feels deeply, and he cares even deeper, but he doesn't cry, not in front of people.

But Stiles is not most people, and he is aware enough to know that he is, for some reason, one of the people who is most important to Derek. So as Derek breaks down at the idea of Stiles' suffering, Stiles reaches forward and brings his arms around Derek.

"I'm here," he assures, over and over again, until the words are stronger than Derek's shaking. "I'm right here," he says one last time, and stays close to the man he loves most for an indeterminate amount of time, silently not-breathing together.

Stiles breaks the silence with, "I love you, you know?" He had promised to not say it to Derek. To not burden him. But here they are, in Bardo. Together. A Pack of two who would do all that is possible and all that is not to protect the other. Derek deserves to know he is loved.

The way Derek's arms tighten around him says he doesn't know. And when Derek pulls back, just a little to stare at Stiles like this is unbelievable, Stiles pulls him back in by grabbing his hands and putting one on his chest, the other on his face. He kisses the inner palm of the latter, and smiles brightly. "Never thought I'd say it. Especially once I was on my deathbed. Still hate that you chose to die with me, but I'm hoping you have a plan, and you deserve to know. You're amazing and I love you, Derek Hale."

The smile he gets is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and Derek presses forward until their foreheads are resting against each other's. "Samuel," he says.

"Derek Samuel Hale? Samuel like Sam and Dean's grandpa?"

Derek does a snort-chortle thing, then says in the small space between them, "Shut up, Stiles."

"Shutting up."

The silence stretches, and they stay together, seizing the moment. Who knew Bardo could be peaceful? Except...

"Our escape plan? See, I'd love to explore you biblically anywhere and everywhere, but I would much rather do it on —"

"Stiles."

Derek's look of scandalized horror makes Stiles laugh until he's being hauled off in his strong, muscled arms like a sack of potatoes and starts walking. "I don't know why I love you too."

"This is just sexy. I don't think you know what you're doing to me."

"I can still smell your arousal, Stiles. I know."

"You know loads of things. What else do you know?" He says it in a simpering, sexy voice, and then giggles as Derek stumbles a step before balancing himself.

"I know how to escape. We need a bed, yes? So stop distracting me and let me do my thing."

Stiles is just glad he is already in Derek's arms, because otherwise he would have swooned and fallen into them.

The escape plan is easy and a let down, if he's being completely honest. What they need are:

A Spark's Belief ✅️

An Alpha's Roar ✅️ (When did Derek become an Alpha again?)

An Anchor on The Other Side ✅️ (Peter)

An Incantation That Derek Has Memorized ✅️

To Stand Where The Veil is Thinnest ✅️ (Derek's instincts strike yet again)

All in all, it is very anti-climactic, and very dirty as they end up materializing in a clearing near the Nemeton which is muddy. Peter looks one look at them and says, "Finally."

Stiles isn't sure if he meant it for them coming back or for Stiles and Derek finally confessing to each other. Either way, Peter hands them clean clothes and agrees to drive them back to Stiles' house, where apparently everyone is in a panic because "Stiles dissappeared."

"It's only been like, an hour or something," Stiles says, confused, as he changes into the clean t-shirt while Peter faces the other way and Derek stares, unabashed, much to Peter's verbal disgust.

Peter takes a break from chastising his nephew to say, "It's been 72 hours."

Huh.

"We should get going then," he says, and Peter sighs.

"If only you could ask my dear nephew to rein in his urges."

Stiles throws Derek a glare, who rolls his eyes but obliges. However the glare the turns into an appreciative look over Derek's abs, and Peter throws up his hands.

*

Acclimating to having magic is easy when he already has an anchor. Derek's presence is both wanted and needed, and despite Scott's insistence that another Alpha cannot stay in town, Derek stays as long as Stiles does.

Two weeks pass before Stiles calls back his boss and lets her know that he's now alright, and then he's promptly being shipped off to another state for a case. Everyone has already congratulated him on both being alive and doing something about his pining, so they throw a simple dinner on his last night in town and Stiles watches, with amusement and fondness, as all the people in his heart mingle with easy conversations and banter.

Peter chooses to stay in town to reconnect with Malia in person, while Cora deems it better to go back to her Pack in South America. Lydia and Jackson leave together for London, but Isaac decides to stay back.

When Stiles asks him why, he says, "Liam needs a good mentor. His control is weak. I can help him, plus, Derek needs a pack."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Liam is Scott's beta," he says.

"None of them have a pack bond," Isaac fire backs, and oh.

Derek must have heard the conversation, too, because he comes over and claps Isaac on the back, proud and all smiley, and Stiles can't help but lean in to kiss it. To taste the constant joy off of Derek's face, to give him his own in return. The action is met with Derek's soft moan and a ring of disgusted groaning from the others, including his dad's.

Stiles laughs after he pulls back, and looks around at the lot of them. There's tragedy woven into all of their lives, but there's also happiness.

Who knew getting ill would lead to this? To re-founding a family?

Maybe Derek knew, the bastard. Loveable bastard, though.