“Since dedicating myself to getting into “superhero shape,” several articles regarding my weight have been brought to my attention. Claims have been made that I’ve been on a strict workout routine regulated by co-stars, whipped into shape by trainers I’ve never met, eating sprouted grains I can’t pronounce and ultimately losing 14 pounds off my 5’3” frame. Losing 14 pounds out of necessity in order to live a healthier life is a huge victory. I’m a petite person to begin with, so the idea of my losing this amount of weight is utter lunacy. If I were to lose 14 pounds, I’d have to part with both arms. And a foot. I’m frustrated with the irresponsibility of tabloid media who sell the public ideas about what we should look like and how we should get there.”—
“At the time when Stiles is pretty upset about the Sheriff being kidnapped, because he’s his dad, Derek and Stiles would just drive around in the Jeep looking for the Sheriff. And, you know, Derek’s anchor is anger so he knows what it feels. And Stiles would just be so angry about the situation, so they would stop the car and Derek would let Stiles punch him, over and over, just letting out his anger, until he couldn’t hit anymore, and Derek would be bloody and Stiles would just let it all out and Derek would tell him ‘that’s okay. It’s okay.’ That would have been a great scene.”—
Tyler Hoechlin (when asked what scene between Derek and Stiles he would have loved to see on the show)
On the one hand it’s like, “Wow, there’s a side of Hoechlin I didn’t know about,” but on the other hand this just confirms how well Tyler Hoechlin understands Derek Hale, and what Derek believes he’s good for and has to offer other people.
Apparently when I am stressed and stuff, I do the written equivalent of sucking my thumb.
Derek/Stiles, pre-slash, PG-13, maybe season 2 or 3 ish.
For one man’s life
Derek is a big, lumbering, stupidly angry and even more stupidly socially awkward dude but right now he’s watching a hyperactive vicious terrier of a human with amusement and lust. Eventually, when the yapping dies down, Derek will do something nice for him.
Like a back rub.
That’s nicely physical and full of contact that does good things Derek does not like to think about (other than: good things, he gets to have them for half a second). Before Stiles finally unwinds and lets Derek do this, there is the by-now familiar routine of flailing and what seems almost like jumping jacks, while accusing Derek of literally anything he can think of.
Which is a lot.
Most of it really funny.
But Derek can wait him out. Derek… well, no, Derek can’t wait out much of anything, but he can wait out this: flying words that don’t hurt no matter how well-placed the barb; he can watch as the hectic red along Stiles’ jaw-line blooms and withers; he can wait until Stiles finally stares at him, chewing on his lip because he’s seventeen and doesn’t understand what the hell that does to people.
He can wait because finally, magnanimously, Derek is given permission to run his hands over a body that is a lot more lean, a lot stronger than the infinity layer of shirts implies. He can feel it ripple, listen to blood beat and a heart boom cavernously from something far too fast, hiccuping too often, into a slow, steady rhythm that Derek feels in his dick.
Eventually, Derek is going to reach a point where he can turn Stiles around and rub over prominent collarbones and the notch at his shoulders. He’ll be brave enough to undo the jeans that are occasionally pressed against him, enough to know that Stiles is thick and heavy and so warm sometimes Derek dreams of fire even as he dreams of opening his mouth wider.
Eventually, Stiles will realize that Derek want this and maybe, just maybe, he might say yes.
For now Derek says nothing and concentrates on the mole-dotted skin landscaped in front of him, of muscles that lose the hectic twitch of too much energy into a lax stillness that no one beyond maybe Scott has ever really seen. That most elusive of creatures, a Stiles relaxed, calm and content.
Derek breathes in slowly enough that the dozing boy beneath him won’t hear it and accuse him of smelling him.
Even if he is.
Because that smell, warmboymusksweatcome, is worth waiting for. It’s enough.
I want to write a college AU where Stiles is straight and wants a blow job and Derek loves giving blow jobs, and kind of likes giving them to straight guys. Which is apparently a thing, I swear I’m not making that kink up because it weirds me out but. Still.
Stiles gets to college full of hopes and dreams. A few of them are fulfilled the first couple of weeks: he makes plenty of friends with really cool people who do not want to shove him into lockers; not having a curfew or someone to yell at him to get off his computer at 3 am will never not be awesome; and hooking up is absolutely a thing. Stiles loses his virginity to a girl with a crooked smile and a tongue ring and he beams all the way back to his dorm where his roommate proceeds to high fives him, gives him a shot, and says he never wants to know the details.
College is awesome.
Then Stiles learns about group projects.
Studying is not the issue. Stiles is a good student. He graduated two tenths of a point lower than Lydia Martin, got into Stanford early admission (with said Lydia Martin who had fumed a delicious rose when she heard), and will, when drunk enough, actually admit to enjoying the whole academic process. What he doesn’t like is working with other people.
There is a process to the way Stiles works. A finely honed, carefully evaluated process that most people—again, Lydia Martin the constant exception—cannot fathom. Deviations from the process by people who are too slow, too annoying or just generally too tend to drive his ADHD into overdrive, sending him into random, at all hours research binges that he grew out of his junior year of high school.
It’s a shit storm. Especially when his favorite professor pulls him aside after class one day and tells him that college is full of group projects. And group studying. He’ll discover that lovely little buffet of awful in his next semester, he’s told.
i've seen the brony documentary, and that dad is uncomfortable bout mlp because he thinks its too gay... hes ashamed that his son likes something "girly" You mocking that kid is fucking gross. you act like you stand up for marginalized people but holy shit, you're just chuckling along with the rest of the internet at some awkward pre-teen. fucking hell. you're going to be a mother
Oh man oh man.
So first of all, anon, I want to commend you on your dedication. I literally just turned anon on last night after the pedophile anon I dealt with a couple of weeks ago, and according to my GMail notifications, you sent this ask at 6:37 a.m. EST. That’s pretty impressive. Kudos.
Second of all, and as a point of clarification: I have never watched the brony documentary, and I never will. I’m not into supporting things that sugarcoat a disgusting subculture (which I’ll get to in a minute), and I find the entire thing hypocritical and extremely… false. When it’s paired alongside a documentary—a praised documentary—about how awesome women are for loving something that’s traditionally geared towards men (how about video games and sci fi, for starters?), then maybe I’ll give it a glance, but considering that the brony subculture is one that is very happy to loudly exclude and push women away, I’m not holding my breath.
So now. Let’s talk about why that post (for those following at home, this post) is hilarious out of context, and I’ll even use My Little Pony gifs to help explain my position. Just for you, anon.
As a point of clarification, I think My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is a fantastic show. It teaches lessons that more kids (and, to be quite frank, fans of the show) need to learn. It has a main cast of not one but six girls, which is unbelievably rare in this day and age. It’s funny and heartwarming, the music is frequently adorable and entertaining, and it makes perfect sense that people of all ages and genders enjoy it. It’s an enjoyable show!
But, and here’s the important part, there’s a HUGE (dare I say, GARGANTUAN) difference between someone saying, “Wow, I really like this My Little Pony show!” and someone saying, “I’m a brony.”
Let me explain.
You see, anon, in the English language, words have connotations. If, for example, I say, “I’m a redneck,” you’re going to assume certain things about me—that I probably really love the second amendment, that I’ve got some high level of fondness for a more rural/backwoods culture, probably that I’ve got some really conservative political views. All or none of those things may be true of me, but the fact remains that I chose a word to describe myself that carries with it those specific connotations—connotations that I, as a speaker of English and an understander of American culture, should know about and shouldn’t be surprised when people assume them of me because I’ve said “I’m a redneck.”
In the same vein, saying “I’m a brony” carries with it certain connotations, and very few of them are pleasant… and what’s worse, most of those connotations are consistently provable as true.
I’m not talking about the connotations of bronies wanting to fuck underaged cartoon ponies (which is fucked up in and of itself) or spending all of their time clopping. Nobody actually cares about that. You do you.
I’m also not talking about the connotation of being a grown man who really enjoys a show that’s geared towards young girls. As I said before, this show is a great show. I’d be surprised if people weren’t really into it. And legitimately nobody is upset that a bunch of adult men really like a show that’s geared towards young girls.
And frankly, if we were talking about the brony culture of ~3-4 years ago, that’s all we’d be talking about.
But the culture has morphed, and the word “brony” no longer has the connotations it had back then. It doesn’t just mean that you’re an adult who likes this show. It’s turned into something far grosser.
A couple of weeks ago, I did an experiment, to sate my own curiosity and because I was kind of sick of people talking about how brony culture is completely harmless and okay. I’m not going to replicate the results here (you can read about them here and here), but suffice it to say that even leaving off the gross misogyny, homophobia, rape apologetics, and general nastiness of the brony community, I’d still find the community disgusting for the sole reason that they don’t bother to hide their porn and, because of that, have literally made it so that the show’s target audience can’t really participate in the fandom without being exposed to things that no child should be exposed to.
And that’s just scratching the surface.
I’m not going to get into a discussion about the entitlement of bronies, how they seem to think that because they like this thing that it should somehow belong to them and only them, even though they basically stole it from little girls.
I’m not going to get into a discussion about the pervasiveness of rape culture in their community.
I’m not going to get into the enormous overlap between bronies and entitled Nice Guys.
I’m not going to get into the culture’s inherent homophobia, where it’s perfectly okay to post porn of a pair of anthropomorphized ponies lezzing it up for the male gaze, but any sort of m/m is automatically deleted.
I’m not going to get into the culture’s tendency towards racism (with the constant question any time a pony is humanized and depicted as anything but white being, “but why is she [non-white]?”).
But it’s all there for you to see, and these are all connotations that the word “brony” carries. When you identify yourself as a brony, especially nowadays, you need to accept that these connotations will be assumed of you and, if you don’t want them to be assumed of you, you need to not just say “but I’m not like that!” but actually do what you can to change the culture itself and demonstrate with your actions that you’re not like that.
So. With that in mind, let’s talk about bronies “coming out of the closet” and how stupid that is.
First of all, it’s a gross appropriation of a term that applies—and should apply—to the LGBT* community. None of us chose to be the way we are; none of us woke up in the morning and decided, hey, I’d like to be part of a group that’s marginalized and abused in the best of present circumstances and jailed and murdered in the worst of present circumstances. If you think that the opposite is true, that’s a whole ‘nother discussion that I’m not going to have beyond saying: science says “fuck you.”
But the thing with bronies is that they’re not admitting to something that’s out of their control and, what’s worse (and secondly), they’re using a term that has such gross connotations that they should expect a lot of backlash when they reveal that they’re part of that particular subculture. They’re choosing to use a term that doesn’t just say “I’m a fan of this television show” (which, as I’ve said before, is fine and wonderful. I’m a fan of this television show) but that says, “I find myself sexually aroused by the characters in this show, and I don’t think that this show belongs to its target demographic but rather to me, the misogynistic dudebro who enjoys it.”
And that, anon, is why that post is funny out of context, because to be frank, if my future 13-year-old son ever came to me and admitted to something along those lines (that he was part of an internet subculture that I knew behaved in really gross ways and had essentially destroyed what should’ve been a safe space for actual children), I’d be pretty disappointed, too. Disappointed in my son and disappointed in myself, for somehow failing to raise him better than that.
As to your last jab, that I’m going to be a mother.
That’s 99% of why I have a problem with brony culture.
Take a trip with me, anon, to the future (after all, it’s nearly 2015!).
Not a future of hoverboards and flying cars, but about five years from now, when my son (and probable other kids… there’s going to be an infant in there somewhere, and the house [I’m totally going to have a house] will be a mess, but a different kind of mess… a mess of toys and also cereal) is about five years old.
This son of mine (Sammy, for those playing along at home) loves My Little Pony. He thinks that it’s the best show on TV. Sure, he may have a stronger fondness for the villains of the show (after all, look at who his father is… and related, Kyle’s love for Discord and Chrysalis knows no bounds), but he just loves the show in general. Assuming I have a daughter by then (for the sake of argument, her name is Evie and she mostly likes Apple Jack because Apple Jack is orange and orange is her favorite color), she also loves the show in general. We all love the show.
But here’s what happens.
They come and sit on my lap so that we can Google pictures of ponies… but when I do that—with Safe Search on, mind you!—disturbing and pornographic images pop up on the screen before I can navigate away, leaving my kids—we’ll say that Evie is 3 at the time, so they’re 3 and 5—to ask questions that they shouldn’t have a reason to ask yet.
They want me to read them stories about the ponies, but half the time I search for those stories, all I can find is porn, porn, porn.
They want to participate in the fandom for something that they love, but it’s a fandom that’s been taken over by really, reallygross people who perpetuate really, really gross ideas and have made it abundantly clear that while my son might be welcome to join them in a few years (assuming that he’s not a Dreaded Feminist or gay), my daughter is not and will never be welcome.
In other words, if this five years from now scenario plays out as it would play out today, my children would miss out on a LOT about something they love because that space has been taken over by a bunch of grown men who seem to think that it should belong to them (all while these same grown men throw tantrums whenever women and girls demand equal representation in other media).
So yeah. I’m going to be a mother. And that’s why I say, with utmost sincerity: fuck bronies.
i’m less concerned with “oh malia’s supposed to be mentally 9 years old” conclusion that fandom decided on before this episode than the “is teen wolf capable of introducing a female character who is NOT immediately identified as a dude’s love interest” thing goin on with malia tate
*this* is the first response I’ve actually agreed with. Shelly did a good job with Malia. Sacrificing her for the alter of girls are there to make the guys look pretty did not thrill me.
So this Nogitsune chooses to present itself to Stiles in a specific form, probably as one of its past (or its latest) host. Before we can actually see what this Nogitsune looks like, we know that he can speak Japanese. Since the Nogitsune myth comes from Japanese folklore,…
Because acting evil is fun for actors. Acting like you’re best friend and the person you love dearly is possessed and about to gleefully hurt you? Thats hard. And Posey sold it. He sold us that Scott was in pain, and afraid, and yet somehow, above all else STILL CONCERNED…