Anne, I need to know: what are your thoughts on Scott in a crop top?
My first, immediate, most pressing thought is: Yes.
More coherent thoughts include:
Scott not realizing that shirt from last year is just a bit too short and wearing it out of the house, and every time he raises his arms, the toned, tan expanse of his tummy gets a peek out and everyone around him is too flustered to mention it.
Scott trying out for the American Football team and wearing his practice jersey, which is only about half a shirt, with nothing underneath it because 2-a-days are so hot he can barely breathe as it is.
Scott going to college and learning that he can be a little freer with his expressions of both gender and sexuality, wearing crop tops and short shorts (but not together - he doesn’t want to be too distracting, after all) and having everyone around him oooh and ahhh over how sweet he looks in his new clothes.
Scott wearing a cut-off crop top in his dorm room because he likes having something covering his chest but he sort of likes showing off his flat stomach, and Stiles struggling to keep his hands from that sensitive spot on Scott’s side that he knows makes him squirm.
Isaac’s hands on Scott’s sides just above his hips, skin on skin, because his cropped top is pushed up just high enough for broad hands to nearly encircle his teeny little waist.
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Hands down one of my favorite scenes of the show is still that time in Season One when Deaton protected Scott in the vet clinic and refused to let Peter take him. It’s just...gah. Also, its no coincidence that its the first time on the show Scott was protected and kept safe by another character....and sadly something that’s never really been repeated.
And then add that to the scene in 3A when Scott’s desperate to rescue Deaton before the Darach can sacrifice him....to protect his mentor and friend as Deaton once protected him.....and then again, that hug in Season Five when Deaton’s rescued, and Scott’s relief at seeing him....
LOOK I JUST LOVE THOSE TWO SO FUCKING MUCH OKAY GAWD.
I just saw your post about supporting Bilingual!Scott and I have to tell you, I honestly became so happy. As a Latina, whose first language is Spanish, I was always kind of sad when tw failed to throw in even a small thing of Scott's heritage. They had many opportunities and failed to take them or roll with them (Ivonne Coll for example). Most of the time, I'm left with these little day dreams where Scott's heritage is somewhat acknowledged. I'm glad to know someone else acknowledges it too.
I’m so glad you reached out to me. I love bilingual!Scott and wish so much that the show had taken even a little bit of care with his backstory and his roots. Since they didn’t, at least we have our headcanons and our fic. You might check out @static-abyss too, if you’re looking for more bilingual!Scott content.
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"Scott, honey, Deputy Graeme asked you a question." His mom placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
Scott stared down at his hands wrapped around a styrofoam cup filled with hot cocoa. It had long since gone cold. "Sorry, can you repeat the question?"
Deputy Graeme, her name tag read T. Graeme, the 'T' stood for 'Tara', of all the Sheriff's deputies she was Stiles' favorite. She smiled, patient, "Do you have any idea how you and Stiles made it to the house in the woods?"
'I can't remember anything,' Scott thought, irritated, 'I've said this already. I've said this a hundred goddamn times.' But, of course, he knew Deputy Graeme asked because it was her job, "I can only remember the ride to the Preserve with Stiles, everything else is a blank."
When Scott woke up Stiles was sitting upright back against a wall. Stiles had a hand pressed against a wound in his side, it looked like a bite mark and wept an oily black liquid. The same black liquid seeped from his eyes, leaked from his ears and mouth, stained his teeth blueish black. Scott remembered Stiles' face, frozen in a grimace, he didn't ease into death, something killed him from the inside. He’d hurriedly checked himself all over for a similar wound but found nothing. The thought made Scott queasy.
"And you went there at Stiles' insistence," Deputy Graeme said, reading over his prior statement, "to 'find the other half of a dead body'."
That night Stiles burst into his room vibrating with excitement over a call he'd heard over dispatch. 'Two joggers found a body in the woods' he'd said, breathless. Scott had been sitting on his bed stringing his lacrosse stick, 'A dead body?' he remembered asking, Stiles snapped at him, 'No, a body of water, dumb ass.' It was then Stiles noticed Jordan at Scott's computer desk, Jordan had come over to do research for an English paper, 'I'll take a raincheck on interfering with a police investigation' he said. 'It's cute you think you were invited in the first place.' Stiles said as he tugged Scott out of the room. It didn't take much more to convince Scott to leave with Stiles. Now he wished they'd stayed in, they might've been commiserating over their shared status as bench warmers instead of . . . .
Neither of them found the body, at least not the one they intended to, "Right." Scott said, flatly, he wanted to leave, his legs ached with the need to get up and go. He kept thinking about Stiles' face, how lonely he must've been, how much it must've hurt. He couldn't stop smelling him. The moldering stench of Stiles' body rotting away inside and out was thick in his nose, so thick it filled his mouth, he could taste it, even then. He pushed back violently from the table, upending the cup of cocoa all over Deputy Graeme's papers.
There was a tightness in his chest, it felt like his organs were swelling or his body was shrinking around them. His mom rose with him, Scott could barely hear her over the ringing in his ears.
"Scott, breathe slowly," his mom said, he'd been sucking down huge gulps of air, "In then out. Nice and slow."
Scott couldn't look at his mom as she guided him through his attack, she was crying, while somewhere behind him Deputy Graeme looked on helplessly.
It took a few minutes until he'd calmed enough so his mom could usher him out of the room, she had her arm wrapped around him protectively.
"I'm taking him home," she said, firmly, "We can finish this tomorrow or the next day or whenever Scott is good and ready to talk."
Deputy Graeme had no argument. She allowed his mom to walk him through the station where they drew looks from the officers at their desks, some greeted them, or simply nodded.
A tall, lanky brown-haired boy hopped out of his chair when he saw them, the officer he was talking to pursed his lips in irritation.
It was Jordan. Scott saw he wore a Beacon Hills Police Department jacket which mirrored his own, though it didn't fit right, his bony wrists stuck out from the sleeves. The sight almost made Scott smile but he couldn't, he stared blankly at Jordan.
"Hey, Scott, glad you're alright," Jordan gave Scott a half-smile, "I- oof." His mom left his side to sweep Jordan up into a hug. It made sense she'd be grateful, Jordan was the one who found him in the woods.
A part of Scott knew he should've thanked Jordan right then but his legs carried him out the double doors while his mom continued tearily hugging him.
It felt good to be outside. The station had been stifling in the same way the house in the woods had been. He turned his face upward basking in the balmy air, comforted by the sight of the half moon in the sky. He winced as a thought formed in his head, not his own, it compelled him to return to the woods, to find the house. The woods. The house. Go to the woods. Find the house. The urge almost took him but a hand settling on his shoulder broke the spell, Scott jerked away from the touch and looked around frantically. He knew the hand belonged to his mom, it was the source of the thought, and whoever or whatever put it there which scared him.
