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scaly-freaks · 6 days

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“Milk Carton” — Self-explanatory, it was the only song I could think of that has the perspective of someone who survived a kidnapping. I also believe that establishing what is going to happen in the beginning helps build up a sense of dread. We know that a kidnapping is going to happen, we just don't know when.

“In the Pines” — A truly haunting song. The song was originally written by Lead Belly, but the first time I heard it was this Kurt Cobain documentary called Montage of Heck, where the final scene is Kurt performing the song at MTV Unplugged. There’s this moment in the song where Kurt makes this face that is absolutely chilling, almost like he’s Colonel Kurtz staring into the heart of darkness. The lines, “you caused me to weep, you caused me to moan, you caused me to leave my home / I wish to my Lord that I’d never seen your face / I’m sorry you were ever born,” also felt pertinent. All in all, I felt it sets the Southern setting, especially the North Carolina region, where you say Aegon takes Amara.

“Rampage” — I felt that this accurately captured Aegon’s demeanour. I don’t know whether they might have known each other prior to her abduction, but most kidnappings occur with someone who knows you. There will be a lot of songs where you just feel looming dread, and this is the first of them. “Milk Carton” is disturbing, but there’s no dread, because there’s no anticipation. Whereas “Rampage,” I’m going to assume, seems to be spoken from the perspective of a lover of a boy whom, it’s heavily implied from the references to the Columbine Shooters and Tate Langdon in American Horror Story, is ultimately going to shoot up a school. When I was a kid, my parents would play this song called, “Six O’Clock News,” about a woman whose lover goes on a shooting rampage, who has just learned she’s pregnant with his child. I always was very shaken by that song, and I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have loved someone who committed such atrocities; just the sheer guilt, the discomfort regarding how to mourn them, the thoughts of I should have known, I should have seen the signs…was unthinkable for me as a child, and is unthinkable now. In “Creek Blues,” another song from the same album as “Rampage,” you sort of get this mosaic of such “signs.” He shows the speaker his daddy’s guns, he kills dogs and leaves them to die by the nearby creek. I think, for me, I wanted to build up a sense of dread over the songs, until it reaches its pinnacle, sort of this mounting pile of evidence that something terrible is going to happen. I discuss the notion of warning signs in relation to violence and abuse in the explanation for “Sometime After Midnight.”

“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” — Chosen mostly because it inspired this creepy, creepy short story that we read in high school, about the immediate moments preceding the abduction of a teenage girl from her home. Incredibly unsettling story, and absolutely heartbreaking. The story, called “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” was adapted into a movie in the 80’s. Honestly considering removing it, given that I’m trying to build up dread, and it’s not really a dreadful song. Let me know if you think it should stay.

“Sometime After Midnight”— I wanted to convey a sense of looming doom; there’s this moment in W.G. Sebald’s The Emigrants, where there’s this extensive idyllic depiction of Bavaria, and then this war plane crosses the sky. This section starts out with the understanding that it’s the account of a character’s mother, and that she wrote it while awaiting deportation to a Nazi death camp. And this endows the image of the war plane cutting across this clear blue sky above this bucolic Bavarian landscape with a feeling of absolute dread; they have no idea what is going to happen. It’s the equivalent to the tomb in Arcadia, or the ending of Irréversible: it’s a portent of doom. “Sometime After Midnight” is one such prelude; the speaker remarks to herself that she knows that she spent all day getting ready for the date, but that she has this feeling in her stomach that makes her feel uneasy. She remarks that she’s been told that bad things happen after dark, and then looks at the setting sun. It’s the equivalent to a puzzle piece falling into place. I do truly believe that there is an intuition that people have that something’s off, and that many, especially women, choose to ignore this feeling, tell themselves that they’re being silly or paranoid, only to realize that their gut was right. It’s meant to convey dread, and banality. While the speaker may have considered her day preparing for the date innocuous, just a bit of fun, in retrospect, the day will become far more significant.

I was too young to remember 9/11, but when I’ve asked my parents and my friends’ parents their stories of that day (I grew up very close to New York), they all reacted differently—my boyfriend's dad saw the second tower get hit from the train window, and stayed on the train, my friend's dad was in the South Tower and ran to the Hudson to get on one of the many boats that were trying to take people off Manhattan—but one thing detail was the same in all of their stories: there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky that day. The reason why this detail has crystallized in their head is because they should have known. It was only in retrospect that the day that began like any other became that day. We trace the final day of murder victims, what they wore, their last words to their parents and loved ones, because we want to prepare ourselves for the possibility that our banal, commonplace lives could be torn apart at a moment’s notice, that one day we might walk out of a door and never be seen again. I believe that we have an intuition about people, but not about events. The speaker of “Sometime After Midnight” does not know that this is the last day; she may not have spoken to any of her parents or friends or loved ones but instead spent all of it getting ready for a date that will end in either her abduction or her demise. She may have a gut feeling, but by the time she feels it, it's already too late. This is her last day, and all that she can do is watch "the sky turn black by the window-side."

“Bad Things”— Another song that I felt exuded dread, although in this case, the fear actually becomes realized. The opening riff almost hits like a stuttering heart, with this insistent clapping noise; it immediately evokes both despair and anxiety. The song's chorus reads like a nursery rhyme you tell children: bad things happen, and you are powerless to stop them. The chorus is also apt for a kidnapping: you leave home, and you never come back. I had never been able to decipher the spoken part, but in looking at the lyrics, they’re really chilling, given that they’re spoken by Jim fucking Jones. The lyrics read as such: "You’d have wanted to run, you’d have had to run with them, because anybody could’ve run today, they would have wanted to. I know you’re not a runner and your life is precious to me.” It’s essentially Jim Jones gaslighting his followers in the leadup to their mass suicide, telling them that they actually have agency over their fates. They chose to stay and kill themselves alongside him, he argues, because they didn’t run when they could have. They freely chose to stay with him and die with him. But this isn’t true; the inner circle would punish those who attempted to escape, and the event that precipitated the Jonestown massacre was a group of Jones loyalists gunning down the Congressman Leo Ryan and defecting members of the People’s Temple on an air strip as they tried to leave. Jones manipulated his followers into believing they had a choice, that, if they wanted to leave, they could have, when they never did. I think I recall Aegon using this rationalization in Chapter 10 of YSMMC: it was Amara's choice to go to the cabin, so he bears no responsibility for any of the acts he felt licensed to subject her to as a result of this choice. And, as in Jonestown, Amara’s “choice” in YSMMC wasn’t much of a choice, because it was either that or a confrontation with Jace, and Aegon knew this, and exploited it to his advantage. He helped create the conditions that would cause her to choose. It all reminds me of when I was reading Chapter 17 of YSMMC, and I was reminded of this passage from Lolita:

“Get in,” I said. “You can’t call that number.”

“Why?”

“Get in and slam the door.”

She got in and slammed the door. The old garage man beamed at her. I swung on to the highway.

“Why can’t I call my mother if I want to?”

“Because,” I answered, “your mother is dead.”

In the gay town of Lepingville I bought her four books of comics, a box of candy, a box of sanitary pads… at the hotel we had separate rooms, but in the middle of the night she came sobbing into mine, and we made it up very gently. You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go. (140)

That is to say, Jim Jones, Humbert in Lolita, and Aegon in YSMMC all act as if the decision by their victims to have sex with them was their victims’ choice, when they were the ones who set up the conditions that forced their victims to do what the men say. And, even if Amara freely chose to go to the cabin, she didn't choose any of the acts Aegon subjected her to there. I figured that this would be the approach of Aegon in this AU; tell Amara that it was actually her choice. This song sort of represents the pinnacle of the lead-up: the kidnapping that we've been expecting has finally occurred.

Anyways, as always, thank you for the opportunity for me to sharpen my character analysis approach to get ready for school; the methodology that guides my interpretation of characters is essentially the New Critical close reading method, and requires that I reconcile all aspects of their character and actions with each other, to explain their motivations, etc. It's a great challenge to have to analyze characters when their writer is right there to correct you; you're a lot less likely to cast generalizing statements about characters; it's harder to pontificate falsehoods when God is right there, if that makes sense lol. It forces me to be much more discerning, and therefore hones my analytical process, so I thank you again for that!!! X Caroline

Absolutely insane descriptor behind each song in this playlist, and the thought put into them? Girl, you are going to ace your impending studies. I consider myself lucky that this silly little hobby I picked up attracted people who treat it as something real and genuine which then pushes me to improve.

I only really fix someone's analysis if I think it's interpreting a sensitive topic in a way that I don't think is conducive to open-minded discussion; that responsibility kind of feels like it falls on me to fix since it's my work they're reading.

But your analysis, as well as others who have had their interpretations, I love to ingest, because as a writer, it's so easy to feel like these characters are just mine. But in reality, I read an amazing book and I hold those characters in me in a way that the writer might not recognise or identify with. Someone might extract the gentleness of Aegon and Amara and want to hold that close, whereas I might have written that particular chapter/passage from a place of extreme violence and trauma. Both are correct because both are tangled up with human beings. And when someone gives me their approach, I get to experience this familiarity of my characters from a whole other vantage which is so, so fun.

I'm a fan of every song you've chosen, and even though I know I can't write this AU right now, the lyrics to each are painting scenes into existence. For instance, as I was reading (and listening), a scene came to me where Amara tries to escape from the moving truck, and when Aegon gets her back, he choke-slams her into the horizontal part of the seat, her neck bent at a crooked angle as her head hits the car door. He's kneeling on the gears and the brake, one arm angled up against the roof of the truck, crouched over her like a malignant beast in a painting. The physicality of him filling up the space while she curls up and tries to push at his chest with her feet...yeah.

The Lolita comparison and the instances in YSMMC where Aegon created an inescapable situation and then handed her the illusion of choice...YES. Exactly it. If we're speaking in terms Helaena would use, Amara is an insect missing several legs, and Aegon is the spider slowly spinning the web in circles around her. Or a ladybird around which he's drawing a shape and she keeps trying to avoid the new lines he's putting on the page, without realising she can just step over them. She regularly suffers from what I like to call a fuck fog but there's so much more happening when Aegon decides to actively manipulate her. The Targaryen trauma train is so real, and it's just inconceivable every single one of the siblings hasn't developed their own methods of "playing God" when things don't go their way.

Anyway, urgh, fucking juicy ask. Delicious. Nibbling on it like a chicken leg.

P.S. Before I forget, I didn't envision Aegon knowing her before he kidnapped her at first, but I sort of like that now. There's a scene in Room where she screams at her mother for telling her to "be nice to everyone" and that's why she helped her eventual kidnapper look for his dog that didn't even exist. Maybe Amara gave Aegon a smile in passing a few times at the place she worked, and it was never anything more complicated than that. A scrap of kindness he decided to poison and taint.

#this ask is absolutely fucking insane #clutching my head in sheer glee and awe #inmate 13453-079 #your skin makes me cry #aegon x amara

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theweirdkidinside03 · 6 months

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Tate McRae stood tall for the fourth week in a row as greedy remained undefeated on Countdown Top 40

greedy - Tate McRae

Water - Tyla

Lovin' On Me - Jack Harlow

Pretty Girl - Ice Spice & Rema

TOO MUCH - The Kid Laroi, Jung Kook & Central Cee

Standing Next To You - Jung Kook

Bongos (feat. Meghan Thee Stallion) - Cardi B

MONACO - BAD BUNNY

One in a Million - Bebe Rexha & David Guetta

3D (feat. Jack Harlow) - Jung Kook

Houdini - Dua Lipa

Feather - Sabrina Carpenter

Can't Catch Me Now - Olivia Rodrigo

On My Love - Zara Larsson & David Guetta

Paint The Town Red - Doja Cat

Do It Like That - TXT & Jonas Brothers

First Person Shooter (feat. J. Cole) - Drake

get him back! - Olivia Rodrigo

ONE MORE TIME - blink 182

Snooze - SZA

One of Your Girls - Troye Sivan

Sensational (feat. Davido & Lojay) - Chris Brown

Cobra - Megan Thee Stallion

Try That In A Small Town - Jason Aldean

Rainy Days - V

Heart over Mind - Alan Walker & Daya

Agora Hills - Doja Cat

Children of the Sky (a Starfield Song) - Imagine Dragons

Gimme Love - Sia

With You - Oliver Tree

Desire - Calvin Harris & Sam Smith

Demons - Doja Cat

Think Of Us (feat. Gracey) - The Chainsmokers

I Love You So - The Walters

Used To Be Young - Miley Cyrus

Single Soon - Selena Gomez

Slow Dancing - V

Iconic (feat. Jax) - Simple Plan

fukumean - GUNNA

Traffic Accident - Dann & Mujin

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april-is · 1 year

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April 20, 2023: Wound is the Origin of Wonder, Maya C. Popa

Wound is the Origin of Wonder Maya C. Popa

A cross-breeze between this life and the imagined one.

I am stuck in an almost life, in an almost time. If I could say,

but I cannot, and so on. Sunlight dizzies through the barren trees,

the skyline, a blue fog against a yellow light, and on the highway

every Westward car blinds me. Every surface reflects

that quiet understanding: decisions have been made, irreversible decisions

to upend beauty for something approximate—the airport hotel,

its Eiffel Tower on the roof, a playground near the public storage.

Beyond, bridges like monuments to fracture, and a sign for Pain Law:

not metaphor, but litigation. Who would not, given acreage

in another’s mind, lie there for a while to watch the sky be sky?

Today in:

2022: When the Fox Comes to the City, Patricia Fargnoli 2021: aubade for the whole hood, Nate Marshall 2020: Keeping Things Whole, Mark Strand 2019: New Year’s Day, Kim Addonizio 2018: I Know You Think I’ve Forgotten, Jane Hirshfield 2017: The Writer, Richard Wilbur 2016: from Seven Skins, Adrienne Rich 2015: I Ask Percy How I Should Live My Life, Mary Oliver 2014: In the Park, Maxine Kumin 2013: To A Sad Daughter, Michael Ondaatje 2012: My Dead Friends, Marie Howe 2011: Staying After, Linda Gregg 2010: Dream Song 14, John Berryman 2009: What We Kept, Megan Alpert 2008: Please Take Back the Sparrows, Suzanne Buffam 2007: It Happens Like This, James Tate 2006: Tantalus in May, Reginald Shepherd 2005: September Song, Geoffrey Hill

#who put this brain inside of me?#maya c. popa #modern life

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not-alien-girl-v · 2 years

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could you write a picnic evening with tate langdon?

Runaways

"So, where did you grow up?"

You sit atop a faded tangerine hued play structure. Before you is the sun, setting into a hill cresting a great canyon at the edge of the park. You didn't quite dress for the occasion correctly, wearing jean shorts and a cropped blue tank top, and your legs rub against the crusted, peeling paint below you.

Between Tate's fingernails, he slowly chips away at the paint to settle his nerves. "Around here, Los Angeles. What about you? I didn't really peg you for a California girl." He peeks at you through his shaggy bangs and notices your focus not on him, but on the sunset. The golden rays give your hair a beautiful sort of glow, one he's never quite noticed of anyone else before.

He wipes his glistening palms on the denim of his thighs. "No, I'm from elsewhere..." You trail off.

He chuckles. "Elsewhere?" He repeats. A enigmatic smile plays at your face but you don't turn to look at him. He wonders how you can feels so calm and at peace. You hum through a smile in response.

"My turn. What's your favorite movie?" He takes a bite from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his left hand.

You tilt your head, looking at the skyline from another angle. "I really liked The Shining. You?"

"Silence of the Lambs. Anthony Hopkin's performance was just amazing." He notices a small yawn you try to contain, but to no avail. "Am I boring you? Is there something I'm doing wrong here?"

For once, your gaze meets his own. You sigh shallowly. "Don't you find all this boring?"

"I happen to think of myself as an interesting individual," he absorbs his last word into another bite of his sandwich. This time, he looks off into the setting sun. He somewhat understands your attention, the sky is rather beautiful on this evening.

"Not you. I find you... amicable. And handsome. But I mean, everything. All of this?" Out from your pocket you pull out a pack of cigarettes, placing one in your mouth. You turn to him, face forlorn, "light me?"

From his jean pocket, he pulls out a dark blue lighter and waves the flame at the very tip of the stick in your mouth. Taking a long drag, you blow it out away from him. You pass the cig to him and jump down from the roof of the play structure where Tate had been hoping a legendary date would commence, but, unfortunately, he wasn't receiving what he imagined he would from you.

Your shoes emit a cracking sound as they meet the wood chips several feet below you. Walking a few feet toward the swing set, you stop in your tracks and turn around. "You coming down?"

His eyes light up. He had assumed your exit had been the end of your date. He gathered the food back into the plastic bag he brought it in and allowed himself to fall to the ground in a similar fashion you did. You sink down into the closest swing. "Push me?"

He smiles. He begins to push you gently, watching you slowly gain momentum. "Don't you ever want to just drop everything? Just leave and not look back?" You ask.

"Hmm, only every day," he pokes fun but gets the idea you aren't joking in the slightest.

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course. Life is shit around here. Always has been, and the way things are looking recently, always will be. Doesn't mean there's anything I can do about it, so I try not to think about it."

"That makes it worse. To know you can't escape it," you stop your movement just as his hands come to meet your waist from behind. You crane your neck up to look at him upside down. "What if we did?"

He blows out his smoke. "Did what?" You let the top of your head rest down on his chest as you watch him breathe in and out the smoke surrounding him.

"What if we left tonight. Right now, we pack our bags and run." His arms go over your shoulders now, hands clasping lightly in front of your chest while he looks down at you.

"What if we burn out? I don't want to get tired of you. I really, really like you."

"But what if we don't? How will you ever know what could have been if you never take a risk like this?"

He smiles down at you, a warm, comforting smile that reassures any doubt you may have kept hidden within you, as he places your cigarette between your soft lips. You take a long drag, allowing the burn to swirl around in your lungs, and when you reach up to hold it between your two fingers, you exhale it, watching as the smoke dissipates around his yearning features.

"I really, really like you, too, and I don't want to miss out on us, what we could have been. I'm so down for this, as long as you'll be with me." You're not sure if the look on his face shows one of disagreement or one of complete wanderlust.

Instead of words, he applies an intense expression, eyes becoming heavy and as did his breath, hot on your face as he leans in closer, closer, until his soft, warm lips meet yours, connecting like puzzle pieces, despite his face being upside down to you.

You allow him to kiss you for a long while, savoring the taste of him for as long as you can, before pulling away.

"I love you," you blurt gently.

Breathless, he speaks. "I love you too. What are we waiting for?"

With a wild smile, half a tank of gas and two half eaten sandwiches, Tate and you pack up your most prized belongings from your respective homes, and hit the road, him the driver and you his passenger, with no set destination other than anywhere else, and a love no longer unspoken between the two of you.

#tate landon fanfiction #evan peters fanfiction #tate langdon #tate langdon x reader #evan peters x reader #ahs #evan peters #evan peters x you #american horror story #fluff #fanfic

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augment-techs · 2 months

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"The Song of the Sea" for the fake fic title

Title: Song of the Sea Rating: Unrated Fandoms: Power Rangers; Boom! Comics Power Rangers. Relationships: Tori Hanson/Kapri; Koda/Sir Ivan; Maddie Rocca/Clare Langtree; Kevin/Mike; Ethan James/Conner McKnight/Kira Ford; T.J. Johnson/Andros/Zhane; Max Cooper/Danny Delgado; Sky Tate/Z Delgado; Rocky DeSantos/Adam Park/Aisha Campbell; Billy Cranston/Eugene Skullovitch/Matt Cook. Characters: Billy Cranston; Andrea; Alpha 5; Ernie; Tori Hanson; Justin Stewart; Maddie Rocca; Kevin; Rocky DeSantos; T.J. Johnson; Kai Chen; Chad Lee; Sky Tate; Max Cooper; Kiya Kyatyl; Ethan James; Koda; Ravi Shaw; Flynn McAllistair; Princess Marina; etc. Additional Tags: Emotional Vulnerability; They're All Queer, I Don't Even Care, Try and Stop Me; Missing in Action; What Is Canon?; There is No Such Thing as a Timeline; Fuck Forever Red (It Was Awesome, but We Can Do Better); We're Doing Forever Blue; Accidental Brother Acquisition; Crying; Cuddle Piles; Sleep Deprivation; Panic Attacks; Midnight Breakfast. Summary:

The warmest Color. The favorite Color. The only Color left.

Can one imagine, just imagine, what it's like to blink and find that a Rangers entire team has vanished into thin air because some kind of catastrophe happened that could not be mended, could not be fixed, could not be changed.

And they tried everything, every Blue Ranger that ended up rushing to Angel Grove like their internal compass told them it was the only place to be in their time of gut wrenching sadness and anxiety. Like birds flocking south for the winter or monarch butterflies making for their mating grounds in spectacular fashion.

There were inventions to be had since Billy was allowed to commandeer Promethea in wake of the disappearance of Grace, Terona, and Matt since the Command Center was essentially on lockdown; there were spells to be attempted by Maddie and Tori and Kevin and--given that he was hooking up with an undersea princess--Chad; there were calls to be made from one planet to another asking if this had ever happened on any other world with Justin, T.J., Kai, Rocky, and Ethan. There was even some interdimensional quandaries with Flynn, Ravi, Koda, Max, Sky and--with a suitable amount of begging down on one knee--Kiya.

This must have been some version of hell; the stillness and silence, but for the times one of them remembered to turn on a radio that played classical piano or the kind of rock that sounds like a garbage disposal being forced to chew on metal screws.

#boom! comics power rangers #power rangers #ask fill #prompt fill

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maverickkkkz · 8 months

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EUGHHH time to talk about Power Rangers!!

So I've been watching Power Rangers SPD and I wanna talk about Sky because I love him very much and he also has issues LOL. My memory is shit so I might be making half of this up but HERE WE GO!!

Sky Tate has so many issues from his dad, not in the way that his dad was a terrible person or father but because Sky set himself an impossible goal and really high self-expectations because of who his father was. Of course, that wasn't his dad's fault but yk here we are! Imagine being a child and expecting to be this great ranger, as great as your late father, and then you grow up and suddenly that whole idea is crushed! Ripped away from the palm of your hands!

Sky worked so hard to be the Red Ranger, but it caused arrogance on his part, and just because he had the dedication to SPD and his father was the Red Ranger didn't mean he automatically had rights to the title or position of Red Ranger. Of course, it was sad to see his dream stomped on, failing to live up to the expectation he set for himself and the expectation he might've felt his family held for him because, after all, he was his father's son. Or maybe feeling like he failed to prove himself, because his family were against the idea of him being like his father, due to his father's death in the line of duty. Either way, it is sad, even if he wasn't ready to be the Red Ranger because of his immaturity, arrogance and behaviour! Of course, it was gonna cause issues between him and Jack, Sky is a control freak, maybe because he couldn't control what happened to his father? For all of that to happen, the loss of control and the failure to himself, he was never gonna get along with Jack OR Z at the drop of a hat, because they swooped in with zero training, with powers that he believed were unique to him, Bridge, and Syd, and took over where Sky believed he should rightfully stand.

It isn't an excuse for the way he treated Jack or butted heads with him but it is a reason, and of course, Power Rangers is just a kids show so they wouldn't talk about it, but I talk about it! It shouldn't have been brushed over, and if it was a real-life situation it definitely wouldn't have been. Sky has trauma from his father's passing, and probably has something funky going on with his self-worth, he really did work hard for Red Ranger, and he didn't get it, he's allowed to be disappointed. However, the moral of the story, he REALLY needs to see a therapist (like everyone else on B Squad)! It also might've done him good to talk to the others about it a bit more rather than basically just being seen as an asshole, iirc they might've understood somewhat in the show (?) but I can definitely see them and a lot of other people just brushing Sky off as that arrogant, bratty, child of a Red Ranger with a stick up his ass rather than someone who is a good person underneath all of that and just needs some help.

In the long run though, Sky not becoming the Red Ranger straight away WAS good for him. It taught him how to be a better person, to grow up from that child he still sorta was with stars in his eyes whenever he saw his father on TV saving people (and I can imagine the day his father died, his mother had to turn the news off). And in the end, he did get there, he reached his goal after a lot of good, solid character development and I really really enjoy his character arc! For a Power Rangers series, the SPD B Squad characters, and the other characters around them, have complicated stories and development and I love that so much!!

I'm also a little delusional at the end of the day :D

#power rangers #character analysis #sky tate #power rangers spd #in this essay i will #thank you for coming to my ted talk #space patrol delta

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denimbex1986 · 6 months

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'GamesRadar+ verdict: 4.5 stars

A near-perfect end to the Doctor's 60th anniversary adventures. David Tennant and Catherine Tate bow out of the series in an often jaw-dropping episode that points the way to a bright new future for Doctor Who. Allons-y!

Doctor Who's trilogy of 60th anniversary specials comes to an end with The Giggle, the biggest and, by quite some way, the boldest episode of this show for many years. There's a returning enemy, a global threat, and a long-awaited regeneration - but that's just the half of it.

In some ways these episodes have mimicked the structure of returning showrunner Russell T Davies' seasons past. The Star Beast was a fun and frothy family adventure reminiscent of season-openers like Rose or Partners In Crime. Last week's Wild Blue Yonder recalled the show's mid-season turns to the weird in episodes like Midnight. The Giggle, then, is a classic RTD season finale, epic in scale, with wild swings of tone and mood, big ideas, UNIT battles - and a dance.

Wild Blue Yonder ended with a touching reunion with Bernard Cribbins' Wilfred Mott. It was, sadly, the only scene the Doctor Who production team were able to film with the beloved actor, though he does make a brief audio cameo this week (in a dialogue sample snatched from season 4 episode The Poison Sky). The Doctor (David Tennant) and Donna (Catherine Tate) have returned to Earth, only to find the planet in chaos caused by the arrival of the Toymaker - played by Neil Patrick Harris with malicious glee. A sinister laugh transmitted through every screen on planet Earth has caused everyone to become convinced that they are always correct, leading to a wave of violence that UNIT are desperately trying to keep in check. To put things right the Doctor and Donna must enter the Toymaker's realm and, quite literally, beat him at his own game.

That's the initial premise, anyway. The Giggle takes many bizarre and surprising twists and turns across its 61 minute run-time, including a visit to Soho in 1925 (which provides the episode with a distinctly creepy image in the laughing form of ventriloquist dummy Stooky Bill) and a memorable raid on the huge new UNIT headquarters (which has strong Avengers Tower vibes and will surely be an easy target in the next alien invasion). It's all leading up to a moment that we've known has been coming for the last 19 months: the regeneration of David Tennant's Fourteenth Doctor into Ncuti Gatwa's Fifteenth incarnation.

As most of you reading this by now will know, there's a lot to talk about there (and if you need a handy recap, we have an in-depth ending explainer right here). For now though, and with our spoiler-free remit in mind, we'll simply say that Gatwa makes an immediately winning first impression: charismatic, funny, and with an edge of unpredictable danger. I can't wait to see where this Doctor goes and what they do next. Thankfully it won't be a long gap, with the show returning on Christmas Day with another special, The Church On Ruby Road.

But let's not forget David Tennant. His reprisal of the role caused many a raised eyebrow in the admittedly easy to wind up world of hardcore Doctor Who fandom, but it may yet prove to be showrunner Davies' canniest choice on returning to the show that he revived all those years ago.

Whatever your thoughts on the quality of the last few years of the show, there's little doubt that it had fallen out of the public imagination somewhat, even if the rumors of its imminent demise from the worst sections of the internet were undoubtedly overblown. Bringing back the most popular actor to ever play the part before handing over to a brand new Doctor, played by a rapidly rising talent, was both a smart headline-grabbing action and a chance to find new shades in both Tennant and Tate's performances.

Because, while the Fourteenth Doctor is, in many ways, simply an older version of the Tenth, that difference in age and experience is important, as The Giggle makes clear. This Doctor runs as fast as ever, but they're sadder and more care-worn. They've been bruised by the events of the Flux, which left half the universe destroyed (what seemed at the time to be a dangling loose thread, now beautifully woven into the Doctor's character), and by everything else that has happened to them over the course of, for Donna, 15 years and for the Doctor, literal aeons. Crucially, they're willing to give up everything to protect their companion. OK, so the Doctor was never afraid of self-sacrifice, but there's something more than that here. "It's not about me," Donna says at one point, and Tennant's "Oh yes it is!" is said with desperate conviction. This was never simply a lap of glory for Tennant, but a chance to round out the character that made him a household name in the UK.

Tate, too, is fantastic. Donna has also aged, but she's only grown warmer, wiser, and more determined. A scene where she faces off against one of the Toymaker's traps is laugh out loud funny as she unflappably deals with a monster in a wonderfully straightforward way.

Elsewhere, Neil Patrick Harris makes for a wonderfully sinister villain - by turns camp, silly, and genuinely terrifying. A handful of throwaway lines may hint at bigger threats to come (and perhaps the return of another old enemy), but there's something unknowable, strange, and - as the Doctor puts it - "elemental" about this character. They invoked superstition in last week's episode and now here they are, tussling with what is effectively a god. This is Doctor Who played on a grand and mythic scale.

Not everything works perfectly. The Vlinx, a surprising new bit of UNIT tech, is left unexplained for now and strikes an oddly goofy note in the episode. The nature of the giggle itself offers Davies the chance to make some pointed statements about the state of our world, but fades into the background as soon as the Doctor and the Toymaker meet. And while the episode looks generally pretty amazing, there are some spotty VFX in places. But so it always was with Doctor Who, a show that never let a lack of time or money stop it from going to places much bigger shows would never dare.

These are small quibbles in an instalment that marks a near-perfect cap on a trilogy of episodes that have been simply a joy to watch these last three weeks, and which point to a blazing future for Doctor Who, one that feels genuinely unpredictable and unmissable again. Farewell David and Catherine. Welcome Ncuti! Next stop: everywhere.'

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evanesdust · 2 years

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testing something with the new community guidelines. chapter ten of for a good time, call... was flagged when i originally posted it since it has nsfw fanart, so let's try this again! masterlist Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Malia Tate, Lydia Martin, Derek Hale, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Original Male Character(s), Sheriff Stilinski Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Meet-Ugly, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Wrong number, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, Idiots in Love, Mates, Mating Bites Summary:

Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log. His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him. Oh shit. Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number. Oh God. Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—for phone sex?

It’s the day of the full moon; their first together since becoming official—Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. Stiles made sure to update every social media site. Hell, he would have gotten one of those planes to fly a banner across the sky if he wasn’t so sure Derek would look at him like he was crazy. Okay, that’s a lie. A quick google search proved that the endeavor was far too expensive.

Stiles lies in Derek’s bed, wrapped in his arms with their legs tangled. It’s how he’s woken every morning for the past two weeks. Usually, he’d snuggle closer and fall back to sleep, but the excitement of the day isn’t letting him sleep anymore.

Stiles lets his eyes trail over Derek’s body. As always, his heart swells when they pass over his bite on Derek’s neck. It’s still overwhelming having this connection to another person. His fingers graze over the bite mark with a feather-like touch before he runs his hands further down Derek’s body.

Stiles licks his lips as his gaze passes over the outline of Derek’s erection through the sheet. His hole clenches automatically, and his mouth waters as he imagines Derek’s dick in his mouth. But why imagine it when he can make it a reality?

Stiles gets a wicked grin on his face as he crawls down the bed to slot himself perfectly into the V of Derek’s legs. He slips the sheet off Derek’s waist like he’s unwrapping a present and is pleased when Derek’s dick bobs in the air.

Yay!

Before he dives in though, Stiles takes a moment to appreciate a fully naked Derek. Derek’s wide, muscular chest is on full display, and his nipples are hard and look suckable. But Stiles won’t let the way his hole slicks or his dick jumps detract from his goal of getting Derek’s dick in his mouth.

There’s no reaction as he strokes Derek’s dick a couple of times, but when he wraps his lips around the tip, Derek gasps softly. Stiles smiles before he sucks lightly, swirling his tongue and slowly slipping down to the thicket of dark curls at the base, licking every inch. He swallows around the head of Derek’s dick, eyes rolling closed in ecstasy, and moans at the weight of Derek on his tongue.

Derek mumbles a curse, quickly waking up as Stiles bobs his head and takes him all the way to the back of his throat.

“Jesus, fuck. Stiles.” It’s hard not to love the way his name is purred, and while Stiles loves having Derek in his mouth, what really gets him going is looking up and seeing Derek staring at him. Like he’s a fantasy.

Derek’s legs part even more, and Stiles looks up at the sound of the headboard creaking under Derek's grip. Stiles pops off, running his hands up Derek's abs and chest, to lightly trail over the long expanse of Derek's neck as his head is thrown back.

“God, I love sucking your dick,” he says hoarsely before sucking Derek down again. It’s not long before Derek fingers card through his hair, tugging lightly to warn that he’s close.

Stiles sprawls out on the mattress, rutting relentlessly as he chases his own release.

Derek’s hips stutter, and he grunts, filling Stiles’s mouth with cum. “So good. So good for me, Stiles,” he says, petting Stiles’s head.

Stiles pulls off and swallows, letting out a quiet groan as he licks his lips. He’s addicted to the taste of Derek, and it sets off his own toe-curling orgasm, making him pant into Derek’s groin. It’s only a second later that he’s hauled up against Derek’s chest. He’s breathless as Derek kisses him feverishly.

As much as Stiles would like to lie in bed and continue to make out, they need to get up. With a groan, he sits up and stretches. “All right. Time for a shower.”

“You go shower,” Derek says, swatting Stiles’s butt as they climb out of bed.

“Uh, Derek?” Stiles stops when Derek heads away from him and towards the kitchen, raising a brow. “Are we not showering together?”

“No,” Derek states, matter-of-factly, while he roots through the cabinets.

Stiles scoffs. Derek expects him to shower alone? “But—” We always shower together, is what Stiles wants to say, except Derek cuts him off.

“We’ll end up having sex, and I will knot you. And we’re already running late.”

Stiles crosses his arms and purses his lips even though everything Derek is saying is fair and valid. But how can he be expected to hold himself back when Derek is a walking wet dream?

Still, Stiles needs to put up some form of protest. “We’re not running late, Derek. It’s only 10:30.”

Derek points to the calendar on the fridge, drawing Stiles’s eyes to today’s date circled in red with full moon written in all caps. “I have to get dinner prepped since we’ll be out all day.”

“Can’t we just order pizza?” Stiles asks. “It’s just one night. We can—”

“We’re not ordering pizza.” Derek’s left brow rises to amazing heights. Stiles is impressed. It’s the most ‘the fuck are you talking about’ expression that Derek has ever given him. “I always cook.”

Stiles throws his arms out because— “Yeah, exa—”

“Stiles. You know how I feel about this.”

That’s the reason Stiles finally shuts up. He knows Derek has an extreme need to provide for the pack, which now includes him, so he relents.

By the time Stiles gets out of the shower, Derek already has beef stew in the crockpot and a casserole dish on the stove. He walks over with his towel around his waist and hugs Derek from behind. “What’s in there?”

“Mac ‘n cheese.” Derek turns his head, and Stiles happily accepts the kiss to the tip of his nose. “It’s got to cool off for a bit before I can put it in the fridge. But then all we’ll have to do when we get home is toss it in the oven to heat up.”

“Okay. It’s your turn now,” Stiles says as he spins them, pushing Derek towards the bathroom, and swatting his ass. Derek growls playfully, but Stiles pushes him again. “Go.”

Once the bathroom door is closed, Stiles dresses quickly. Since Derek cooked, and it’s the first full moon he’s helping host, Stiles figures he should make something. The cookies were a hit last time, but he’d rather make something new for them to try. After scrolling through his phone for 30 seconds, he settles on a berry crumble. It’s something he can prepare now and pop in the oven after the mac ‘n cheese is done.

Stiles gets so lost in getting the pie ready that time becomes obsolete. All too soon, the bathroom door opens, and his jaw drops when Derek steps out, chest glistening like he’s a Greek god.

Derek’s nostrils flare and he smirks, turning his head in Stiles’s direction. “You got a little drool there, Stiles.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says without heat. He wipes his hands on his apron and puts both the pie and the mac ‘n cheese in the refrigerator before giving Derek all his attention. “You, uh, you sure we can’t sneak in a round of sex?”

Instead of answering, Derek points at the clock on the wall.

Shit. It’s almost noon. Where the hell did the time go?

“Fine,” he says, petulantly. “But you need to hurry up and put clothes on. I can’t be held liable for my actions if you’re naked much longer.”

Derek huffs a laugh. While he’s dressing, Stiles puts his shoes on and pats down his pockets for his keys, wallet, and phone.

Stiles leans back when Derek’s hands settle on his waist.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

“Yeah.”

Derek does a quick check on the stew, and then they head out to meet his dad for lunch. It’s become a weekly thing since they got together, and Stiles can’t help but smile at how well his dad and Derek get along. They eat some roast chicken and watch baseball until it’s time for his dad to leave for work. Since it’s almost 3 o’clock, they go straight to Stiles’s apartment to pack his things. Yes, that’s right, Stiles is moving in with Derek. There’s no point in having the space when he spends all his time at Derek’s loft.

The pack, along with Scott and Allison, come over to help. With so many people, a majority of them being super strong werewolves, it takes almost no time at all to get everything loaded into the moving truck. It probably also helps that Stiles doesn’t have much to begin with anyway, and a few items—Stiles’s mattress and couch—get tossed to the curb since they’re old and not needed.

Scott and Allison end up leaving as soon as everything is unloaded at the loft—to go to dinner with Allison’s parents—but promise to join them for the next full moon. Derek checks the food and gets the mac ‘n cheese in the oven as soon as Boyd and Erica leave to return the truck, leaving Isaac and Stiles to start unpacking.

With no big furniture, Stiles’s things fit easily downstairs. His collection of Star Wars funko pops are a perfect addition to Derek’s bookshelves that house their large collection of DVDs. Derek got actual frames to hang Stiles’s favorite posters around the living room, and even Stiles’s treasured side table finds a new home next to the armchair.

Everything fits so seamlessly like it’s always been there.

By the time Boyd and Erica return, they’re done and starved, so it’s perfect timing that the oven beeps. Derek pulls out the mac ‘n cheese. The crispy, bubbly crust is drool-worthy. With the oven still hot, Stiles pops in the berry crumble, and they sit down.

Everyone is far too hungry to do anything but eat, and they get all the way to dessert before anyone speaks.

“So, Stiles,” Erica starts, and Stiles is already suspicious of the look she’s shooting Derek. “Did I ever tell you about the last time I got drunk?”

“Uh, no?” Stiles asks.

Derek tries to slap a hand over her mouth, but Erica is faster. “Yeah. Actually, this goes for pretty much every single time that Isaac or I have gotten drunk.”

“Yeah. Derek absolutely loves—”

“Erica.” Derek wears a scowl, clearly not liking the direction of this conversation. Stiles can’t help but laugh. He loves the way Derek lets down his guard around the pack—loves how Derek accepts the teasing.

“Fine,” Erica says with a toothy grin. “He hates taking care of us when we’re drunk.”

“Because you and Isaac don’t know your limits yet. You get sick everywhere, and then I can’t get the smell out of the loft for days.”

Isaac pushes back from the table, taking his plate to the sink. “I would just like to point out that it only happened once.”

“Yeah. One time too many,” Derek says with exasperation.

“If Boyd is here, he makes him take us home.” Erica leans into Boyd’s side and places a kiss on his jaw. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

Boyd cracks a rare grin and nods. “And if I’m not here, then I usually get a phone call to pick you up.”

“It could be three o’clock in the morning. I’m still calling Boyd.” Derek ends the conversation by hauling Stiles up and tossing him over his shoulder. Stiles yelps in protest but can’t complain too much considering the lovely view of Derek’s ass. “It’s getting late. We should head to the preserve.”

Erica and Boyd clear the table and join Isaac in the kitchen, already cleaning up.

“Guys, just leave it. We can get it later,” Stiles says after Derek puts him down. His shoes are sitting at the foot of the bed, so he quickly puts them on while Derek gets into some loose sweats.

“Yeah… I don’t think so,” Isaac calls out from the kitchen.

Stiles shoots him a confused look, and Erica snorts. “No offense, Bambi, but none of us want to be subjected to a night with you guys now that your heads are out of your asses.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you guys will want to boink all over the loft now that you’re officially moved in. It’s probably going to be worse than your heat.”

Stiles blushes at the implication but doesn't deny it.

All too soon, they are back in the preserve, and Stiles doesn’t bother averting his gaze when Derek strips—not just because Derek is incredibly hot. Watching Derek shift is magical.

Stiles is mesmerized as the air ripples around Derek—his smooth, tanned skin shedding away until a big, black wolf stares back at him. He drops to his knees and smiles softly before rubbing his cheek against Derek’s.

“Remember. We don’t make out in wolf form,” he whispers. Derek’s grin is recognizable in any form, so it’s unsurprising when a wet tongue licks across his cheek. “I hate you.”

Derek’s huff is a clear ‘No, you don’t.’ When he flops to his side, Stiles smiles and scratches at his belly—the significance of the gesture is no longer lost on him. Derek trusts him implicitly.

After a few minutes, Derek sits back on his haunches, and Stiles stands, brushing the dirt off his pants. “All right. Get out of here, you guys.”

Before they run off, Boyd gives him the same spiel from the first full moon, about how they’ll be close by. And just like last time, Derek seems to hesitate, but finally relents when Stiles nudges him to the treeline.

“Go on. I’m sure you’ll be able to find me easily wherever you run off to.”

Derek chuffs and gives Stiles one last look before throwing his head back and howling. It shakes Stiles to his very core, making him rub subconsciously over his mating bite as he feels the pull to his alpha.

The forest fills with the answering calls of the betas.

Stiles watches Derek sprint away, and once he’s out of sight, starts wandering for a bit. It’s hard not to be enchanted by the moonlight streaming through the trees, with the shadows of the leaves and branches dancing on the ground.

The sounds of the pack running and laughing echo through the trees, and he can’t help but smile. It gets wider when a shadow looms in the distance. His bond thrums with energy, and he instinctively knows it’s Derek.

“You are ridiculous,” he says when another huge buck is laid at his feet.

Stiles readily accepts it even though their freezer—and yeah, Stiles’s heart does a flip at calling it theirs—is still stuffed with venison from the first buck Derek brought him.

God, how fucking clueless was he?

The thought makes him laugh though he’s not entirely to blame, Derek could have spoken up at any time. Although, looking at it from Derek’s perspective—the different ways that Stiles had unknowingly accepted Derek’s courtship—Stiles can see how Derek also misunderstood.

Derek stays curled around Stiles after that, not that Stiles is complaining since it’s a little chilly and Derek is practically a furnace in this form. They sit there for another hour while the pack runs.

Before they head home, Stiles makes sure that none of the pack wants to stay. They are emphatic with their assurance that they do not want to be subjected to anymore unresolved sexual tension, even though Stiles assures them that it’s been completely resolved—in every room and every position known to man.

Derek shifts back, shakes his head, and throws Stiles over his shoulder again. He smiles happily.

Once they’re home, it’s hard to keep their hands off of each other; though, Derek insists on a shower first. Stiles practically sprints to the bathroom and gets the shower ready because he’s slick, horny, and wants to ride Derek’s knot. He offers no hesitation at pulling Derek out of the shower as soon as they’re clean, puts up a mild protest when Derek takes the time to dry them, and then shoves Derek back on the bed once they’re out of the bathroom.

For all intents and purposes, Stiles should be exhausted by now. It’s been a relatively long day with a lot of physical activity, but maybe that’s why he can’t sleep because he’s still too wired from moving and the pack run. It doesn’t help that he keeps thinking about how stupid he was for constantly worrying about Derek’s mate when it was him all along. It makes him laugh again.

Derek grunts and tips his head to look down at Stiles. “What’s going on?”

Stiles sighs as Derek’s hands start running up and down his back. “Just thinking about us and how stupid I was.” Derek clears his throat and raises a brow. Stiles knows that Derek is equally ashamed of how idiotic they were, so he corrects himself. “We were. It’s just—we could have had this the entire time.”

That earns another grunt from Derek, who flips them until Stiles is pressed into the mattress. Derek kisses him deeply before pulling away to kiss down the side of his neck. “Thought we agreed not to talk about it.”

“Inflection, Derek,” Stiles says breathlessly. He thinks about baseball, makes a grocery list, and mentally recites the periodic table as he wills his body not to respond when Derek sucks on his earlobe. “It’s ju—hnnng!—just funny. If you hadn’t told m-me to stop googling, I probably would have f-figured it out.”

Derek pulls away to stare down at Stiles. His lips are red and swollen, and his hair is in disarray, but his expression is serious. “What did I tell you, Stiles. You can’t trust Google.”

“I know,” Stiles says quickly. All he wants is Derek’s weight back on him, so he reaches up and rakes a hand through Derek’s hair to pull him closer. His breath hitches when Derek leans forward, as if to kiss him, but stops. Stiles’s heart is pounding in his chest. He licks his lips and looks up at Derek. “Please.”

Derek cups Stiles’s face as he falls to his elbows and gives him a gentle kiss. “I love you,” he whispers softly before finally giving in and devouring him.

Stiles moans into the heated kiss and hooks a leg around Derek’s waist, digging his heel into Derek’s ass. When Derek bites at his jaw, Stiles tips his head back in submission and whimpers. But it’s not enough.

“Wait wait wait,” Stiles says as he pushes Derek to the side. Derek falls easily, and Stiles smiles as he climbs over top, draping himself over Derek’s body. He rolls his hips so their erections drag against each other, giving him that sweet, delicious friction that makes him tremble.

(art by JD Gray - Twitter/Instagram)

“Oh, fu—” But Derek swallows his moans with a very passionate sweep of his tongue until Stiles pulls away, gasping for air.

Derek fists a hand in Stiles’s hair, tugging his head back to latch onto his throat. Fucking unfair because Derek knows how sensitive his neck is. Stiles bites his bottom lip and clutches at Derek as he continues grinding desperately against Derek’s dick and abs.

Beads of sweat drip down Stiles’s back, and his whole body quakes as Derek’s teeth nip at his skin. Stiles pushes up, splaying his hands on Derek’s chest as he rides Derek’s fingers, and when Derek adds a third, he cries out.

Derek’s free hand trails over Stiles’s chest, tweaking each nipple before continuing down. Stiles’s moans fill the loft, mixing with curses as Derek wraps a hand around their erections to jerk them off with a calloused hand.

Fuck!

Stiles’s lips part and hips stutter as he fucks into Derek’s fist before rocking back onto Derek’s fingers. Derek grunts and tightens his fist while he adds another finger.

Surprisingly, Stiles is not the one who snaps first. But he also knows how much Derek gets off on him getting off.

“Stiles.” Derek’s back arches off the bed as he practically growls Stiles’s name. His body goes taut, and his curses fill the loft. A tendon stands out on the side of Derek’s neck. Stiles wants to nibble on it because—fucking hell!—Derek looks so good when he cums. There’s something about the way his eyes roll to the back of his head before he sets a hard glare at the ceiling like it’s personally offended him, that really turns Stiles on.

Stiles watches Derek’s dick pulse as he keeps thrusting, digging his fingers into Derek’s shoulders, chasing his own release.

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek urges. “Let me see you cum.”

The order sends shockwaves through him. Stiles jerks forward, cumming into Derek's fist. He throws his head back and cries out in pleasure before collapsing on Derek’s chest. Words are lost to him, and all he can do is hum his approval of a great orgasm as his nerve endings tingle and his body twitches.

They’re going to be a mess when they wake, but Stiles can’t bring himself to move. And since Derek would gladly walk around smelling like them and sex, he knows Derek doesn’t care.

“G’nna sl’p,” he mumbles into the crook of Derek’s neck; his eyes are already closed.

Derek nuzzles his cheek and presses kisses to wherever he can reach. “Sleep, Stiles. I’ve got you.”

“Mmm…” Stiles smiles sleepily as Derek’s arms tighten around him.

Stiles wakes to Derek’s phone ringing. He yawns and squints at the phone screen when it lights up. “Wha…? Who’s it?”

“Not sure. Don’t recognize the number, but I got it. Just rest,” Derek whispers, scratching lightly at the nape of Stiles’s neck to soothe him before answering the call. His voice is low and gruff—a stark contrast to the sweet, loving way he had just murmured to Stiles. “Hello.”

There’s nothing for a second, and Stiles closes his eyes, sighing against the rhythmic rise and fall of Derek’s chest. He’s almost back asleep, relaxing easily as Derek rubs his back, but he blinks one eye open when Derek mutters, “Christ,” under his breath.

“‘S going on?” he asks, a little more alert now. Derek doesn’t answer, choosing to hand the phone over instead. Stiles takes it, looking at the screen in confusion until Derek gestures for him to listen.

There’s heavy breathing over the line, and Stiles’s eyes widen at the familiar thwap thwap thwap of someone jerking off. “What the fuck? Who the fuck is this?”

“It said to call. For a good time.” There’s a pitiful whine over the line, and Stiles scoffs.

“Yeah, well, you called the wrong number, buddy!” Stiles yells into the line before ending the call. He looks over at Derek in complete disbelief—especially when the phone rings again. Stiles answers automatically. “What?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” He hangs up again and looks at Derek pointedly. “Have you gotten other calls like this?”

Derek snorts and raises a brow as he sits up. “Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, there was this one time...”

Stiles narrows his eyes at the reminder of the way they met and jabs a finger into Derek’s chest. “I’m being serious.”

“No, Stiles. Since you,” Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek, “this has been the only phone call like that.” Derek tilts his head like he’s searching his memory. “Though, now that I think about it, Erica did ask me if I’ve gotten any weird calls lately. Seemed disappointed when I said no.”

The cogs turn, and it’s like a lightbulb goes off in Stiles’s head. “Fucking Erica!”

Derek seems to think the same and shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do that.” But Stiles gives him a look that says ‘really?’Derek sighs heavily. “She would.”

The phone rings again, the same number, and Stiles growls. “All right. I guess it’s time to finally show you how to block numbers.”

“I know how to block numbers, Stiles,” Derek says with a small smirk.

Stiles raises a brow. “You said you didn’t know how.”

Derek shrugs and grabs his phone, showing Stiles that he does in fact know how to block phone numbers.

“Then why didn’t you block mine?” Stiles asks, genuinely curious.

Derek sets the phone back on the nightstand and pulls Stiles back against him before he answers. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping you’d call back.”

Stiles scrunches his face in confusion. “But you were all growly when I did.”

“I can’t explain it. I’ve met plenty of omegas throughout my life, but none of them have ever affected me like you did. You whined—your omega cried out for me—and my wolf...reacted. I...” Derek sighs and runs a hand through his hair before continuing. “I partially shifted and clawed holes into my favorite pillow,” Derek scoffs like he still can’t believe it happened. “It freaked me out—I panicked and hung up before I got stupid and tried to find you. Besides, just because I was hoping you’d call back, doesn’t mean I actually expected you to. It caught me off guard and, as you know by now, I’m pretty terrible with words.”

Stiles blankets himself over Derek’s chest again. “You’re always good with me.”

“You make it easy. You can read me. I barely have to talk, and you know what I’m saying. You know me, Stiles,” Derek says, running his hands over Stiles’s back.

Stiles smiles softly and pushes up to give Derek a gentle kiss. “‘Cause I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.”

“Damn right you are. And I’m calling Erica right now to tell her she needs to go scratch your number off whatever wall she put it on!”

“Calm down, little omega.” Derek does the rumble-purr that Stiles loves so much. Though Stiles is sure that Derek loves when he gets possessive of him. “We can yell at her in the morning.”

Stiles would put up more of a fight, but the vibrations from Derek’s body relax him, and he sighs in contentment. “Mmkay. Love you, Derek.”

“And I love you, Stiles,” Derek breathes against his temple, and Stiles closes his eyes, feeling warm in Derek’s arms—knowing it’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

#sterek #sterek fic #for a good time call #chapter ten #repost since it was flagged before

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iraxevans · 2 years

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Where: Souls of Millions of Lightyears Away room, The Tate. When: Close to 10:30pm. Who: Open.

It did not take a lot to render Ira silent. Not in moments like these where the event was bustling and the soft chatter of conversation he cared little to listen in on consistently buzzed around him. Solace was sought in each of the rooms in an attempt to lose himself in the art itself. But this kind of silence was not the same as the social anxieties that made his hands shake in slight ---this was in awe. Each of the lights and mirrors erected in such a way the felt both like a cityscape and outer space, where Ira could easily close his eyes and imagine floating in the blissful nothingness worlds beyond ... there was a sense of peace, here.

“ You cannot look up at the night sky on Planet Earth and not wonder what it’s like to be up there amongst the stars. ” He breathed the quote softly, his own eyes glittering as if he were a child fresh home from their Halloween candy catch ---as if he belonged in this room of the exhibit as well. “ I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. I didn’t expect to be this impressed by the exhibit. Especially not coming from the mushroom room. ” Candid ---it took a lot for him to speak to a potential stranger, never mind to spark conversation out of the blue. But the wonder in his features made him bolder.

#x. interactions #lf.starter #literally never thought i'd have a reason to use these specific gifs from this movie #ty art

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whileiamdying · 3 months

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Following Yoko Ono’s Anarchic Instructions

A major retrospective at Tate Modern instructs visitors to draw their own shadows, shake hands through a canvas and imagine paintings in their heads.

Yoko Ono with her piece, “Half-A-Room” at Lisson Gallery in London in 1967. A new retrospective of Ono’s work at Tate Modern takes viewer through her body of work chronologically, including her performances, installations, films, text, sounds and sculptures. Credit… Clay Perry

By Emily LaBarge

The critic Emily LaBarge saw the show in London.

Published Feb. 15, 2024Updated Feb. 22, 2024

In December 1971, a man at the exit of the Museum of Modern Art had a question for departing visitors: “What did you think of the Yoko Ono exhibition?”

Some were confused (“What exhibition?”), others irritated (“I couldn’t find it!”) or delighted (“Well I just thought it was amazing”). To a man who had trouble locating the show, the interviewer conceded, “It’s here, it’s just mostly in people’s minds.”

The man nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I thought that might be the case.”

These were some of the reactions to Ono’s “Museum of Modern (F)art,” a self-appointed MoMA debut, staged without the museum’s permission. She published a catalog, placed ads in The Village Voice and inserted a sign at the museum entrance stating that hundreds of perfume-soaked flies had been released inside. It was up to visitors to find them, the notice said, perhaps by following the errant wafts of fragrance drifting past the Pollocks, Picassos or Van Goghs.

More than 50 years later, the Tokyo-born artist known for her marriage to John Lennon as much as her avant-garde (and often very funny) art has a much-anticipated retrospective at Tate Modern in London, running through Sept. 1. The show, “Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind,” contains more than 200 works spanning seven decades. Like “Museum of Modern (F)art,” which is part of the retrospective, most of those works are in people’s minds.

The exhibition takes us through Ono’s work and life chronologically. The first space immediately establishes the sense of spare elegance that dominates the artist’s oeuvre, which unfolds across performance, installation, film, text, sound and sculpture.

“Add Colour (Refugee Boat)" at the MAXXI Foundation in 2016. Credit… Musacchio, Ianniello & Pasqualini

Employees at the Tate Modern drawing a new version of the piece on Tuesday. Credit... Daniel Leal/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

Like many of the works in the show, “Lighting Piece” is presented in multiple iterations. It is one of her earliest “instruction pieces”: a small typewritten card, dated “autumn 1955,” and affixed to the wall. It reads, “Light a match and watch till it goes out.”

Nearby, three photographs show Ono doing just that, while sitting at a grand piano onstage, in 1962. Projected on another wall is a 1966 filmed version of the same instruction. We see the flickering flame, shot with a high-speed camera and then played back at a standard speed, waning at an impossibly slow rate. It exists across time and space and you, too, are invited to watch it die today, tomorrow, whenever.

Born in 1933, Ono grew up in wartime and postwar Japan. It might be easy to link the austerity of her work to a childhood marked by scarcity, homelessness and mass destruction. “Those experiences of the early days cast a long shadow in my life,” the artist has said, recalling how she and her brother, displaced and hungry in the Japanese countryside, would look up at the sky and imagine menus filled with delicious meals that they could not eat.

Perhaps this epicurean fantasy was one Ono’s first instruction pieces, but from early on, her work was also shaped by a sophisticated educational background: She was the first female philosophy student at Gakushuin University in Tokyo, then studied poetry and musical composition at Sarah Lawrence after she moved to New York in 1953.

“Grapefruit, Page 11” from “SECRET PIECE” (1964). Credit... via Yoko Ono

Ono quickly fell in with the city’s most admired experimental musicians and performance artists of the time, including John Cage, La Monte Young and George Maciunas — the father of the Fluxus movement, which emphasized how art could be made by anyone and happen anywhere.

In the retrospective, the decade after her arrival in New York is largely represented by documentation of performances in loft spaces and galleries, and later onstage, also in Tokyo, where she returned from 1962-64.

Two “Instruction Paintings” are examples of interactive works from 1961, in which the title tells us what to do. “Painting to Be Stepped On,” for example, is just what it sounds like — a geometric cutout of canvas stuck to the floor — and shows Ono’s embrace of the idea that art is live rather than static and relies on audience participation. This is encouraged throughout the exhibition, which invites visitors to follow various instructions: draw your shadow, shake hands through a hole in a canvas, imagine a painting in your head.

In no work is this more striking and unsettling than in “Cut Piece” (1964), one of the most powerful performance pieces of the 20th century. In a 1965 version, filmed at Carnegie Hall by the Maysles brothers, Ono kneels onstage in her best suit and invites audience members to cut away pieces of her clothes.

While some are modest in their takings, the same man approaches twice — once cutting a hole in her shirt so that her breast pokes through, and later gleefully removing the top half of her slip and cutting the straps of her brassiere beneath. Ono sits motionless and passive — though a few vague eye rolls provide relief — while the audience takes what it wants from her without protest.

Ono performing “Cut Piece” at Carnegie Hall in New York in 1965. Credit... Minoru Niizuma

The following year, Ono traveled to London and the rest, as they say, is history. Performances gave way to sculptural installations of white chess sets, rooms of objects cut in two, apples on transparent plinths and mirrored boxes that reflect the smile of whomever opens them.

“Film No. 4 (‘BOTTOMS’)” (1966-67) is a veritable who’s who of London’s alternative art scene via their naked derrières in motion. The simple film seems silly, but is also mesmerizing and anarchic: “an aimless petition signed by people with their anuses,” according to Ono. (It was banned by the British Board of Film Censors.)

Ono met Lennon at one of her openings. It was the beginning of an artistic collaboration frequently dismissed as pop celebrity high jinks or derided in sexist and racist terms. (No, Ono was not an interloper who destroyed the Beatles, etc.)

Later work sits uneasily between high and low registers, conceptual installation and mainstream media intervention. (In 1982, she placed an ad in The New York Times calling for peace.) The evocative koan-like poetry of her earlier scores — “watch the sun until it becomes square,” “give moving announcement each time you die” — becomes simplistic statements: “Take a piece of the sky. Know that we are all part of each other,” “IMAGINE PEACE,” “PEACE is POWER.”

At the end of the exhibition you are invited to write a wish on a white card and affix it to a potted olive tree. Is wishing enough? Can we imagine peace? At first I was cynically uneasy about the lack of “art” in later text works. But Ono’s instructions are not as straightforward as they seem, and they require some faith in other people. What did I think of the Yoko Ono exhibition? What did you think?

“Apple” (1966) Credit… Daniel Leal/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

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