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phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing · 2 years

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oh do you associate ship in a bottle with Mobius? Out of curiosity can you elaborate on why?

This is gonna be a mix of quick character analysis, an actual explanation, and my mental AMV.

The song is about someone who's self-isolating and putting up a strong front as everything falls apart around them. I think it fits Mobius's arc in PE very well.

The singer (who is really talking to themself in second person) started with a hard-earned self-built space, the glass bottle ("glass ceiling, walls, and floor", doesn't that imagery remind you of her lab?). This ship in a bottle was built by their own efforts, as somewhere walled away from pain where they demonstrate high skill— just like Mobius and her lab, which she has earned through her hard work and the subsequent recognition, which also becomes the place where she's respected and, well, where she uses her brains.

In particular, "But nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore" matches up how confident Mobius is shown to be early on, especially with the "picking apart your brain" image. Despite being widely disliked on a personal level, look at how she's completely dominating the conversation when she recruits MEI into MOTH (Mobius: Good News): Mobius was happy and comfortable with her competence in her line of work. The Honkai wasn't that bad yet, it was a challenge (the "blue waves crashing into it", present but not yet threatening), a humbling challenge but a challenge she was thriving off of, eager to uncover its secrets.

"Pick your brain apart and build it again" can also be seen as building the Elysian Realm, but I'd say at this point in the song that's more foreshadowing. The premise is simply: The ship is Mobius's lab, and her lab is her safe space, where she is respected and content to pursue her work. She has earned this place alone, with her own efforts and skills.

Emphasis on alone and self-made for that second stanza, I think it's fairly evident where the metaphor is getting at once we've established the parallel. She's striving to transcend the gods on her own.

The chorus, however, peels off her mask. Things ARE falling apart. In the first round, I'd picture adult Mobius and her actual child self, the one who was abused and decided to make humanity evolve past the weaknesses of flesh as a result.

If the first few stanza are set early on in the timeline, after the chorus we find ourselves after Klein's death. The singer admits to crying, the water rising (can't cope anymore), the glass protection of their safe space is cracking. The ship is leaking water now, and there are many more that have sunk— despite this, the singer carries on.

For Mobius, things are seriously fucked now, and her demeanor has begun to break down. People leave her, either by dying (Klein) or out of disgust (Nuwa and Fuxi) but she still sets out for her goals. She'll do it even if she has to do it alone. That's how she's always done things, but now she carries the weight of those who can't carry on, too.

I'm not factoring ELF Klein here because 1. obvious the song wasn't written for Mobius, and more importantly 2. Mobius never meant for Klein to follow her all the way, she wanted her to be free. She would've LIKED that, but I don't think she DESIRED it, so she left her behind with the Realm. Mobius is very into "if you love them let them go", and I believe she was always planning to set off alone to an extent...

The song points out the singer is losing what kept them sane, and that's absolutely true for Mobius, she started out playful (some of the time) and became much more sullen and cold after Klein's death.

Then the chorus is back, but this time instead of actual child Mobius, I'd see the Sim talking to the real one, trying to tempt her into committing suicide and letting her be the "real and only" one. Instead of the tethering of denying trauma, it's a beckoning towards the abyss, it's turned malicious...

I could see the final chorus as specifically the background to Mobius's goodbyes and the hologram messages Mobius leaves for her creations.

And in the end, has the sim won...?

As we would later see... no, she didn't. The captain kept sailing on her own. Mobius always had her eyes set no closer than the horizon~

ANYWAY I'm very tired because I did hard things with people all day and woke up stupidly early so I hope this is coherent. Other people feel free to add to this. Would love to see a lyricstuck of this someday... Or hear about other songs people associate with her??

Full song lyrics below the cut~

You can fit everything you know In a bottle for you to show Pick your brain apart and put it in (pick your brain apart) And build it again With needles and pins Everything you have earned is a ship With blue waves crashing into it But nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore (nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore) With your glass ceiling, walls, and floor

Sailing on a ship in a bottle Anchor all your thoughts to the bottom Pulling ropes and pulling your head back To see what is breaking the foremast You set sail alone there is no crew No one on the deck who can help you This is all your own battle to win This is your ship and you are the captain

Oh, captain, let's make a deal Where we both say the things that we both really feel I feel scared and I'm starting to sink And I only sink deeper the deeper I think Oh, captain Oh, captain, deal Oh, captain deal Oh, captain deal Oh woah

There are red spots under your eyes From when you cry Into the sky Ocean waters rising above your neck, mmm You feel the glass Start to crack

Sailing on a ship in a bottle Water's leaking through holes in the bottom Flying flags of ships that have long since Sat at the floor of the sea, but in defense You set sail alone there is no crew No one on the deck who can help you This is all your own battle to win This is your ship and you are the captain

Oh, captain, let's make a deal Where we both say the things that we both really feel I feel scared and I'm starting to sink And I only sink deeper the deeper I think Oh, captain, make up your mind Before the salt burns your eyes and you run out of time 'cause you're popping the cork You get lost in your brain And you lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane Oh, captain Oh, captain, deal Oh, captain deal Oh, captain deal Oh woah

Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh

#asks #honkai impact #hi3 #mobius #lyricstuck #one day......#for now it's in my brain

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dermoritaclinic · 4 months

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Original Source:- https://www.apsense.com/article/best-treatments-for-undereye-dark-circles-removal.html

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jedivszombie · 3 years

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Okay gang, since there are a bunch of anons going fucking wild across the dash tonight about some joking posts about Mark Webber and Ann Neal - that were someone’s shocked reaction to the age difference between them. I thought it would be interesting to go on a little journey together.

This little journey is the story of how Ann and Mark met, and will hopefully give you guys some insight as to why the ‘sexism’ and ‘ageism’ arguments you are currently using are bullshit - and why using these words in such a buzzword way actually is not the kind of critical thinking you think it is. And why this situation is more akin to a student and teacher starting a relationship - which I think we can all agree is not advisable, even if you don’t know why.

Below the cut is going to be a little discussion of Mark and Ann the early days; the reason the age difference is iffy at best and fucked up at worst; and, a little discussion about how these situations require nuance and the ways in which f1blr often likes to blow situations out of proportion.

I have split it into three parts:

Mark and Ann: The Early Days (1994-1997)

Nuance, my old friend. Anon hate, my enemy. (tw: for racism here, be careful)

The pitfalls of discourse and the importance of looking after yourself.

A little disclaimer for you guys: I do not pretend to know anything about this relationship, other than what is readily available to learn about it from what they themselves have put out about it. I am just providing a timeline and some facts. Whatever conclusions you draw from it are your own.

Feel free to come for me if you so desire.

Mark and Ann: The Early Days (1994-1997)

We start our story in Australia in February, 1994. Mark is competing in Australian Formula Ford Championship and Ann Neal is the new media and PR officer for the category. This is their first meeting. Just so we know what’s up here Mark was 17 at the time, and Ann was absolutely an adult (apparently there is a 13 year age gap, which may not sound like much but we will get onto that later, which makes her roughly 30 when they first met).

Some key things to be aware of from this first meeting:

Mark is 17, Ann is about 30. Mark is a young racer, Ann is the media and PR officer for the category he races in.

In an excerpt from Aussie Grit, p. 57 to be exact, we get to find out what Ann had to say about the first time they met:

“She thought I was a bit of a smart-arse when we first met. ‘But I liked how bold and cheeky he was,’ she says, ‘and how mature he seemed. When I asked someone how old he was, I was shocked when they said 17 – he was confident beyond his years.’”

In another excerpt from Aussie Grit, p. 61, Mark tells us other things Ann remembers about their first meeting:

“Ann remembers our first meeting and my opening remark about her being so important. She can even remember what I was wearing – a stripey green and red top, one of those United Colors of Benetton things – so that was pretty prophetic, as things turned out!”

Now this may sound extremely cute to some of you, like they’re just having a normal ‘aww remember how we met’ moment. But let me please re-direct your attention back to the fact that Mark is 17 (and still not an adult yet if this is what you are gonna nitpick about) and Ann is very much an adult, in a position of power.

So, a teenager makes a quip about how important you are and you commit to memory what he was wearing the day it happened?

Now let’s bring in the first quote I put up there where Ann herself was recalling the first time they met. I would like to draw your attention to the following sentence: ‘and how mature he seemed. When I asked someone how old he was, I was shocked when they said 17 – he was confident beyond his years.’

Hmmmm, where have we all heard language like this used before? If, like me, you have some experience of adults trying to start inappropriate relationships with you as a teenager then you will be very familiar to this sort of language. The emphasis is on how mature he seemed, is what’s sticking out for me here tbh.

Now, if this had been a fleeting meeting, and they had met again a few years later, I would be more on board for whatever justification some of the anons have been trying to use. However, it wasn’t.

Again from Aussie Grit, p.61:

“After that first meeting we kept in touch. My family sometimes met up with Ann and Luke for weekend get-togethers, and I ensured she got her motor-sport fixes by dragging all my old F1 tapes out. By way of revenge she would bring down all her British Formula Ford tapes for me.”

Oh cool, so she gained the trust of his family and Mark was hanging out with her son. This is so sweet Alexa, play Chosen Family by Rina Sawayama. Real talk though, again if this is how it had ended - with them just being family friends - then we would not be having this conversation.

BUT, we all know how this little story ends so onwards we march. We shoot forward to late 1994, Mark has done okay in Formula Ford but his Dad is no longer able to fund him. SO, he turns to their old pal - the ever present and super helpful Ann, bless her heart - to try and drum up some sponsorship for Mark so he can race.

Little background on why Ann was chosen to try and help with this, I’ll give you 3 guesses and only one of them is correct. Yes, that’s right, it’s her experience - which she has managed to get by being 30 and having a background in motorsports. She started out as a motorsport journo and ended up dealing with press and PR for Paul Warwick (Derek Warwick’s brother). In 1986 she started dealing with Johnny Herbert’s media before working for Formula Ford in Europe in 1991.

Ann begrudgingly accepts and draws up plans with Mark, which leads him to a Yellow Pages sponsorship for his next season in Formula Ford, and beyond - how sweet, how nice, they are #winning! We stan teamwork besties! And Ann started working with Mark and his family to further his career.

Ann had a plan for Mark, as outlined in Aussie Grit, p.69-70:

“By the end of 1995 Annie told me, in no uncertain terms, that – and I quote – I had to get my arse out of there. She didn’t just mean Australian Formula Ford, either: she meant Australia. She thought it was time for me to go and have a crack at some of the big guys, and she proposed to help me go about it in a serious, business-like way.

‘How the f#*k are you going to get to Formula 1 coming from Queanbeyan?’ Anyone who wants to trace my journey should start with a piece of paper that Ann drew up on 6 July 1995.”

So, now Ann has outlined her hopes for Mark and a glimmering career in motorsport. I would like us to know that at this point in time Mark was the ripe old age of 18, going on 19.

In 1996 Ann and Mark moved properly to the UK so Mark could drive in the British Formula Ford Championship - at this point Mark is still 19. At this point he is living in the UK with Ann and her mother, and Ann’s son.

So this is probably sounding pretty okay so far and sure it’s just a business relationship with a business set up, like no real cause for concern. But then we discover that this business relationship had turned into a relationship-relationship pretty damn fast.

From the horses mouth himself, Aussie Grit, p.87:

“Back in England, Ann and I moved house to Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire, on the edge of motor sport’s equivalent of Silicon Valley. We had started out as teammates and friends on a mission but over time our friendship had deepened into something else. I enjoyed spending time with her and we felt entirely comfortable in each other’s company. Moving to England was a huge step for me and I think it was a case of us needing one another and that’s how the relationship was formed.”

Okay, okay, okay so I know at this point Mark is 19/20 he’s an adult right? He can make his own choices. But, can we please admit that at best it’s an iffy situation because of the position of power and authority she was in? In his life? For his career?

There are a few other excerpts I found particularly interesting, about Mark’s family’s reaction (all from Aussie Grit, chapter 3):

“My parents came over to the UK in the English summer of 1997. While they were thrilled about how things were developing for me in racing, they’d been less thrilled by the romantic relationship that was developing between Annie and me....” “...Annie was bitterly disappointed at my behaviour. Her plan to take me to the highest level of motor sport was starting to go horribly wrong, so she left Australia earlier than planned and headed back to Europe. My family arranged for Alan Docking to collect my belongings from the house we had been sharing and the one and only car Annie and I had at that stage...Campese Management told her that they had been instructed by the Webber family to terminate her role as my manager and that Campese Management would be taking over all aspects of my career, including the negotiation of my driving contracts.“

“While I knew Annie provided the support and guidance I needed in my racing career, I was missing her in so many other ways too. We were such a dynamic force in every sense; we could make things happen when we were together. We were teammates, soul mates, call it what you want.“

“As to Mum’s concern about our age difference, that has never been a factor for us. When we began to be more open about being together, perhaps the top end of the age gap shocked a few people. In those days people were less accepting of a big age difference between partners, especially when it’s our way round. It’s not such a big deal nowadays and it makes us laugh when so-called celebrities reveal they’re dating an older woman or younger man!“

While the Daily Mail is trash, the beginning of this video is very revealing to me - particularly Jackie Stewart’s comments from 00:12.

Obviously you can make up your own conclusions from all of this information, and I would once again like to point out that none of us - not me, not the anons, not you - actually know the nature of their relationship. They have been together for 24 years - good for them! Whatever they have going has obviously worked for them, this is not me trying to shit on that or anything, and I’m gonna be real I’m not the biggest Mark Webber fan.

Nuance, my old friend. Anon hate, my enemy.

All I want to do is add some nuance to the conversation, an overview of the timeline, an understanding of what the facts are. So that some of those cowardly anons (or anon) can hop off their self-built thrones and get a grip. The sexism and ageism argument literally does not apply here, for all of the evidence and reasons listed above - if the situation was flipped we would still be calling it out. The only difference is you guys would probably be on board with it being called out.

So Ann is a woman? So, what? Do you think she’s above reproach? You think one person’s 50 note post on this site is gonna rock the foundation of a relationship that has been 26 years in making? If you have answered yes to any of these questions then you are either: a) Mark Webber himself, or b) delusional as hell. You really think that responding by sending anon hate to a teenager, who btw only made a post calling out the age difference because she was shocked and had just discovered it, is the right way to go?

You really think that sending me this message, attacking other people in such a vile and racist manner is okay?

So you don’t like Nehir and Sera? Good for you, go block them, if you follow them, unfollow them. Those options are free and readily available to you.

For me, it’s so funny to see you hiding behind that little Anon mask spewing this vile shit. The commitment you have to proving that you are just a cowardly person with nothing better to do than rag on a bunch of different people for reblogging a post, that in the long run is not going to reach the people it’s about, is outstanding. I really hope you pat yourself on the back for this one.

The pitfalls of discourse and the importance of looking after yourself.

There has definitely been a spate of ‘conversations’ that have been happening recently that have very much been straying into the land of discourse, over very small comments or posts. I think that some people need to remember that we’re all here for our own entertainment and as soon as it stops being fun - you are allowed to log off; you are allowed to block people; you are allowed to unfollow people.

Sending anon hate is so counterproductive to whatever conversation you think you are starting or having with a person. Also guys, sometimes it’s not that deep - sometimes jokes are just jokes, sometimes someone finds out something they didn’t know about a driver or an ex-driver and they make a joke post about it. That does not give you the right to send them hate, or to make racist comments in other people’s asks.

Sometimes these discussions require a debate and sometimes discourse can be good - but honestly? I’m worried about some of you guys, it is not healthy to get so angry at other people for the things they post on their blogs that you are not obligated to follow or interact with at all.

I am also worried about people who turn every little thing into something discoursey. There are causes and issues to care about in this sport and community, for sure. But sometimes you also have to pick your battles - especially when I know a lot people in this community have fragile mental health. I do not say this to patronise any of you but to just provide a reminder that you do not need to engage with everything that makes your blood boil, and furthering some of these conversations sometimes is not doing you guys any good. Burnout is real.

Please take some time to take care of yourselves, the pandemic is doing a number on all of us and I know being online gives you a gateway to being connected to people, but sometimes you just have to walk away from a discussion. Sometimes you have to just go and reblog something unrelated, or stare at a photo of your favourite driver, or listen to some angry music. Anything else to process your knee jerk reaction, to give yourself time to figure out how you feel about something and whether it’s worth engaging in or not.

#maisie talks #the post that no one asked for but we sure as shit needed #anon hate below the cut #would also like to say that i am not pretending to know shit about their relationship and this is all information provided by the couple #themselves #under the cut is a bunch of information about their relationship up to you how you take it but i know how i feel #tw racism #i went insane i've seen the opposite of god #thnx ana for supporting my rage #here i am a hundred years late and a dollar short #mark webber

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lordmorninwood · 3 years

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This is a more angst filled realization for Weiss that Jaune doesn’t feel her semblance’s cold factor. Non canon to the au, but I didn’t want to waste this, so here you go

It took a few times for Weiss to notice.

They didn’t touch often, but she would sometimes do things when he asked her out every other week. She would grab his wrist to keep his hand away from her, grab him from the back of the neck and shoulder to turn him around, little slightly demeaning things.

She was more focused on the frustration of him asking her out so often than how he felt her touch. She hardly gave it a second thought until before the dance, when she was extra brutal in shooting him down.

You have to understand, up until beacon, every social interaction was a task for her. Except for Klein and winter, no one interacted with her unless they were supposed to, or for their own benefit. So she put up walls to keep everyone from taking advantage of her.

When Jaune kept approaching those walls even after so many times she told him off, she hit a breaking point. Instead of slamming the door in his face, Weiss grabbed his guitar, smashed it over his head, and angrily asked why he can’t just take a hint. She’ll never be interested. Is he ill? She puts her hand to his forehead for emphasis. He’s clearly not sick, so he’s definitely such a disappointment, that he doesn’t even know to leave someone alone.

It isn’t until after jaune gets up and leaves that she realizes he never recoiled from her touch, and how cruel she was to him. She never noticed his tears either.

#thawing hugs au #weiss schnee #jaune arc #non canon

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idreamofplaid · 4 years

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Hidden

Square Filled: Director AU for @spnfluffbingo & Ugly Christmas Sweaters for @spnchristmasbingo

Characters: Jared x Reader; Britney (OFC)

Rating: Mature

Summary: The reader thinks it’s better if she and Jared keep their relationship a secret; he disagrees.

Word Count: 3864

Created for @spnfluffbingo & @spnchristmasbingo

“Come to my place tonight?” Jared was looking down at the script in his hands while he talked, pretending to be asking you something about how he should deliver his lines.

You swirled the plastic stirrer in your coffee and took a sip, trying to make the exchange look as businesslike as possible to anyone who might be observing. “We agreed we wouldn’t do that anymore, Jared, not until after filming is done, and we’re in post production.”

You pointed to a line on his script as though you were making a suggestion. “If anyone found out, you know how people gossip. They’d say you slept with me to get this part.”

Jared closed his script. “So, let them.” For a second, you thought he was going to make a move, come closer to you. Touch you. God, how you wanted that, especially today.

All day long, you hadn’t been able to get your mind off the sex scene that was scheduled to be filmed that afternoon. Here, right in the middle of this light hearted, feel good, movie was one of the steamiest sex scenes you’d ever read, or maybe that was just because you were picturing Jared in it.

It was a challenge to remain professional and not let jealousy take control of you. An actress was about to crawl into bed, basically naked with him, while he put his hands and lips all over her. Weren’t these kinds of movies supposed to be about laughter, finding yourself, maybe helping some people? Who said anything about sex?

The next time you saw Jared, he’d be wearing nothing but a sock to cover his most private parts; and that woman, the tall thin example of what society called physical perfection with the full pouty lips and long glossy hair, would be topless and waving her boobs in his….

With that thought, you tightly squeezed your hands around the copy of the script you were holding until it was starting to fold and crease. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Your answer was crisp and to the point. “Jared, you need to go get ready for the next scene. Hair and makeup will need some time with you.” You didn’t state the obvious, that wardrobe wasn’t much of a factor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken you a good part of your life to come to terms with the fact that you were not classically beautiful. You had relied on that old “eye of the beholder” cliche, understanding that objectively you were not the woman that men turned to stare at when you walked into a room. You’d finally come to accept that, even though deep inside every girl wants to feel pretty.

The most devastating blow had come when you’d fallen in love with acting. It didn’t take long to realize you would never be the leading lady. Naively, you had auditioned for parts like that, thinking talent would get you one of those roles. The result was, after a number of rejections, you felt unattractive and resigned to the fact that your future in this industry was behind the camera.

That’s where you were now, checking the framing and angles for the shot. The set had been cleared of all but essential personnel due to the nature of the upcoming scene. It was unusually quiet except for the thoughts raging in your head. It still stung that you weren’t “the beautiful one”. That long present wound was enough to give doubt about your blossoming relationship all the fertile soil it needed in which to grow.

Maybe Jared was flirting with you, taking you to his bed, trying to get close to you because it would help his career. Your heart didn’t believe that because he was one of the most genuine and down to earth people you’d ever met in this business, but insecurity was a nasty bitch. Add to his sincerity the fact that he didn’t seem to be aware of just how gorgeous he was, remaining modest every time any sort of reference was made to his good looks. In many ways, he was too good to be true, and that’s why your head was telling you not to trust what was happening between you.

When he walked onto the set wearing nothing but a robe and the sock you knew was underneath, it only reinforced the out of control thoughts shooting through your mind and landing like daggers in your heart. You were definitely feeling more for him than it was wise to feel. What had been occurring between you was a dalliance, a fling. It was secret meetings for hot sex. Secret. Nothing could come of that. It was time to stop thinking that it might.

It was no wonder you were struggling, trying to stop yourself from falling for him. Jared had taken control of the room without even trying as soon as he entered it. Even among actors, he was tall and well built. His muscles were attention grabbing, even under his clothes. His hair skimmed the top of his shoulders and had just enough wave in it that it almost defiantly refused to stay out of his face. It begged to be touched, and it would be very soon, just not by your fingers.

Maybe it was his eyes that had lured you into this deep pool of confusing feelings and conflicting emotions. Of all his notable assets, his eyes had to be the best. They were unpredictable. Sometimes they were full of sunshine, flecked in gold or painted with a starburst of color through his iris that resembled a flower blooming. Other times, the shadows and the depth took over, and they became stormy gray with a flash of blue like the color of the sky when it was illuminated by lightning.

He was looking at you with those incredible and surprising eyes now. Today they were a classic hazel, light even brown. You almost forgot what you were doing until Jared asked, “Where do you want me?”

It would be easier to tell him what you wanted him to do before she got here, so that was the approach you took. “Take off your robe and get in the bed under the covers.”

It was hard not to look when Jared untied his robe, flipped it back over his shoulders, and let it drop to the floor. His shoulders were broad, and his stomach was flat except for the well defined abs that swelled, leaving dips and valleys between them. You tried not to let your eyes drop below his waist, but they did. You darted them back up quickly. Be professional. Maintain focus. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, but in this setting it was different. It made you a touch self conscious and overly aware of his physique.

He was huge. That scrap of material he was wearing couldn’t hide that, and it certainly didn’t keep you from remembering the times he had stretched you to the point of a pleasurable scream while he thrust deeply into you. Today was going to be even more difficult than you had imagined.

Once he was under the sheets, you breathed a little easier. Jared looked to you for direction. Time to do your job and keep your personal feelings out of it. “When Britney gets here, I want you to get on top of her.” Well, you’d managed to choke that out and make your voice sound normal. “We’re starting more or less in the middle of the scene, none of the foreplay. It should be hot and intense from the second I call action.”

Jared arranged the sheet around his waist just so, like it wasn’t going to move. It did call attention to the way the stark white of the sheet complimented his skin tone, and made you think back to the last time you’d seen him naked in bed. That was when he first suggested you come out of the shadows, go on dates, be a couple. When the bed linens were arranged to his liking, he looked to you and asked, “What’s my motivation for this scene?”

It wasn’t an unusual question for an actor to ask a director, but part of you wondered if Jared was asking you to see what you’d say. Was it more flirting to get you to talk about sex and attraction? You looked directly into his stunning eyes and responded, “You’ve been denying your attraction for weeks now. You work together, so that makes it complicated. In the office, you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off each other. Your sexual tension has reached a peak, and it’s exploding right here.” You gave the bed a pat for emphasis, then realized what you’d said.

You felt yourself start to flush and kept on talking to try to cover it up. “Bring some intensity to it, but keep it tender. You’re falling in love, but you’re not ready to say it. Show her with the way you touch her.” Your eyes met, and something unspoken passed between you.

Jared was about to speak, but then Britney arrived on set in a flourish. Her makeup artist was trailing behind her, making some final touch ups. She made a big show of disrobing, exposing her breasts to the remaining crew. They gawked and stared, just as she intended. You did your best not to roll your eyes into the back of your head.

Unlike the others, Jared hadn’t paid any attention to her. His eyes were still focused on you; that unspoken thing was still in them, and there would be no chance to say it now. Britney climbed right into bed with him without any instruction from you and had the nerve to start flirting with him right in front of your face. She didn’t know what you were feeling. That was, after all, the point. You didn’t want anyone to have any idea there was anything going on between Jared and you. Or, maybe she did suspect and was being sadistic about it. Women had a way of seeing things men failed to see.

Whether Britney knew or not, she wouldn’t care how you or anyone else felt about it. She was that girl, the one who thought about herself at all times. Romance between co-stars was good press that typically guaranteed increased media attention for the project and both parties involved. The studio would love it. Hell, they’d probably even encourage it. Scratch that. They would encourage it.

The next couple of hours were excruciating. Love scenes were some of the hardest to film under the best of circumstances. Every detail was important: the lighting, the camera angles, and most important body positioning. They competed with fight scenes in terms of difficulty to film. You would have much preferred a fight scene.

For two hours you told Jared how to kiss another woman. “Tug on her bottom lip with your mouth. Be tender.” At one point you had physically taken hold of his hand and placed it where it would look best for the camera. It made you ready to run out of your own skin, escape in any way possible, be swallowed up by the floor beneath your feet.

It was even worse telling her how to touch him. “Slide your hands down his back. Dig your fingers in a little.” This resulted in the sheet that was covering the lower half of his body sliding down far enough to show just a hint of butt cleavage, and it looked good. You would leave it in the final cut.

Mercifully, you finally got the takes you wanted and called it a wrap for the day. You gathered your things together and made your way to your car as quickly as you could, hardly even saying good night to anyone as you breezed by them to make your exit.

As you approached your car, you hit the button on the remote. The familiar beep greeted your ears, letting you know that soon you would be surrounded by the warmth of the car’s interior. When the December Canadian air was frigid like this, you had to take a moment to remind yourself it was far preferable to the superficial fishbowl of LA.

Just as you touched the door handle, you heard the crunch of someone jogging through the snow. Couldn’t you be left alone ever? No doubt whatever this was could have waited until tomorrow, but being available to the cast and crew was one of the responsibilities of being the director.

As you took a deep breath and tried to put an expression of patient interest on your face before you turned around, Jared’s voice carried across the cold winter air to your ears. “Y/N, wait.”

This required an even deeper breath before you turned around. He was barely breathing any heavier after running through the snow. That wasn’t surprising considering the shape he was in, but you were surprised he was chasing after you. Randomly, you thought he must’ve gotten dressed really quickly. It was probably your brain’s way of protecting you from deeper thoughts, but Jared wasn’t going to let you off that easily.

“I was hoping we could talk before you go.” He just really had no idea, did he? It was hard watching him with another woman, even if it was fake, when it was getting harder and harder to pretend your encounters with him were just casual affairs. It was more difficult to convince yourself you were fine with being his secret, even if it had been your idea.

“Jared, I’m really tired. I just want to go home, okay? We can talk later.” You wished you could tell him the true reason you felt so tired, wanting more than anything to find comfort and reassurance in his arms. Somehow it felt even worse to hide yourself and your feelings from him.

He didn’t say anything else, just nodded, took a couple steps back, and watched you get in your car. As soon as you started the car, holiday music filled the interior. Immediately, you turned off the radio in no mood for the cheerfulness. In your rearview mirror, you could see Jared. He hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, watching you go. Unwanted tears of frustration and confusion pooled in your eyes. You brushed them away so you could see the road.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once home, you put on your favorite pajamas and started a fire in the fireplace. A wood burning fireplace was one feature you had insisted on when looking for a home in Vancouver. The rowhouse you finally purchased had a charming one, made even more so by the garland and Christmas stockings hanging from the mantel. You’d put up a row of stockings, never mind you didn’t need them; it looked better that way.

You settled in among the decorative pillows in holiday colors and plaid on the sofa, pulling one of them onto your lap and hugging it close while you listened to the crackle of the fire and watched the flames sway. It lulled you and took some of the edge off the day. Your mind was drifting to a better place when your doorbell rang.

Reluctantly, you rose from your comfy spot. You opened your front door to find Jared standing there wearing one of the most ridiculous looking Christmas sweaters you’d ever seen. It was green, covered in tinsel garland and shiny three dimensional ball ornaments. It was surprising enough he was standing there, but what he was wearing left you a tiny bit baffled and slightly amused.

It was impossible not to smile when you took in the details of the sweater again. You asked, “Jared, why are you here, and why are you wearing that?” He responded by showing you his dimples, and your own smile got bigger. You could feel more of your bad mood melting away, and you were overtaken by the urge to reach out and play with one of the ornaments on his sweater.

Instead of answering, he held out a box he was holding. It was wrapped in gold paper and had one of those peel and stick bows on top of it. You held out your hands and took it, noticing the box was reasonably well wrapped. He had really tried, and that touched you.

“What is this?” His expression was pleased but subdued.

“I got you something.” A smile spread across his face, dispelling any reservations he may have had. Whatever was in that package, he was clearly excited about it.

Beneath the gold paper, there was a white box the size of a shirt box. You lifted the lid; inside there was a sweater that wasn’t quite as over the top as Jared’s, but it was definitely in the ugly Christmas sweater category. It was red with falling snow and candy canes on it.

You looked at him, a questioning expression on your face. “What are the sweaters about?”

Jared took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want you to wear it at the studio Christmas party, and I want you to go with me. Will you?”

You saw the hope in his eyes while he waited to hear what you’d say. His words were sinking in, but did he understand what this could do to his reputation? “Jared, everyone will know.”

He glanced down at the floor and ran his hand through his hair. When he raised his head, his eyes found yours. The hope that had been there earlier had been replaced by determination. “I want them to know, Y/N. We aren’t doing anything wrong.” He cupped your face in his hand and brushed his thumb softly across your cheek. “I know what today did to you.”

“Jared, I…” You didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter because his mouth cover yours. You dropped the box you were holding and wrapped your arms around him, losing yourself in the kiss. With his hand on your waist, Jared pulled you closer to him. All the reassurance you had longed for earlier, you found.

While still kissing you, Jared lifted you into his arms and started to walk down the hallway toward your bedroom. You broke the kiss and buried your face in the side of his neck while he walked, breathing in the smell of him.

Jared rarely wore cologne, and you were glad he didn’t, preferring that nothing mask the smell of him. The lingering hint of his soap on his freshly washed skin was comforting to you. You could smell the soap mingling with his skin now. Tears oozed gently from the corners of your eyes. He had showered before he came to you, erasing her scripted touch from his body.

He put you down gently on the bed and took off the brightly colored sweater he was wearing along with the t-shirt underneath before taking his place on top of you. You kissed his bare shoulder, wanting to leave some mark of you on him. It was the only signal he needed to start undressing you and kissing you in return.

His lips were warm on the pulse point at your neck, your collarbone, and your breasts. His hands moved over every part of your body, stroking and bringing you to a heightened state of arousal. By the time he took off his pants, you were nearly begging for him. “Jared, I need you.”

He hovered over you, his face only inches from yours. He looked into your eyes and laced his fingers through yours. “I’ve got you, Y/N. I’ll take care of you.”

Jared made love to you slowly. He took his time and satisfied every need that was crying out from deep within you. He knew how to make you feel beautiful, knew how to make your body shake with the intensity of release, and knew how to make you feel safe after you’d opened yourself to him completely and were feeling both satisfied and vulnerable.

You lay in his arms, your head on his chest. Jared was dragging his fingers slowly up and down your back. After a few minutes of silence, feeling the moment together, he kissed the top of your head and asked, “Could you feel it?”

You smiled, still drifting in the safe bubble he had made for you. “I felt a lot of things.”

He kissed the top of your head again and let his chin rest there. “When I touched you, could you feel that I love you?”

Your heart started to beat faster, and you raised your head to look at him. “I love you, Y/N. That’s why I don’t want to hide anymore. I want everybody to know it.”

You traced the firm line of his jaw with your fingertip. “Jared...I love you too, but that wouldn’t be good for you.”

He sat up a little and put his hands on your shoulders. “How do you know? It wouldn’t be the first time an actor and a director were together.”

“I don’t ever want anyone to question your talent, Jared.” Your heart was full of so many things, the truth of the words you’d just exchanged along with the fear those words evoked.

His hands moved from your shoulders to the sides of your face. He held your face in his hands, his eyes pleading with you. “And I don’t ever want you to question how much I love you.” He dropped his hands, keeping just one under your chin to ensure you would keep looking into his eyes. “I saw what today did to you, how hard it was; but do you know what it did to me?”

No. You had no idea, hadn’t given it a thought. How could you have ignored his feelings? All you could say was “What?”

He had the most serious and pain filled expression you’d ever seen on his face. “I don’t want other women to come on to me in front of you, knowing what that’s doing to you, and not even be able to brush them off because this is a secret.” He let his hand drop from beneath your chin, trusting your eyes wouldn’t leave his now. “It hurt me to see how much you were hurting.”

“Jared, I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

He covered your lips with his fingers and shook his head. “And I was so proud of you for working right through that hurt to put something on film that will make other people happy, that will make them believe in love. It doesn’t matter that what you were showing wasn’t real. Love is real. Ours is real.”

He kissed you before you could cry again. When the kiss ended, you rested your forehead against his. “You’re right. It is real, and we shouldn’t hide it. I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Jared’s hand was in your hair, holding the back of your head. He was so close, you could feel him breathing. “You mean more to me than anything, Y/N. You always will.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @winchesterxfamilybusiness

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @sammit-janet @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @wendibird @waywardnerd67 @fullmooner @julesthequirky

#spnfluffbingo #spnchristmasbingo #jared fluff #jared angst #jared x reader #spn rpf

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cherry-valentine · 3 years

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How Black Clover Gets Lady Characters Right

*Spoilers for most of the Black Clover anime (mostly character related stuff, not much in the way of major plot stuff)*

Black Clover is right up there with Gintama in terms of shows that reward viewers for sticking with them through some mediocre early episodes and arcs. When Black Clover began airing, I was excited. Manga readers had been hyping the series up, and it sounded like the next big shounen fighting anime that would take anime fandom by storm. Then I started watching it, and I was immensely disappointed. I found Asta’s constant screaming almost unbearable (to the point that I started muting the tv when it looked like he was about to open his mouth). The early episodes were totally predictable and cliche. The animation was, at times, embarrassingly bad. But I stuck with it because there were a few elements that kept me interested. One was the absolute bangers of opening and ending themes (at one point the thought crossed my mind that they were entirely too good for this show). Another was Yuno, whom I liked from the start. Then there’s the fact that Asta’s magic, or lack of magic, was the one element I didn’t predict a mile away. I honestly expected him to awaken to some super powerful magic early on. Almost 200 episodes later, he is still magic-free. I really did not see that coming. Still yet, I came close to dropping the series several times during those first thirteen episodes or so.

Somewhere around the time they went to the undersea village (I don’t remember the name of the arc), I began to notice that I was actually looking forward to each new episode. It was a gradual change from being at the bottom of my watch list to being near the top. So gradual it took me a while to realize it. The show still had some problems, sure, but it stopped being predictable. Asta talked more and screamed less. More interesting characters were introduced. The fight scenes were exciting. By the time this arc was over, Black Clover had become a favorite. So, if you tried the series and found it boring and annoying, consider giving it another shot. Like I said, it rewards you for sticking with it.

One of the best things about Black Clover, for me, is how it treats its female characters, especially when compared to other popular shounen fighting anime. It is by no means perfect, and I’ll talk about the show’s minor failings in regards to its ladies a little further down. But overall, it does a phenomenal job.

The first thing that struck me about Black Clover’s women is just how varied they are. There’s a surprising range in their appearances, personalities, and skills. And there are lots of them. Far more than a lot of other shounen fighting anime allow. There are five women in the main squad, the Black Bulls, alone. And we see that each squad has several women as well. Then there’s the all-women squad the Blue Roses. This extends to the villains, as well as the non-combatant supporting cast as well.

Speaking of skills, the women of Black Clover are unusually powerful. The two male leads, Asta and Yuno, eventually get “power-ups”, some kind of new form or transformation or whatever. This is super common in shounen fighting anime. What’s not so common, however, is the female lead getting her own cool power-up/transformation. This is what happens for Noelle, and it was such a great surprise. A little side note here: I’ve been watching the series on a streaming site that allows comments, and I was so amazed by the comments on the episode in which Noelle gets her power-up. The (mostly male, judging by their names) commenters were genuinely happy for her! They were proud of her for getting stronger and cheering her on! I didn’t spot a single comment about her looks or how great of a waifu she is (at the time anyway).

But it wasn’t just Noelle that got stronger. Another Black Bulls member, Vanessa, got an interesting power-up of her own, in the form a cat familiar that basically makes her and her teammates completely impervious to harm for as long as her mana holds out (which has saved their lives countless times). Another lady, Grey, has recently (in the anime) demonstrated some shockingly powerful magic that none of her teammates, or even she herself, realized she was capable of. Then there’s Charmy, who was already quite powerful but gained her own powered up transformation that made her strong enough to defeat an elf-possessed Magic Knight captain. If anything, the ladies have received MORE power-ups than the men.

And while we’re talking about powerful women, I have to talk about Mereoleona. If you’ve watched the show, you know exactly what I mean. If you haven’t, just imagine a character who can curb-stomp a powerful villain who is on a higher level than villains that the main characters were struggling to team up against just a few episodes before, who can then take on a whole group of these powered up villains and remain standing, even after losing consciousness, because they’re just that badass. Now imagine that character is a woman. And she’s so terrifying that one of the elf-possessed enemies (her comrades who had their bodies taken over by elves) remarks that his body froze up because, even though he’s controlling it, the BODY ITSELF was afraid of her. Mereoleona is an absolute beast, the kind of character that is almost always male in these types of shows. And the best part? The icing on this badass cake? The only person who was stronger than her, who could defeat her one-on-one, was ANOTHER WOMAN. Noelle’s mother. And a huge part of Noelle’s motivation as a character is becoming strong like her mother.

On the subject of Noelle’s motivation, I really appreciate that it has nothing to do with her crush on Asta. Sure, she likes him, but it’s not a motivating factor in her life and it’s not even really that important to her story arc. Her arc has always been about HER, about becoming stronger, living up to her powerful family’s expectations, discovering the truth about her mother’s death and then about avenging her, about becoming more empathetic to the common people despite being royalty. Noelle’s story is ABOUT HER. And it’s really sad that this is something remarkable, but we’ve all seen the “heroines” with no real arcs of their own, or worse, their arcs revolve almost entirely around their love for a male character (Sakura from Naruto is the most obvious example here but anyone who watches a lot of shounen can no doubt name many more). And Noelle isn’t an exception in Black Clover. Almost all of the women have interesting back stories and character arcs that have little to do with men (or if men are involved, they’re in supporting roles to these stories and very rarely the main subject).

An exception to this is possibly Charlotte, who is in love with Yami and this plays a big role in her story. However, even this is framed in a way that puts the emphasis on her own growth. It’s really about her learning to be honest with her feelings and getting over her own awkwardness around Yami. A big moment for her is when she admits to her squad that she’s in love with Yami, and they’re all eager and excited to help and support her, like the wonderful ladies they are.

Now, as I said before, Black Clover’s depictions of women are not perfect. There are a few issues I consider minor that I need to address. The first is the tendency the show has of making almost all the ladies be in love with someone. A large portion of the women are sporting crushes, though some of them are quite subtle or mainly used for comic relief, it’s still a little annoying that so many of them are in love. Of course, many of the male characters are in love with someone too (including the protagonist, Asta) and there are several female characters who are totally disinterested in romance, so I can overlook this. Another small issue is that, even though there’s more variety than usual in the body types (one female character is fat and another, Charmy, often gets quite pudgy for extended periods of time, plus a few ladies have more muscular builds), a significant portion of them have very large breasts, including two teenage characters (Noelle and Mimosa). It feels a little unnecessary, to be honest. Though to be fair, it’s rare that any of these characters are used for fan service and the camera never really seems to linger on their bodies. Most of them dress fairly modestly and among those who don’t, the more sexy clothes fit their characters and make sense for their personalities.

The last minor issue I have is that we often get the “designated girl fights”. If there’s a female villain, it’s likely that a female hero will be the one to fight her. This isn’t a rule set in stone, because there are plenty of male/female battles, but it happens enough to be very noticeable. Of course, these lady villains are demonstrated to be just as powerful and dangerous as the villainous men, but it’s still mildly irritating.

Those little nitpicks aside, Black Clover is still a shining example of a shounen fighting anime getting its ladies right. The women in the series are well-written, interesting characters with compelling stories. They’re powerful, have wildly varying personalities and motivations, and never feel like window dressing. They’re not just there to be pretty romantic interests. The show does all this very well, and I think it deserves a lot of praise and credit for it.

#Black Clover #Female characters #noelle silva #mereoleona vermillion #text #long post

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

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Kurtbastian Week 2020 - “War of the Roses” (Rated M)

Summary: Kurt suspects that his husband may be cheating on him. But instead of taking the mature route of talking with him, he calls up a radio talk show that has a unique way of uncovering the truth. (2236 words)

Notes: Inspired by a talk show I used to listen to by the same name. Written for the @kbweek2020 Day 5 prompt 'angst', but not quite as angsty as you might imagine.

Read on AO3.

“War, War, War, War of the Roses!”

The pre-recorded announcement, surrounded by loud fanfare, blares through Kurt’s phone. He moves it away from his ear before the d.j. follows with: “It’s War of the Roses day on Magic 92.5! Hop on the website, send us a text, or call and leave us a message, and you, too, may be featured on War of the Roses! Today, we have Kurt on the line, ready to share the troubling story of him and his husband Sebastian. Kurt - thank you for joining us.”

“Th-thank you for having me,” Kurt replies, hating the way his voice sounds, the way it rattles around his dry throat. Hating what he’s doing. Hating that he gave the show their real names! What an imbecile he is! People he knows listen to this show! His boss Isabelle listens to this show! She must be listening now because he hears a beep over the line - a sign that another call is trying to wedge its way in. When he doesn’t answer it, it disconnects with a chunky bwap-bwap! A second later, messages start flooding his email, which he left open on the laptop in front of him. And not just from Isabelle. From Rachel, Mercedes, Santana, Brittany, Chase …

Kurt lifts a hand and closes the lid, shutting them out.

Oh boy.

He’s only been on the phone for 30 seconds and he’s already made a mess of things.

“Kurt,” the d.j. says, “why don’t you start by telling us why you contacted us? How can we help you?”

Kurt sighs. I contacted you because I’m stupid, he thinks. And insecure. And, frankly, I should hang up right now and put my phone in the freezer for safekeeping before I do anything else stupid. “I … I think my husband might be cheating on me.”

Canned ooo’ing follows his admission, and if he didn’t regret this decision before, he certainly regrets it now. He can’t stand the idea that they’re using this situation that’s been keeping him up at night as the punchline of a joke. But he can’t blame them. He did this. There are other ways to go about this that he should have considered first. Counseling. Private investigators. Honest and open communication with his spouse. But for some reason, when his husband got up early and left for work without waking Kurt for a goodbye kiss for the eighth day in a row, Kurt broke. If his marriage isn’t working, if they’re headed for Splitsville, Kurt needs to know today.

Now.

Sooner, if possible.

And that’s when he leaped for his cell phone and made this ill-advised call.

Kurt didn’t think there was anything wrong with his marriage. He thought they were happy – blissfully so. But for the past few days, things have gotten odd between them. Strained. And Kurt doesn’t know why. He needs to find out.

Lucky for him (depending on how you look at it), the radio program had a last-minute cancellation. The person who was scheduled to be on this morning decided to take matters into their own hands and run their unfaithful spouse over with a Cadillac.

A Cadillac that wasn’t theirs to begin with.

The station called him practically a second after he got off the phone with their answering machine.

“And why do you think your husband might be cheating on you?” the female co-host asks in a voice sympathetic from years of practice.

“Well … he’s been avoiding me.” Kurt winces at that weak excuse. To be fair, Sebastian’s firm recently landed a huge client - their first of this caliber in years. And since one of his partners is out on maternity leave, the job of wining and dining had fallen on Sebastian’s shoulders - a task he hasn’t performed in close to a decade; one he never liked much, especially after he and Kurt got married since it kept him away from home. “But on top of that,” he says, leaving that pertinent information out, “he’s been talking a lot about some guy named Martin.”

“Really?” the d.j. says, working hard to make this revelation sound like the scandal of the century since Kurt isn’t giving them much to work with. “And what has he been saying about Martin?”

“He’s been very complimentary about the job Martin has been doing down at the office.” Another wince. “A-and my husband isn’t normally the kind to hand out compliments. Plus, they’ve been working a lot of late nights - meetings, overtime, all last minute, that sort of thing.”

“Do you think Martin is doing something other than working that your husband might actually be complimenting him on?”

“Maybe,” Kurt says meekly, his heart going from ache to break. He hadn’t put those thoughts into words before today, hadn’t even texted them to his closest confidants now crowding his inbox. This is the first time he’s getting it off his chest … and he’s doing it to millions of people he doesn’t know.

He can hear Sebastian's voice in his head, laughing and saying, "Smart, Kurt. Very smart."

“Alright! Let’s get Sebastian on the phone and find out what’s going on once and for all!”

“Okay,” Kurt mumbles, covering the fact that the host's apparent enthusiasm to destroy Kurt's life put him on the verge of throwing up.

“What we’re going to do (for those of you who don’t know how this works) is offer Sebastian a dozen romantic roses to send free of charge to the person of his choice," the d.j. explains.

"Let’s hope he says Kurt,” his co-host adds.

“Yes,” Kurt says, and very unlike him, he begins to pray.

He prays Sebastian doesn’t answer the phone.

He prays Sebastian's secretary answers instead and tells them to send the roses to Kurt, Sebastian’s one true love. Kurt would accept that, hearing it second hand. That would be fine. Hearing it from Sebastian's secretary would be almost like hearing it from Sebastian. She’s a trustworthy soul, not inclined to cover for her boss.

He thinks.

Most of all, he prays that no matter who answers, no matter what happens, he’s wrong.

Ring-ring.

Click.

“Hello?”

Sebastian answers and Kurt’s stomach drops. In the time it takes Sebastian to complete that word, Kurt recalls the way most of these things end. Then his mind, which rarely seems to be on his side lately, conjures up how it might end for them.

This phone call and their entire marriage.

“Let’s get a name for the card, Sebastian. Who would you like us to send those roses to?”

“Let’s send them to Martin,” Kurt imagines his husband saying in a sly, seductive voice without pause.

“Martin? And what message would you like to go with it?”

“Make it out to Captain Flexible. And write ‘last night was incredible. Here’s to many more late nights in the future’.”

That nightmare spell shatters when Kurt hears the d.j. say his husband's name. “Sebastian?”

“Yes?” Sebastian answers, already sounding annoyed. No one who calls Sebastian’s office line ever calls him by his first name except family.

And Kurt.

“Hello! My name is Andrew, and I’ve just opened a new flower shop in Uptown called The Rose Knows.”

“Good for you,” Sebastian says dryly.

“We’re calling businesses in the Midtown area with our first promotion. We’re offering a free dozen romantic roses to send to the person of your choice. And all we ask in return is that you recommend our shop to your family, your friends, your co-workers …”

“You must have the wrong number. I don’t need anything for free. Put an ad in the Pennysaver like everyone else.”

"I'm not sure the Pennysaver's still in business."

"Not my problem."

Kurt bites his lower lip, grinning when he should be in tears, the nervous flip-flopping of his stomach, like pancakes on a griddle, causing his abs to cramp. But that’s his husband. His Sebastian.

So far, so good.

“Come on,” the d.j. presses. “We’re a small business, just starting out. Do a man a favor. Have some community spirit.”

Sebastian sighs like this is so beneath him. He stays quiet, and Kurt knows he’s debating between messing with this guy or hanging up on him. But Sebastian probably figures he’s not going to shake him until he gives in. Besides, Sebastian is nothing if not a networker. A flower shop would be of no use to him, but who knows? “Let’s see. Who in my life deserves free roses? My mom’s birthday is coming up, so maybe I could send them to her. Or my sister. She just had a baby.”

“Oh! Congrats!”

“A-ha,” Sebastian says, the amount of unimpressed in his tone staggering. “There’s Martin Lewis ...”

“Martin?” the d.j. repeats, stressing the name subtly to put emphasis on Kurt’s concerns.

He doesn’t need to. Kurt’s heart has already stopped.

“Yeah," Sebastian says, his voice going softer. "Roses would definitely brighten up his office.”

“And why does Martin deserve roses?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but he’s been busting his ass helping me put together a huge proposal. Plus, his wife's in the hospital. He could bring them over to her."

"O-oh ..." The d.j. slips. That's probably the last thing he expected to hear.

"Or you know what?” Sebastian's voice drops a register, a hint of wickedness lacing between. “I could send them to this guy I absolutely worship."

"Oh really?" The d.j. recovers, seeing things start to turn around. The hosts definitely root for a happy ending, but it's no surprise that angst makes their ratings soar.

The cringe-factor of someone confessing unaware to their infidelities.

Their listeners eat that up.

"Yup. The most amazing, sexiest man on the face of the planet. The man with the biggest heart of any human being I have ever met. The man I call the Energizer Bunny because he can go all. night. long. The man I hope to spend the rest of my life with.”

Kurt hiccups. His heart, a useless lump in his chest, lodges in his throat.

“And who would that---?” But before the d.j. can interject with their usual spiel, Sebastian continues.

“But I think he’s worth more than a bouquet I got for free from some lame-ass radio talk show. What do you think, Kurt?”

The line goes dead.

Kurt has been listening to this radio program religiously for close to seven years, and to his knowledge, this has never happened before - a caller called out by their s.o. But the d.j. is on it because he immediately plays an old school ‘wah-wah’ noise to show that Kurt has been caught.

“H-how did you know?” Kurt asks.

“Because I know you, Kurt,” Sebastian says. “I know the kinds of things you do when you panic, and you mostly panic when you feel like people you love are going to leave you.”

“Yeah?” Kurt sniffs, a tear rolling down his cheek. Adding to his list of things he hates, he hates that Sebastian knows him so well. “And what do I do?”

“You kind of go off the deep end.” Sebastian chuckles, lighthearted and anxious, reminiscent of the night he asked Kurt to be his for the first time. “And I understand why. I’m sorry I’ve been distant lately. And I’m sorry about the late hours. I’ve just been caught up at work. I swear that’s all. But Kurt … can we talk about this when I get home? So I can look at you, in your eyes, and tell you that there’s no way in heaven or earth I would ever cheat on you? It took me a long time to win you over. There’s nothing that could persuade me to give you up, not for anyone.”

More sound effects - an awww followed by applause - play in the background as the d.j. and his co-host attempt to maintain control of the show.

“So … you don’t hate me?” Kurt asks.

“For which offense? Doubting me, my loyalty, and my love for you? Or airing our dirty laundry on the radio?”

“Uh …” Kurt awkwardly clears his throat. “All of the above?”

Sebastian sighs again. He sounds exhausted, but also like he can’t wait to get home and give Kurt a good ribbing. “Yes, babe. I forgive you.”

“Thanks. And I’m sorry about all this.”

“Apology accepted. I mean, what’re a few tawdry secrets among friends? Strangers? The barista down at Starbucks? My clients?”

“When should I expect you home?” Kurt rushes to cut him off, feeling more like a heel than he had before. “I know you have another big meeting and …”

“I’ll be home in about an hour. Wait … make that an hour and ten. I’m going to stop by a real flower shop and get you some roses. I think you’re overdue.”

“Really?” Kurt says, so astounded, so touched, he doesn’t hear the cheesy music the d.j. has started playing in the background.

“Yes, really. And Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“Be naked when I get there,” Sebastian growls.

The music stops, skidding to a halt with the sound of a record scratching. “Guys … uh … you’re still on the air.”

“Sorry not sorry there, champ,” Sebastian says and hangs up the call.

So does Kurt, shoving his phone in the freezer before the station tries to call back for a recap.

#kbweek2020 #kurtbastian #kurtbastian fic #sebkurt #sekurt

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damiensdemon · 4 years

Text

The Perfect Patient

Words: 4.8k

Summary: One-shot first-person drabble about having an unfortunate dental-fetish and a hot dentist.

"As his gloves fingers brush your jaw to keep it open properly, you find yourself wishing that you did have dentophobia. In reality, fear had almost nothing to do with the pounding of your heart. Rather, you’ve been avoiding this appointment because of your attraction to it."

Warnings: Smut, Dental Kink, Praise Kink, Horny Dentistry, Light Bondage, Light Bloodplay, Tooth Extraction, Needles, Transmasc Protag

The longer you put off something important, the harder it is to get it done. Like weeding a garden or telling a secret, sometimes the mental emphasis you put on a task can make it infinitely harder, as it gets more time to grow roots in your mind.

In your case, you haven’t been to the dentist’s office in many, many years. Currently, you’re sitting in the waiting room of a local office, waiting to be called back. The cozy clinic isn’t nearly as sterile-feeling as you remember your childhood office being, but that doesn’t do much to soothe your nerves.

The door across the room from you opens, and you jump at the sound. Luckily for you, the soft-faced young man who steps out is too engrossed in his clipboard to notice your fear. His brown eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles as he calls your name, “We’re ready for you, if you wanna head back.”

“Y-yes, thank you…” You mumble as politely as you can, quickly collecting your things and following him into the office.

His cheery grin persists as he shuts the door behind you, then leads you off down a hallway. After a couple of turns, he stops in front of a strange looking machine mounted to the wall.

“How are you feeling today?” He asks pleasantly, double-checking his clipboard as he begins messing with something behind a little divider in the room.

“Fine! A little nervous... Um… How are you?” You ask, sliding your thumbs under the straps of your backpack. Nervous tick.

“Pretty swell.” He grins, then motions to the chair under the arm of the machine. “My name is Jamie, and I’m the hygienist on duty today. Since you haven’t been seen for a while, we’re gonna take a quick x-ray. This is just gonna take a second, if you don’t mind taking a seat for me.”

“O-oh, of course.” You sit down in the chair, holding your spine stiffly. Jamie steps around you, then slides a heavy, weighted bib over your head. The weight is oddly comforting as it settles against your shoulders.

He walks you through the steps of the x-ray patiently, and while Jamie keeps up an easy chatter. Despite his best efforts, you can’t help but get more and more anxious as the appointment goes on.

After he takes the bitewing out of your mouth and lifts the weighted vest off of you, you finally ask him something that you'd wanted to since you first realized you needed an appointment. “What’s the dentist like?”

“Doctor Langford? He’s a sweetheart. Nothing to be afraid of.” He shrugs, waiting for you to put your backpack back on before motioning for you to follow him. As you walk, he adds, “All his patients seem to love him, as long as he’s sitting down.”

You give Jamie a confused look. He catches it, then explains, “Oh. He’s really tall. He’s kinda got, uh, gentle-giant vibes, y’know?”

“Ooh, I see.” You mumble, letting yourself wander along behind him toward a dental treatment room. Your friend, who’d recommended you to Dr. Langford, had expressed the same sentiment. Though, they'd described him as 'dark and handsome' in addition to 'tall'.

As you turn into a small room with dark blue walls, Jamie goes on. “His daughter thinks he’s the best. She’s so little compared to him. And, I mean, compared to his ex-wife, I can see why she chose him over her. I have no idea why he’s still single, or why he was even with that woman in the first-... um…” He caught himself, clearing his throat abruptly. “...Yeah. Anyways. Take a seat whenever.”

Jamie nodded toward the chair in the middle of the room, with a dental engine built into one of the armrests. The metal tray beside it contained a few tools that you weren’t quite familiar with, but just the sight of them made you feel…

“So, I’m gonna clean your teeth, and the doctor will be in to check you out as soon as I’m done. Do you want mint or bubblegum flavored toothpaste?”

Stiffly, you force yourself to settle back into the chair. “... Bubblegum, please.”

“Cool.” He said, pulling his medical mask over his nose and putting on a fresh pair of gloves. You have to turn away as he gets prepped, to keep the butterflies in your stomach from crawling their way up your throat.

“... Man, you got it bad, huh?” He asks with an unmistakable glint in his eyes.

“H-- Ghk… What?” You splutter, face flushing instantly.

“You’ve got like, dentophobia right? A fear of dental-stuff?”

You nod a little too quickly. “Yeah! I totally do. I'm super freaked out by all the, uh, mouth stuff. Maybe we should just skip the cleaning."

"I mean, we could, but the dentist is still gonna need to look in your mouth. And, uh… It won't hurt or anything, I promise."

"I'm not really worried about pain." You say with a nervous laugh, pulling on the strings of your hoodie.

Jamie scoots his stool up next to your seat, then puts his hand on your arm. He squeezes gently, waiting for you to relax.

"... Okay. Let's get this over with." You sigh, twisting the strings around your fingers in a self-soothing gesture.

He pats your arm happily, then picks up the brush connected to the chair. "You're a brave man, my dude. Okay, I'll be quick and gentle, promise."

You give a little nod and open your mouth for him. Jamie shifts into a more professional façade as he turns the brush on and begins cleaning your teeth.

Unsurprisingly, the effect on you is immediate. You have to drop the strings as your hands begin to shiver. Instead, you grip the armrests tightly. As your face burns hot once more, you steal a glance at the young man next to you. Jamie is, respectfully, keeping his eyes focused on your mouth, rather than your uncomfortable expression. … You have to keep yourself from thinking about that too much.

As his gloves fingers brush your jaw to keep it open properly, you find yourself wishing that you did have dentophobia. In reality, fear had almost nothing to do with the pounding of your heart. Rather, you’ve been avoiding this appointment because of your attraction to it.

“... Alright, we’re done with the cleaning! Want some water?” Jamie chirps, setting down the electric brush and offering you a small cup. You nod gratefully, taking a sip and swishing for a moment before spitting into the little sink he’d pushed closer to you.

“Is that it, then?” You ask hesitantly.

“Not quite. I’ve gotta floss ya, and check for any left-over nasties.” He says, swapping to a fresh pair of gloves. Idly, your eyes flick to the tray beside your chair. A container of floss sits innocuously beside an array of sharp implements. Jamie laughs quietly, “Uh, don’t worry. Those won’t hurt, either. Unless… you haven’t been flossing.”

Shamefully, you shake your head.

“Gotta get on that shit. Can’t have you getting gum disease. Then you’ll have to come here more often.” He teased, scooting up closer. “Alright, sit back, let’s do this.”

Somehow, you kept your cool through the remainder of the cleaning. By the time your gums had stopped bleeding, Jamie had already cleaned you up and left to fetch the dentist.

Your anxiety barely has time to spike before an absolute mountain of a human being enters the room. He has to duck his head to avoid bumping his head on the door frame. Despite the warm smile on his face as he approaches you, his intimidation factor is massive.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Doctor Langford, but you can call me Gabriel.” He says, extending a hand to you.

With your heart in your throat, you reach out to shake it. God, his hand is huge compared to yours. Shakily, you introduce yourself, and can only pray that you don’t sound as terrified as you feel.

“Pleasure to meet you. Now, I wanted to talk to you about your x-ray…” He says, folding himself into the chair Jamie had left beside you. He holds up a sheet of film, and points to a place behind your molars. “Your wisdom teeth are beginning to come in. As one would expect of a young man of your age... Now, I can’t remove those today, but you can schedule an appointment for that later.”

You nod along, but can’t really focus on what he’s telling you. Gabriel speaks with a soothing, deep tone, and a slight accent that you can’t quite place. … Australian, perhaps?

"Alright, I'll just do a quick examination of your teeth, and then we can get you out of here." He says with a smile, turning around to grab a fresh pair of gloves.

You swallow hard, watching him pull his latex gloves into place with a snap. No wedding ring, your stupid-awful-monkey-brain whispers. You tell it, politely, to sit the fuck back.

"Can you open for me?" Gabriel asks gently. Almost embarrassingly quickly, you part your lips and let him look into your mouth.

Even with a mask covering half of his face, you remain very aware of how close he is to you. You can feel his presence looming over you as he adjusts a light to see inside your oral cavity.

He watches you with sharp, attentive eyes. Softly, he hums, then picks up a small mouth mirror and slides it into your mouth.

"Ah, excuse me…" He mutters, lifting his hand and touching your molar with his--

An embarrassing squeak leaves your throat, and he immediately retracts. If he registered the true nature of that noise, he doesn't make it obvious. "Oh. Pardon me. Are you alright?"

Your heart hammers in your ears as you nod. "I-I'm fine! I just, got overwhelmed."

"Ah, I see." He replies, taking off his gloves casually. "Your teeth look quite healthy, but you do have a small cavity in one of your molars."

"... What?" You mumble numbly. Oh fuck, oh shit--

"If you have an extra hour, we can fill that today. Does that sound alright with you?” His tone borders on velvety. Is he doing that on purpose? … No, of course not. He's a dentist, this is his job.

He remains silent and attentive, waiting for you to reply. You nod quickly, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. “... Oh. Yes! Of course, let’s… do that. Get it out of the way. Haha.”

“Wonderful. Jamie will get everything prepared for us, and I’ll be back shortly. Hold tight.” He says, rising to his feet and giving you an approving nod as he exits the room.

Shit. Goddamn it. He knows, he has to.

No sooner has that thought passed through your mind before Jamie pokes his head back in. The smug grin on his face tells you that he has instantly read you for filth.

“Shut up.” You bury your face in your hands, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

The hygienist has to duck back out of the room to laugh, then enters and shuts the door behind him. “So… Anything you wanna share with me, young man?”

Laughing gas, as you’ve discovered, has a strange smell. It’s vaguely sweet, like Jamie had told you, but there’s also a distinctive metallic scent, and perhaps a hint of rubber. Though, maybe that’s the mask strapped over your nose.

“Is it kicking in yet?” He asks, setting something down on the tray out of your line of sight.

“I’m not sure. Maybe?” You say, leaning your head back against the headrest. “I feel… comfortable, I guess. As comfortable as I can right now, at least.”

“That’s good. It shouldn’t take much longer.” He assures you, then glances back at the door. “Just, uh, try not to flirt with Doctor Langford too much when he comes in here, okay?”

“I’m not planning on it.” You say, rolling your eyes. “I don’t want my new dentist to ban me. I’d like to come back for checkups later.”

Jamie rubs the back of his neck, “It's not that he'd be uncomfortable, I think… But, the poor guy gets flustered real easy, and--"

Behind him, the door opens and shuts effectively ending the conversation. You can’t turn your head much, but you can hear Jamie and Doctor Langford having a quiet conversation about your procedure. With a nod, and a "Be good!", Jamie takes a clipboard from Gabriel’s hands and walks out the door. Just like that, you’re alone with the dentist once more.

The stool beside you creaks as Gabriel gracefully lowers onto it. He addresses you gently, “As Jamie already explained, this is going to be quick and simple. After the local anesthetic kicks in, you may feel pressure, but you won’t feel any pain."

He leans forward slightly, catching your gaze. "... Jamie mentioned to me that you’ve been feeling some anxiety about your visit today, is that correct?”

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, and in an instant, a wave of something hits you. It isn’t quite the same sensation as you being high, really, this is more of an out-of-body experience.

Why were you even feeling anxious, anyway? “I was. But, I’m feeling much better now.” You reply, shrugging.

“Oh?" He tilts his head. The picture of innocent curiosity. "May I ask what helped you relax? Beside the nitrous oxide, of course.”

You rack your brain. Well, when he came in just now, you felt more excited than scared. So, you tell him, “You, actually.”

“... Well, thank you.” He grins, laughing kindly. “I have a few patients with dentophobia, and it seems to help them to talk with me before procedures. Would you prefer that we have some extra consultation time in the future? Assuming you need it, of course.”

As he speaks, your eyes shut for just a moment. That warm, comfortable sensation floats through you… As your eyes flutter back open, that open and honest expression on his face just makes you melt. Why were you even afraid of this guy, anyways?

“I don’t have dentophobia.”

“Oh? … Then, may I ask you what specifically had been bothering you?” He asks, resting his forearm against your armrest.

“I have…” You take another breath, trying to collect yourself enough to find the right words. “... um… I have a d-... dental fetish…?”

“... A dental what?” He asks incredulously, those beautiful eyes going wide in… amusement? “D-did I mishear you there, or--”

“No, I’m serious. I have a huge kink for dental-stuff. All kinds of medical stuff, really.” You blurt. He blinks, then leans his stubbly chin against his palm. Taking that as a sign to go on, you explain, “Y’know, examinations, bondage stuff, blood-play, injections, even roleplay… Oh! And doctors are just, like, really hot to me. I like a dad who knows his way around a person’s body, y'know... And the authority, Jesus Christ…”

While you ramble, the dentist moves from being surprised to intrigued. By the end of your confession, he’s fully settled in, and smiling broadly. “Very interesting. Should I assume you mean me, then?”

“Oh, definitely. You’re super my type.” You giggle, grinning right back at him. “Handsome, sweet, intimidating… And your coat looks great on you.”

“You really think so?”

You nod, and your eyes sluggishly slide over his broad torso. He follows the movement of your eyes, and the tips of his ears flush pink.

After a moment of consideration, the dentist rises to his feet and crosses to the door. You feel your heart drop as you assume the worst, but it picks right back up as you hear the lock click.

In a beat, he’s back at your side, now looming over you with a syringe from the tray. The needle is long, glinting in the light above you. You can’t see his face clearly through the glare, but you can tell he’s pulled his medical mask up.

“Open your mouth.”

Without a thought, you do. He cups your jaw with his free hand, sliding his latex-covered thumb over your front teeth. The digit glides over your saliva-slick gums, gently pushing up your lip over your molars.

“Hold still,” He warns, leaning in close as he slides the cold steel into your gums and injects you with… something. After an uncomfortable pinch, he pulls the needle out and massages the area with his thumb again. You whine softly, tasting a hint of blood.

“That was good. You did well.” He murmurs. The praise warms your chest, making you feel more bold. As the pad of his thumb grazes the crown of your teeth, you lick the exposed back of his finger. Even through the shadows, you can see his eyebrows raise in surprise.

With a clatter, he drops the syringe back onto the tray and swings one slender leg over to the other side of your chair. His weight settles against you. He’s heavy, but not more than you can accept on your lap. As you rest your hands on his coat-covered hips, he forces your attention back to your mouth as he presses two fingers against your tongue. Reflexively, you close your mouth and begin to suck on him.

Gabriel made a noise deep in his throat, somewhere between satisfaction and amusement. “... Good boy. You're a wonderful patient.” He purrs quietly, rubbing your cheek with his free-hand.

As you work your tongue against him, you can feel him subtly grinding himself against your abdomen. Cheekily, you slide your hand down his stomach and press your palm against the growing bulge in his pants. In an instant, his hand grabs your wrist and presses it firmly against the armrest.

“Ah-ah." He scolds, a playfully cruel tone in his voice. "This is your appointment. We will be keeping our focus on you… For the moment."

“If you insist.” You mumble around his fingers. He takes them out of your mouth, and skillfully fastens a strap around each of your wrists. As you try to lift your arms, you find them both completely immobilized. Combined with the mask still pumping calming gas into your lungs, you find that your upper body is entirely at his mercy.

"You'll be a good patient for me, won't you?" He asks, his fingers caressing your jaw. You try to nod, but his hold on your jaw forces you to remain looking up at him. "Use your words."

"Y-yes, Doctor." You stammer. Your tongue feels sluggish in your mouth, slurring your speech.

"Very good." He smiles beneath his mask. Your heart stutters in your chest as he plucks a tool off of the tray. His thumb flips a switch, and a soft whir fills the room. He presses the end of the tool to your chest, and for a terrifying moment, you think he's trying to drill through your ribs. But, as a deep buzz resonates along your skin, you recognize it as the same type of brush that Jamie had used to clean your teeth. As he traces along your torso, you find the vibration to be powerful and surprisingly pleasant.

"Now, you'll need to be mindful of the other patients. If they hear someone in distress in my clinic…" He warns, slowly moving the tool lower. Over your stomach, and the waistband of your pants… "It wouldn't be good for business."

You roll your hips under him, subtly presenting yourself. "I'll be quiet. I promise."

He nods, satisfied with your response. Then, he presses the smooth back of the brush head where you'd been hoping he would.

With a sharp gasp, you strain against your restraints. With your pants acting as a buffer, the vibration borders between not quite enough and just right. You have to fight to keep still enough for him to keep the pressure where you want it.

As you swallow back the tiny noises of pleasure that keep rising from your throat, Doctor Langford's attention is completely focused on you. As a particularly strong jolt passes through your body, he carefully tucks a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. Even as you come undone before him, he's still keeping you together.

"... Even through the fabric, you're still responding that strongly?" He clicks his tongue in mock disapproving. "Perhaps you need more anesthetic."

"No, no, please--" You choke out as he withdraws the brush. His pale eyes lock onto yours, urging you to go on. With a hint of desperation, you plead, "I-I want more… Please, keep going?"

"Well… Since you asked so nicely. We will need to get on with your procedure eventually, though." He heaves an exaggerated sigh, then pushes the buzzing tool back against your sensitivity.

This time, you're braced for it. You bite back a moan, and you can see him searching your flushed face. While your hips grind back against the tool, he palms himself idly through his dress pants.

The combination of your dreamy high and the overwhelming stimulation puts your mind in a fog that you can't fathom a world outside of. That's probably why it takes you a moment to register Gabriel's voice as it filters through the haze in your head.

"... still numb?"

"Mmmsorry, what?" You mumble, shaking your head quickly.

Gabriel laughs quietly, adjusting his grip as he repeats, "Is your mouth still numb?"

You prod the injection site with your tongue, then report, "Yeah, almost… um, half of my mouth is completely…. numb… Mmh..."

"Perfect. Could you hold this for me?" He asks, pointing at the still-buzzing tool pressed into your sensitivity.

You roll your eyes at him, nodding toward your fingers drumming loudly on the armrests.

"Oh! How silly of me." He asks with a dry laugh. Then, he easily unbuttons your pants. "How about we try this, then?"

Before you can respond, he slips the tool down the front of your pants. The tight fabric holds the tool against your skin, and with just a slight tilt, it finds your--

"Pfthfucking Christ, OKAY!!" You cry, body shivering as your hips instinctively raise off the plastic-covered chair.

"Too much?" The doctor asks, watching you squirm with obvious amusement.

"Nnnnhhh~, um, no, I mean, it's-- oh fucking fuckfuckfuck, leave it!" You pant, biting your tongue to keep yourself quiet. If the sensation was bordering on perfection before, then this toed the line of too much. But, as your body adjusts to the buzzing, it quickly turns into delicious overstimulation.

Again, Gabriel grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him once more. You can barely keep your eyes on his. Your body wants to close your eyes and get swallowed up by the climax slowly building in your stomach, but the rush that his gaze gives you is too wonderful to give up.

For a moment, a silvery glint catches your eye, but his fingers dig into your soft skin. "Look at me." He growls, pressing a thumb to your lips once more, "And open wide."

Eagerly, you do as he commands. You expect to feel his finger run against your tongue, but instead, he yanks your jaw down lower. Your mouth is open as wide as you can hold it, and you just hope that you won't start to drool.

His other hand flits through the corner of your vision, but through the laughing-gas mask, you don't have a clue what he's holding. Something metallic… Another tool.

Cold metal brushes the warmth of your cheek, exposing the numb side of your mouth. Then, there's pressure on one of your molars. The one with the cavity, you think.

"Keep your eyes on me, darling." Gabriel says, a slightly husky edge to his tone. He's leaning in closer now, and you can see how flushed he is under his mask. With your pulse pounding in your ears, you realize how obviously drunk he is on your mutual arousal.

Something pops. Pressure releases in your mouth. You don't feel any pain, but you taste iron.

With a grin, Gabriel pulls down his mask and holds up the molar he just pulled from your skull.

All at once, he tugs your own mask up and off over your head, then closes the distance between the two of you. The dentist kisses you, deep and hungry. You can taste him; his mouth is clean and cool, and the rich warmth of your own blood coats both of your tongues. His gloved hands are all over you, running up your arms and over your chest, tugging at your shirt, then up your neck and into your hair.

And all the while, the buzzing between your legs pushes you closer and closer. When Gabriel finally pulls away, he's breathing harder than you are. His hands fumble clumsily with his belt, before he shakily unzips his pants. In seconds, he's holding himself in hand and stroking with an obvious goal in mind.

Yours hands, still bound, grip the armrests so hard that you're sure the nail marks will never come out. Blood drips down your chin steadily, soaking into the front of your shirt. Doctor Langford's mouth is smeared with red, as are his gloves.

His tongue darting out to taste what's left of you on his lips. He breathes, "You look gorgeous. You're about to cum, aren't you?"

All you can do is nod frantically. You're almost there; your legs are tensed and your hips shiver with anticipation. Just a few more seconds…

With a gasp, Gabriel braces himself with one hand on your headrest. Just as you slip over the edge into a shaking, cursing orgasm, he brings himself to completion on your torso. If you had more presence of mind, you'd be upset at how many fluids have soaked into your shirt. But, as your eyes squeeze shut under the intensity of your pleasure, you don't have a care in the world.

As your own cries of ecstasy die off, you can hear Gabriel panting hard against your neck. Your whole body glows with endorphins, urging you to keep your eyes shut and ride it out.

After a few moments, the dentist's weight shifts, and buzzing between your legs slows to a stop. The pressure on your wrists releases, and the tall man climbs off of your lap.

The stool to your right squeaks as his weight settles into it. You take in a slow, deep breath, and your mental fog seems to lift. Suddenly, everything feels heavy… Distantly, you hear your name being called...

Slowly, begrudgingly, you open your eyes to see Jamie sitting beside you.

"... Wh-... Um. How long were you--?" You squeak, quickly sitting bolt upright and moving to pull the tool out of your--...

The coy grin plastered on Jamie's face doesn't fade as he asks, "Have a good nap, kid?"

There's nothing there. Well, not nothing, but there's certainly no dental tools in your pants. Confused, you touch your mouth. You're still a bit numb, but you're not missing any teeth, and there's no blood. Your clothes are as clean as when you came in, and there's no sign of Doctor Langford.

Jamie clears his throat to stifle a giggle, then goes on. "Your filling went well. You must have fallen asleep pretty early in, since you were out cold by the time I came back."

Your face is burning. Was all of that a dream? You don't remember falling asleep… And, if the wet mess in your pants is anything to go off of, you know that something happened. ...At least in your mind.

"... Um. Did I… say anything stupid?" You ask sheepishly, massaging the numb portion of your face idly.

"Not as far as I know. Doctor Langford said you were a perfect patient." Jamie snorted, turning to the counter to staple together a freshly-printed packet of aftercare information. "He did want me to ask, did you feel any discomfort while you were asleep?"

"N-... no?"

"Oh. M'kay. He mentioned that you got kinda… squirmy… Y'know, when he turned on the drill." Jamie says with an audible smirk. "... He said he hopes that your dentophobia hasn't given you a poor impression of him."

You can't even think of a response that won't damn you to a deeper layer of hell. Either you had a wet dream in front of your dreamy new dentist, or…

"Anyways… You do need to come back for a follow-up appointment soon. Your wisdom teeth gotta be taken care of, ASAP." He says, turning back around and handing you the packet. "Wanna schedule that now?"

You hesitate, tapping the papers against the armrest. Part of you wants to flee the country and never speak the word teeth again. But… Then again… Would it really be the worst thing in the world to see him again?

With a coy grin to match Jamie's, you finally reply, "... What's the earliest you can get me in?"

#self insert #reader insert #smut #drabble #writing #dentist #dental kink #medical #mlm #smile for me #original #doctor #dental #damiensdemon

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minamimotonagi · 3 years

Text

An Equation Called “Love”

Nagi is starting off her college days at Realground college. She wouldn't have expected her first day to become a major plot-twist to her life.

(Warning: This fan-fiction may contain spoilers for the first 'The World Ends With You' game and may contain 'NEO The World Ends With You' spoilers up until the demo. If you don't want spoilers for either of those two sources, you are reading at your own discretion.

This is the Safe For Work version of this fan-fiction.

This fan-fiction is wholly interpretations of how they would interact.)

Originally posted to ArchiveOfOurOwn account ZettaCute.

Chapter 1: Realground College

The woman with medium length purple hair half tied into twin tails held up by green ribbons rushed out the door. It was her first day of college today. The badges in her itabag made small clashing metal noises as she ran with a piece of toast in her mouth to the building.

Huff... Huff...

There she had ended up after a ten minute rush. She didn't want to be late for the first day.

This was it. Realground College.

Chapter 2: First Class, Introduction To Animation

Nagi whispered motivational speech to herself, inspired by what her favourite character would usually say. She was more than likely imagining him cheering her on in her head at this point.

The college building she entered had a huge doorway which until she looked up, didn't even seem to have a top to it. Its exterior and interior were like nothing she had ever seen before. Exterior-wise, it was fashioned to be intricate. An eye-pleaser. Interior wise, the building was spacious. Filled with many new students getting ready for their first day of either college or their course.

"Lord of the educational system, accept my power!" Nagi exclaimed. Her anime badges jingled with her pointing pose, legs spread wide as if she had just asked to be taken on an adventure quest. The tutor in front of her blankly stared at the purple haired woman.

"Um... What's your name... Ma'am...?" The tutor asked in surprise at the interaction. He scratched at his bald head which was covered by an old-fashioned cap on the top.

"Villainess Nagi of the special ward of Tokyo, Shibuya!" She announced eccentrically. Some heads had already turned towards the bizarre woman.

"...Nagi, right?" He replied after an awkward silence, most likely him trying to figure out what our protagonist, Nagi, had just said. The man pointed to a door to Nagi's right on the other side of the room. "Your classroom." He handed her a planner.

Nagi made her way to the classroom labelled "Animation Studio", shocked to have a dark man go past her and almost knock the plushie key ring off her bag. She stumbled, regaining her balance from the surprise. She sighed when she looked back at the man who had almost took her off her feet. He had mid-length dark brown hair and a dully coloured outfit. He was dark, too. Nagi took out her phone to look at pictures of her anime husbando before her college day started. Was there really someone that perfect out there? She didn't have enough time left to catch up with him. Class would start in a few minutes. Internally she prayed to see that man once again. She needed proof that it wasn't just a mistake from him flashing by her.

The classroom was filled with at least twenty animation students getting ready for their first day. The desks were unit separated work tables with desktop computers installed into them. Nagi sat herself down to a seat, got her equipment out and made herself comfortable. She put a small plushie of her husbando in her work space leaned against the computer 's box which stood next to the monitor. The only other thing on her desk that was already placed there before she came apart from the computer was a drawing tablet, a necessary piece of equipment for an animation student. She was ready for this course! Of course, since she lived in Japan, drawing hot anime men was perfectly acceptable for this course. And she could cope with drawing other things too. At least she got to admire her favourite things, created by her own hands this time.

Fingers clicked in-front of Nagi's zoned out face. Tan fingers. Nagi took a pause.

"-You!" She exclaimed, getting up just to pose and point at this man. It was him! The one who knocked her a little.

"...Zetta weird." The tall tan man replied. Nagi could see it now. This man looked feral.

He was hot.

"I bestow you everything and will even sacrifice my life to you, (CHARACTER NAME)!" Nagi replied back.

... ......

There was awkward silence between the two. Hell, not just between the two. Between the whole room.

"...Who are you, hectopascal?" The man asked, adjusting his wonky lanyard so it's mathematically in place.

"The beautiful villainess known as Nagi of the special ward of Tokyo, Shibuya!" She added an extended emphasis on Shibuya's pronunciation.

"I don't give a digit about the other garbage, Nagi." He replied. "This is my latest masterpiece of a college entry: name's Sho Minamimoto. Call me Minamimoto."

"Almighty lord Minamimoto..." Nagi said with a bit of a higher pitched fangirling noise near to the end of her sentence.

"That's right!" Minamimoto folded his arms proudly.

"That's too loud! Shush!" Said the Animation tutor who had just entered the classroom. "To your seats, please."

Minamimoto sat down at the unit next to Nagi. Most likely, he was originally going to ask if he could sit there. Given the way Nagi had responded, there wasn't any harm for him to take the available seat next to her.

First animation class of the course was an introduction to the course. Nagi looked over to Minamimoto briefly. He rolled his eyes at the screen. It was as if he had listened to this lecture many times before. Nagi brought back her attention to the projector screen in front of her that the tutor was pointing to, reading out and explaining what they would do for the courses projects. Nothing seemed too difficult yet. Nagi felt like this course wasn't going to eat at her easily. She felt ready to take it on. A hot man sitting next to her made it an even better start to the course. She was ready to create art and animation of hot anime men!

Chapter 3: Lunch Break

When it was lunch break after a two hour introduction lecture which had a small fifteen minute break in-between it, Nagi put her equipment and plushie away. She picked up her bag to leave. As she was about to leave, Minamimoto put a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to him. He scratched his head and begun to speak to her.

"Want to crunch some factors?" Minamimoto asked her. Nagi pointed her finger to her mouth, thinking.

"Get lunch?" She asked, making sure that was what he meant. Minamimoto nodded his head.

Nagi and Minamimoto made their way to the cafeteria to get lunch together. They walked side by side, looking like a couple to most people they passed due to Nagi's itabag. Of course they weren't one... Yet. Nagi had her eyes set on this man if he was single. She paused as they were walking.

"Zetta slow." Minamimoto rolled his eyes. "My stomachs ready to crunch some factors." He complained.

"...Sorry." Nagi put on a nervous fake smile. She caught up. Continuing to walk along side the tan man. Minamimoto was looking at her, waiting for her to finish what she was going to say. "Um... Never-mind." She hesitated from saying what she was going to say. Minamimoto shrugged to himself. He kept on walking until they reached the cafeteria counter.

Minamimoto looked at the menu hungrily. He almost drooled at the sweet desserts. Nagi was too busy watching her new friend's reaction to the sweet treats to look at the menu just yet. As he was about to turn around to her, she brought her attention to the menu. She didn't want to make it obvious she had been watching him for a bit. She put a hand on her chin, uttered out a hmm and tried to decide what to have for lunch. She went with a regular enough curry rice that was hard for anyone to mess up. After eyeing a very sweet looking dessert, Minamimoto knew what he wanted.

"You're only having afters?" Nagi asked after ordering a simple curry rice for herself.

"I could crunch some food times two." Minamimoto replied, ordering himself a regular slightly sweet meal and a sickly sweet dessert. Nagi went bleh in an imitation under her breath. Especially when she realised he had also ordered a caramel macchiato with that. It was a fancy cafeteria for a college but that was overboard on sugar levels.

The two ate their meals at an available table with only two chairs assigned to it. They chatted to each other during eating their lunch. While chatting, Nagi took an available moment to ask Minamimoto what she wanted to ask him earlier.

After an amount of awkward stuttering, she finally managed to get it out.

"So," She laughed nervously, eyes turning to look to the side while eyelids drooped on the furthest sides. A timorous smile on her face. "Almighty lord Minamimoto, are you single?" She bit her lip after asking that question, her nervous expression not swept away.

"I have zero equal integers. I'm a single digit." Minamimoto replied. "Why did you want to know the answer to that equation?" He finished speaking.

Nagi rubbed her hand behind her purple hair nervously. She moved her hand so it was playing with the front lengths of her hair. She finally found an appropriate excuse of an answer. It was a slightly slow thought process due to the situation.

"You look like you're popular." Nagi told him.

"Zetta popular." Minamimoto responded. "But you need to recalculate if you think I'm that zetta popular enough to have a equal integer." He was just finishing the last bite of the dessert he had recently moved on to. He was quick at engulfing all of that sweet content down. Nagi nodded, continuing on the conversation like she hadn't asked a question she needed answered. Yes! Her crush was single. His quirky math loving personality only added to her attraction for him. It would be possible for her to also get used to his sweet tooth for food.

[Notes -

equal integer = a romantic partner]

Chapter 4: Fight

[Notes -

Spoiler: No, this isn't angsty. Not an actual spoiler but a heads-up for people who aren't a fan of reading angst to not worry. I don't like writing angst that much so you're safe. LOL.]

After they had eaten, it was time to head back to class. They had filled in their decent length of free time with conversation.

As they walked back to the Animation Studio, some guys ganged up around Nagi. The weirdos threw out insults at the short woman who was cowering in fear. Minamimoto came up to them. He beat them up, wiping a small mark of blood off his face when he was done with them. Nagi was in shock at how he had responded to her being ganged up on. In shock but thankful. He was like an anime or game protagonist. She heavily digged it.

"You zetta sons of digits!" He spat. "Leave my coprime integer alone!"

Unfortunately for Minamimoto, a tutor walked into the scene. It was the same old man from earlier. The tutor saw the unconscious students laying on the floor. He shook his head at Minamimoto. He was in deep shit for heavily beating up the students who tried ganging up on Nagi.

"Come with me, Mr. Minamimoto." The tutor said in a stern voice. Minamimoto looked down in shame, expression hard to read thanks to his hat. Nagi followed after. The tutor hadn't realised she followed them all the way to the student support room. He sat Minamimoto down, sighed and sat Nagi down to a chair too.

The tutor laid down paperwork on the table in front of Minamimoto. It was about having a valid reason to not be expulsed from what Nagi could see. She wanted to scream at that moment. Her new friend was about to be kicked out first day?

Nagi couldn't let that happen. Especially not when Minamimoto had a valid reason to not be kicked out. It was an act of defense. Not self defense, but defending a friend who couldn't fend herself at that moment.

"You should head back to class, Miss Nagi." Requested the tutor. She shook head.

"No!" She exclaimed. "Almighty lord Minamimoto didn't do anything wrong!" She had an angry expression on her face. She needed to prove his actions were justified.

"Nagi, it's okay." Minamimoto sighed. "My third time being out my vector about the course." The tutor sighed listening into their conversation, waiting for the moment he could speak.

"Your third time beating people up." The tutor said in a fed up tone. "Before you even begun creating those crap pile trash heaps."

"Trash heaps?" Nagi sounded confused.

"My garbage heaps are masterpieces." A grimace appeared on Minamimoto's face as he replied with that. Was it just Nagi or did Minamimoto's speech go normal for a second? There were no mathematical references thrown into his speech. This was getting weirdly interesting. The tutor let out a long sigh at the tall tanned man. Most likely not the first time he had this talk.

What had been a normal conversation turned into a full on argument between Minamimoto and the tutor. Another tutor came over to Nagi, instructing her to go back to class and informing her that her new friend would be fine. She headed back to the Animation Studio.

[Notes -

Coprime integer - friend In this work, Minamimoto refers to relationship partners as "equal integers." A "coprime integer" in his definition is a platonic friend.]

Chapter 5: Second Class, Concept Designs

In class, Nagi apologized for being so late. She explained why Minamimoto wasn't back. The tutor sighed, saying again? under her breath. She gave Nagi an explanation not to get too involved with Minamimoto's drama. She didn't want her new student to fall behind due to an old one who kept failing his course acting up.

It was Nagi's first time in her new course getting to use the computer equipped on her unit to create some art in this course. The instructions were to draw whatever the student desired to as long as it was an original character design. After the computer power on which wasn't in bad timing, the purple haired woman begun to boot up the art program and begun drawing an anime character concept design. As Nagi was about to get her plushie out of her bag, she realised something. It wasn't there. She let out a horrible scream.

"Gyahhh!" She caterwauled.

"...Miss Nagi?" The tutor said in a questioning tone. She looked almost as astonished as Nagi did. That was loud.

"My bag!" Nagi cried. "It's not here!" Tears were rolling down the small woman's face.

A tall figure with dark brown medium length hair walked in the room. Nagi turned her attention to the man. He had a purple bag held over his back like a potato sack.

"Yo, zeptograms."

It looked like a scene that came out of a game. Nagi hiccupped and went over to him.

"Almighty lord Minamimoto, is that my bag?" Her sobbing had punctuated her speech. "Thank you so much, I owe you my life and my soul." She was filled with gratitude, falling to the floor and bowing for him. Minamimoto pulled her up by her wrist. He put her itabag on her available arm. Nagi had gone flushed. Minamimoto had already let go of her and was back in his seat before she snapped back into the situation. She shook her head, returning to her desk unit to continue the work set.

The tutor came over to explain to Minamimoto what to do. She seemed to be struggling to get him to understand he needed to make a character design. He was being told to try not drawing a trash heap. Or to at least make it into some sort of creature.

"You could make it mathematically related?" Nagi suggested as she worked on her own piece.

"She's right, Minamimoto." The tutor sighed in relief. "Try designing a character that's mathematically related." Minamimoto's eyes got slightly bigger how like a cats would thinking about it. "Try that idea out." The tutor said before leaving off to help out another student.

Minamimoto was in full concentration mode on the screen now. Nagi smiled. She continued with her own work. Her character was starting to come together. Man, did he look handsome. She was almost drooling at the screen at this point.

It was a fun first hands on experience for the course. The tutor did have to come over to Minamimoto a few times to make sure he wasn't getting side tracked with equations and trash heaps. He had been shouted at a few times during that class. Other than that happening, it was enjoyable.

To Be Continued...

#shonagi #neo twewy spoilers #twewy spoilers #minamimoto #nagi #fanfiction #fan fiction #part 1 #sho minamimoto

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isagrimorie · 5 years

Text

@glompcat

replied to your post

“I was listening to “Talking Who to You” and their review of Diary of...”

They sometimes almost seem to have a hint of an interesting idea to explore with her in that regard, but then since they refuse to actually examine these things just abandon it. Like in Legacy of Time, when Benny started to question what River really *means* when she talks about being married. Or in Eight of March's Emancipation where River expressed envy for two seconds that Leela lived on Gallifrey with her Time Lord husband. Which also opened up the fascinating whole subject of how much River really knows/understands. She studied the Doctor, she learned about them and their friends from academic texts and third and fourth hand accounts. She clearly doesn't actually *know* most things, and I wish we could see more of her coming up against the fact she doesn't actually understand everything, that she is clinging to these assured ideas and yet the reality of the situation still surprises her etc

Instead of like... constantly needing to write stories where River's odd view is affirmed as right. Like in Emancipation she comments that she understands Time Lords just as well as Leela, and that just... continues to stick out to me. Because obs Leela didn't challenge that as she had no idea who River was, which meant that just went on by without comment and just... confused the shit out of me. She isn't a first hand expert and authority on everything. She's an academic, an archaeologist. She's still never met any Time Lords other than the Doctor and the Master, and most of what she knows is based on a lifetime of academic study. That *could* lead to hilarious misunderstanding/vulnerability in her stories when she does have to meet up with the Doctor.

Oh man. Yes, those two stories!

I was especially disappointed with the Legacy of Time story with Benny when it suddenly became ALL about Eight. Here are two awesome women, who are so similar to each other and all the writers could think about was put Eight into the story.

And then doesn’t even delve deeper into it. I figure Benny’s expression the whole time was mildly confused and ‘seriously?.

And you bring up a good point! For the longest time all River knew about the Doctor is what Madam Kovarian taught her, she is an academic! Also, of all people to say she knows Time Lords as much as Leela... who has lived with Time Lords, and not just one outlier renegade Time Lord.

I was also pretty annoyed with majority of the story until the last part but man, I really need a writer to really push more into River’s story and dig deeper. They could go for a more comedic effect with it too!

It certainly would be a more interesting thing to explore than jokes about how because she's married to the Doctor it is magically ok for her to strip them naked and have her way with them when they're unconscious, like we got in the boxset where she met Five. Which was just... such a rollercoaster for me as it is the one where she gets to confront Kevorkian!

Oh. God. That boxset.

I know what you mean. I was so uncomfortable, and clearly Five didn’t know what was going on nor did he want to participate with anything River was trying to initiate.

It also goes to my point of -- just because The Doctor married her, doesn’t mean it travels back to the Doctor’s other lives. I can maybe accept this up until Eight because he straddles the line of Pre- and during Time War, the catalyst that changed the Doctor into the person River fell in love with.

Moffat might be all into the Time Traveler’s Wife story but I’m a firm believer of ‘right time, right place’. The Doctor pre-Time War isn’t the exact same person that becomes the post-Time War Doctor/Post-almost recovery Doctor who falls in love with River. Pre-Time War Doctor isn’t ready to fall in love with River, the Doctor has a whole life before River, a whole family before River. Just as much as she should and does have her own life outside of the Doctor, the Doctor had a whole history before River.

Yet even there, when Kevorkian is there and they are literally inside a copy of River's childhood bedroom there was no real grappling with what it means that River studied the Doctor-as-monster her whole youth long that she was training to kill them literally every day of her childhood, and yes, somewhere along the way things changed, so what happened, when did she start to see the Doctor differently, and what misconceptions does she still carry with her from her earlier studies and how do they inform how she sees the Doctor's actions/their relationship now?

I can only nod here, because like I mentioned in the post, I wanted to know when exactly did River really fall in love with the Doctor and not just the idea of the Doctor or the things she knew about him? When was the first moment that didn’t have to do with any of those things did she realize she’s in love with him, for realsies?

When she meets these people who knew the Doctor like Benny or Leela (or Susan or Ian or Barbara etc except I haven't heard that box set of Diaries yet unlike the others) how do their impressions contrast with her own?

Not to harp on about that one off story too much, but it stood out to me due to its obvious positioning as both written and directed by women, but I do think about things like how in The Eighth of March Emancipation she kept insinuating that the Doctor mainly kept Leela around for eye candy and how that showed this MASSIVE lack of understanding of Four and what he was about and it really fascinates me, like what does it mean for an Academic to literally fall in love with the subject of her studies? Particularly an Archaeologist whose field is built on piecing together desperate remnants to create an incomplete idea of a whole? Like if her stories must all culminate in being about the Doctor (which based on some things said in Vortex I think may have been part of what Moffat told them to do with her)

‘Like if her stories must all culminate about being about the Doctor’ AUGH. This is so frustrating. Especially the part about what River’s insinuating about Leela, who is awesome and fantastic. I mean, isn’t enough she still gets called Savage in Gallifrey? And River has to pile that on top too. Thankfully this rolls off of Leela, but honestly, that was uncalled for.

why not actually explore how and why she reached the conclusions she did in Husbands of River Song, which is of course always in her future? It's set after all of these adventures we listen to, so why not - if a Doctor plot is needed - focus on how she reached the conclusions she did there if that speech was sincere?

THIS THIS THIS.

IDK. There is so much they could explore with her but they just don't seem willing to challenge her... authority? In a way that ultimately undercuts her, because she is constantly positioned in a mold that removes any actual work needed to gain information/the upper hand/her level of skill. So rather than being the result of hard work and effort, it's just... how it is. Which de-powers her. IDK, I kept trying with Diaries I really did, but it actually was the one with Tom Baker in it that made me give up.

“they just don't seem willing to challenge her... authority? In a way that ultimately undercuts her, because she is constantly positioned in a mold that removes any actual work needed to gain information/the upper hand/her level of skill.“

Yes, this, exactly! It’s like the writers are way too afraid to handle River with anything but reverence and care. And for a story to work, characters shouldn’t be handled like they’re made of glass!

In the end, what happens is, it feels like the stories are all telling not showing.

The start of it (Diary of River Song boxset with Four), long before the story with the Doctor in it, had people who knew her as students at Luna University in it, and the way the story dealt with them and their relationship to River, it was honestly insulting, not just to the characters but to anyone who has ever been in graduate school. Like they kept fundamentally refusing to either understand or care to understand what being in an Academic institute means. By claiming it was all so easy for River and removing the effort and skill needed, they are de-powering her PhD. By making the other students all so incompetent in comparison to her, they are again... - her PhD. Hell, now that they've established Benny was her tutor, they're depowering Benny (ED: emphasis mine) in the process. And that is not even starting to touch on the dynamic of having the other academic in that story ultimately hating River because her Husband had been in love with River and asked her out one time in Grad school before River rejected him and he is still hung up on River? Like who thought that was a good dynamic?

...

Which is I guess a lot of words to essentially say that Big Finish often refuses to take River off this strange pedestal of hyper-competent perfection, where she is always the most clever person in the room, always knows the answer, and even in her fucks ups and failures is still ~the expert~ in full. But in so doing the value in her expertise, the hard work, the real strength it took for her to get to where she is... well to be deemphasized it has to even be a factor which it never is, as it just doesn't seem to exist for them at all. She just knows everything until the plot demand she doesn't so things can move along, and when she knows it she knows it best, and if you question this in any way she'll respond with a joking quip and won't you look silly than, and that is that.

☝️☝️☝️

Whole heartedly agree, Big Finish isn’t doing the work they should be doing to really explore her character, and we know from other stories that they can actually deepen a character’s back story and add more insight to them too!

I mean, my favorite BF Doctors (other than Eight) are Six and Five with Peri and Erimem!

BF has had so many opportunities to do better by River but they always end up going the easy way instead of doing the hard work to explore a) who River is outside of her programming, how much it’s affected her and b) make River face up to questions about her feelings for the Doctor.

c) Also, just like with Kate Stewart in UNIT, I don’t want to hear the Brig’s name uttered in the presence of and around Kate. I don’t want River to run into the Doctor in the next couple of boxsets.

#reply #glompcat #discussion: big finish #big finish is not doing river any favors #DO RIGHT BY RIVER BIG FINISH

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dailytimdrake · 5 years

Note

how do you think Tim copes with failure? Something big that is his fault (or at least, he thinks it is). Does he keep trying or collapse in on himself?

This response turned out to be pretty long, so I’ll keep it under a read-more so as not to clutter your dash. Please remember that these are my opinion, and I am in no way telling you what you, personally, should believe about Tim!

I think Tim doesn’t exactly cope with failure well, if at all.

I’ve mentioned previously in passing on Tim possibly suffering from “gifted kid syndrome”, which ties in especially with this inability to cope with failure. An excerpt from a post by thingofthings on Wordpress:

“At the same time, if you define yourself as Smart, there is going to come a time when you’re Not Smart. When you meet people who are smarter than you, or you have to suddenly start working at a class. This can induce low self-esteem, depression, and general emotional crisis, because if you’re The Smart One what happens if you aren’t smart anymore?”

Tim is so used to picking up on things fast, and being right, and doing things perfectly, so much that when he does fail, it hits him particularly hard.

A lot of his identity is built on being capable. He becomes Robin because he’s good enough to be - because he proved himself by figuring out their identities, and getting Dick back to Gotham, and saving their asses. He had to prove himself worthy of being Robin. And the same thing happens in a lot of his relationships: he feels the need to be capable of something, to provide something, to be a good team leader, to give the other person a reason to stick around. So: failure? Not really an option.

It’s even more emphasised when you consider who he works for: Batman. Bruce is notoriously strict with his Robins, especially when it comes to personal failings. It’s not that he does it to hurt them, but because he wants them to be better. He wants them to improve. Nevertheless this method, applied to Tim, only really ingrains the idea that the only way to get someone’s approval/love is to perform well. I’m not going to get into his upbringing with his actual parents, but I imagine his experience with them was along the same lines as well.

In this context, Tim as a child might come to see failure as a surefire way to lose the regard of the people he’s worked so hard to keep. He might also view it as a personal failure - if he can’t do this one thing, if he isn’t always right, then what is he? A failure.

Side-note: I think he doesn’t see success (as in opposition to ‘failure’) as something to be particularly proud of, either. It’s his normal, an expectation that he should fulfill effortlessly, and to break this normal is to be lesser. This excerpt from chapter 2 CaptainnAustalia’s fic The Replacement illustrates this particularly well:

“I wasn’t ready to go yet. I wanted to see if the replacement was really as good as everyone whispered. When Tim finally landed the mark, a good ten minutes later, I felt the overwhelming urge to clap, or whistle, but instead I just leaned forward on my knees and watched for Tim’s reaction.

Nothing.

He just kept throwing, like he hadn’t noticed that the mark had landed. I was literally holding my breath, waiting for him to notice, to react. But he didn’t. He just kept going – landing more and more until there was a pile up and he couldn’t possibly hit the target any more. He collected his weapons wordless and put them in a small bucket off to the side. He looked over then and I could see it in his eyes.

No pride. No accomplishment.”

(Yes, it’s a JayTim fic - I highly recommend it despite the use of first person interjections and other nitpicking that i’m guilty of, because I really really love Jason’s and Tim’s characterisation here. It’s one of the few fics that portray Jason and Tim as I see them.)

Anyway. When Tim does manage to fail, he kind of panics, because he’s just shaken the entire core of his being. A big part of his identity and ego is “I’m right and I can prove it”, and this has just been questioned. There are a few ways failure can go for Tim:

a) Tim fails to do something he set out to do, through no fault of his own. For example, he wants to catch this one criminal tonight. Not only does the criminal get away, but all Tim’s leads or contacts on him turn up dead ends as well afterwards. Tim’s first response: to blame himself. He did a sloppy job.Never mind that there were unforeseen circumstances - it’s his fault, because he could have factored them in, and yet he didn’t. Next: he fixes it with double the drive. Because if he can do this more than perfectly, it balances out the earlier failure. It’s all quantitative - if he scores a B on the set-up, he needs to work extra hard to get enough points in the execution to get an A overall for that particular mission. And if overall he does it well, then no one will have to know that he failed.

b) Tim fails to do something he set out to do, because he overestimated himself or his plans. An example of this can be found in Red Robin.. somewhere, where Tim has a few elaborate plans running, and one of them fails. He loses the criminal he took into his custody, and finds himself the target of an assassination tournament.

What does Tim do? He forms a new plan to put him back on track and to fix his mistake, but he is humiliated. There’s an underlying anger at himself for not getting it right.

“Too clever by half.” Are you even hearing yourself, Tim? His tone is simultaneously full of self-praise and self-blame. What he’s really saying is, “I should have seen this coming, and it’s my fault I didn’t, because I thought I was too good at this to slip up.”

This is similar to (a), but the emotion is more intense here. He’s more upset about it than he would be if he’d factored in the obvious fallacies in his plan: it’s very easy to lose someone in a sea of bodies. (Note that I say “more intense”. Much of Tim’s emotions are repressed behind a wall of “logic”, so they don’t seem to show a lot of the time, especially in his narration.)

Let me be clear: I do agree that Tim has insecurities, as does every other human character, but Tim is an arrogant know-it-all. He thinks he’s right, and you’re wrong, and he can and will be a smartass about it, because he’s been right so many times it’s inconceivable that he isn’t. So when it turns out his plans came out wrong, not only is it a blow to his identity, it’s also a blow to his ego. It’s incredibly upsetting to realise that your genius intellect doesn’t make you immune to being wrong.

Scarab puts this into words really well in RR#24:

Tim is so full of himself sometimes, it gets annoying.

What does he do next, though? He moves on. He improvises on his original plan, he jumps to the next related topic, he finds a way to fix this new problem that he’s got on his hands.

He finds out more about the assassination tournament. This pattern repeats itself throughout the RR run: Tim messes up, and then he just moves on. But of course, by virtue of being the main character and also a power fantasy, everything works out for Tim in the end, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Back to Tim’s relationship with failure.

c) Tim fails to do something someone else asks him to do. Whether by personal failings or by circumstance, Tim takes it the same way. This is an embarrassment to himself. Of course, his first instinct is to fix it, but sometimes you just can’t fix things. Now his response will depend on how important he views this expectation of him.

c)i) If it’s something he doesn’t take very seriously, or someone who’s not as important to his identity/ego/peace of mind, eg. at the beginning of RR when he first associates with Tam Fox, and he doesn’t really show much care about how she’s obviously traumatised by her experience with his RR work.

He doesn’t really care! Words are just words, especially so when it comes to Tim, and he’s not offering to do anything to make up for it.

c)ii) But if it’s important, if it’s someone whose approval he desires, eg. Batman and the no-kill rule, he gets defensive of himself, but internally he reacts very similarly to (a). Not anger or humiliation, but self-blame. “What is wrong with me?” is the operational self-accusation here. “Why can’t I fulfill his expectations?” A lot of the time this external expectation may be something Tim expects of himself. Thus failure, or even something close to failure, triggers this response in Tim.

After he attempts to kill Captain Boomerang in RR#26 and ultimately decides not to, he’s faced with Bruce’s disappointment:

And he defends himself. You can hear the denial and self-blame in there. He has to keep emphasis both to Bruce and himself the fact that he didn’t do it in the end. To be fair RR is more of an exploration of how far towards the deep end Tim will go, so it makes sense he’d be kind of ‘rebellious’. But still the defensiveness implies a certain kind of insecurity, that’s just it: Tim doesn’t want to disappoint Bruce, but he has, and it upsets him that he did. (Because Tim does need the approval of those around him, no matter what he tells himself.)

So, overall: Tim is a perfectionist. Not in the stereotypical manner of “I have to become perfect”, but in the sense that perfection is his natural state and any deviation from that is a failure. It’s simply not acceptable.

His first response to failure is usually to fix it immediately, and when that proves to be non-doable, or doesn’t work out, he flounders. And then he shoves it to the list of failures in his head that motivate him not to fail again, and moves onto other things. But his failures are always in the back of his mind, and he consistently (whether consciously or subconsciously) thinks about them, how he could have done things different, how he could have prevented that failure. He gets hung up on them, but it’s not debilitating.

You bet he remembers that one time when he was 5 and considered for a hot second the possibility of, say, Lex Luthor being Batman. He will never let it go. But that failure doesn’t cripple him - he learns from it, and now here he is. Better.

Hope this response made sense! And yes, all my canon examples are from RR because.. guess who hasn’t read much else? I’m starting on Robin, I promise.

#tim drake #red robin #robin #batfam headcanons #tim drake headcanons #imagine tim drake #imagine batfam #headcanon #request #Anonymous #ask

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virtchandmoir · 5 years

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Tessa Virtue steps into the style spotlight for new 'uplifting' fashion campaign

Canadian Olympian talks personal style, women supporting women — and what's next for her off the ice.

August 30, 2019

From left: Ashley Callingbull, Karine Vanasse and Tessa Virtue are featured in a new campaign for Canadian retailer RW&CO. HANDOUT/RW&CO.

Growing up, Tessa Virtue faced no shortage of strong female role models.

“I was so lucky. I grew up with an incredibly strong grandmother, mother and sister,” Virtue says. “All three, independent, fierce, clever women who were hard workers, had goals and visions for themselves, and were really ambitious.”

“And, they didn’t apologize for those goals.”

The trio’s individual and combined influence left a Virtue with a sense of “limitless,” she recalls.

“I really believed that I could do or be anything,” she says with a smile.

While she didn’t pause to think much on it then, she’s now keenly aware of the fact that her inspirational upbringing, surrounded by a network of strong women who promoted the underlying message of “yes, you can!”, wasn’t always the case for other young girls.

“I didn’t realize that not everyone felt that way. That, not everyone felt that privilege,” she says.

The realization has been a contributing factor to the increased visibility of Virtue in media and advertisements in recent years — primarily those following the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics where she and ice-dancing partner Scott Moir stole the spotlight for their riveting routines — that allows fans and followers a glimpse into Virtue’s life that goes beyond her on-ice achievements.

“For whatever reasons, after the Pyeongchang games, there was a different awareness of both Scott and me … but it provided so many unique opportunities. And, hopefully I can have some kind of impact for young girls to look up to,” she says humbly. “I feel very privileged to be able to be considered any kind of role model.”

Olympic ice dance gold medallists Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir of Canada hold up the Canadian flag after their winning performance at the Pyeongchang Winter Olympic Games on Tuesday in Pyeongchang-gun, South Korea. PAUL CHIASSON / CANADIAN PRESS

Her visibility on social media platforms such as Instagram, where she boasts a following of 364,000 and counting on her account @tessavirtue17, is one area where she works to constructively (and carefully) share her struggles and successes, in the hopes of leaving a positive impression on those who may happen to scroll by.

“I’m conscious of that. And I try to do that in a way that is authentic,” she says of fully realizing the scope of her role via social media and beyond. “I think, often, about how a nine-year-old girl would feel if she were to scroll through my Instagram. And, what messaging I’m sending, both objectively and subjectively. I think, ‘What kind of role model am I?’”

Focusing on the type of content she shares — positive messages and happy shots of herself attending events or with friends and family — has kept her somewhat safeguarded from the rampant online trolling that plagues many celebrities online. And, when she does face negativity, she doesn’t allow herself to get too caught up in it.

“You put yourself out there and I think there is always vulnerability with that,” she says. “Whether that’s standing at centre ice and waiting for the music to start, or posting something on social media for everyone to criticize, you just have to hope that the good outweighs the bad.”

Her ambition to present a positive role model to young girls and women led her to a recent collaboration with the Montreal-based fashion brand RW&CO. The campaign, which sees her featured alongside Canadian actress Karine Vanasse and First Nations activist Ashley Callingbull, the first Indigenous woman to be crowned Mrs. Universe, aims to promote “powerhouse” working women, in various stages of their careers.

“The campaign is so in line with my messaging and the things that I’m trying to accomplish now, outside of sport,” Virtue says. “And it’s something that I can relate too, also.”

Virtue hopes people pick up on the collaborative, supportive air of the campaign stars and feel empowered to introduce that outlook into their own lives.

“The culture now of this competition that’s ingrained in us, to pit women against other women, and this unrealistic standard that we’re all held to — all these issues are pervasive,” she says. “We can only be stronger for women when we support one another.”

Speaking on a hot, sunny day in July at a studio space in Montreal during a brief break in shooting images for the campaign (with her mom looking on in support), Virtue reflected on how, at 30 years old, she’s reached a point in her life where she’s “transitioning,” personally and professionally.

“And I’m looking to other women to support and uplift me,” she says of the changes. “So, I think it’s really neat that (RW&CO. is) putting together, really, a movement to incorporate so many things. And, they’re not just talking the talk.”

To mark the release, the retailer will be running a contest for Canadians to nominate an inspiring woman in their lives. The winner will receive a donation to the charity of her choice.

In addition to providing a visual representation of strong female role models, the partnership provided Virtue and her campaign co-stars with the opportunity to donate a portion of their fee to a cause of their choice. Callingbull directed her share toward a shelter for Indigenous women and children, while Vanasse chose a women’s shelter in Montreal.

Virtue, chose to promote another passionate platform, highlighting her efforts as an ambassador for the Canadian organization FitSpirit, which works to promote and support physical activity and athletics programs for young girls.

“It’s something that is so close to my heart,” she says of the role. “Obviously, I’ve reaped the benefits of sport and activity. But not many girls, as it turns out, even have the resources available to them to be physically active or to maintain that as they go through high school. So, FitSpirit is connecting with schools and giving that accessibility to young girls and youth at a time when they might otherwise drop out our prioritize other things.”

“It’s an opportunity to be active and connect with other girls — and to realize the power that those lessons and the sense of building self confidence and self worth that will carry forward for them.”

Recalling a recent visit to a school with FitSpirit where she met with young girls in the program, she recalls, with evident pleasure, sharing her enthusiasm for athletics with the girls — and how she took a little bit of something away from the visit for herself, too.

“They were so curious and it’s so obvious that they’re capable of taking over the world,” she says of the energetic assemblage of youths. Needless to say, it left her feeling inspired.

“When we realize the powerhouse of that sisterhood and the camaraderie among women — there’s no stopping us,” she says.

Flash fashion: Style talks with Tessa Virtue

Canadian Olympian Tessa Virtue may be known more for her on-ice moves than her off-ice style — but, these days, the 30-year-old athlete and ambassador is putting a lot more emphasis on what she wears.

“I lived in either sweatpants or athletic wear,” she says with a laugh of her go-to uniform during her training days. “I was really of two extremes, which plays to my personality as a bit of an extremist. I was either in full-on workout wear or black tie. So, I didn’t have that middle range.”

But, now, as she ventures confidently into her next career adventures that see her stepping away from amateur sport, she says she’s having fun exploring her personal style as she spends more time in the “corporate sphere” and much less time on the ice.

“It has definitely evolved over time,” she says of her fashion sense. “Now, I would say my personal style is pretty classic and refined — with a bit of a twist. I like to have a bit of an edge to every outfit.”

Virtue recently took time away from her busy schedule to dish four tidbits about her personal style. Here’s what she had to say:

On how she chooses her outfits: “I definitely dress based on my mood. I like accessorizing differently. Having classic, quality pieces and mixing in graphic tee, a headband, a pair of funky boots or a belt and changing the outfit entirely.”

On here greatest style influence: “My mom has always shopped for me. I’m so lucky that I have an in-house stylist.”

On her MVP (most valuable piece): “I love a good blazer. Whether it’s jeans, a T-shirt and a blazer, or a power suit, I think that would be my staple.”

On her most cherished item: “My grandmother’s necklace.”

—Windsor Star

#tessa #off ice #ambassadorship #rw&co.#interview: windsor star #does love a blazer

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spellnbone · 5 years

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Dell [41] - Traveller [Magi Colegio, Mexico] Rigby [31] - Editor for Lore&Lore, Hogwarts Textbook Publishing Company -- (currently on a pre-paternity break) [Hufflepuff] Edgar [28] - Columnist for the Daily Prophet [Ravenclaw] Amelia [28] - Barrista at the Wizengamot [Hufflepuff] Colter [25] - Dragon Researcher and Reserve Ranger, Russia [Hufflepuff]

Growing up in the roaring twenties and raising herself to be a firework of a woman in the thirties, Laura Bones never wanted children. Had there been day-cares in the south of Wizarding England, perhaps she would’ve considered it, but as it was, children were but something she thought would tie her down. She wanted to travel and explore as many cultures as possible, so when a new friend, Jorge Centello, invited her to come explore the Wizarding Americas with him, she had no doubts.

Gone they were, for two entire years, and eventually friendship changed into passion and by her 19th birthday the young Witch had to declare to her parents that she was pregnant. An accident, perhaps, but she was too proud of a person to say it was anything less than on purpose, and to prove it, she married Jorge -- under the condition he took her maiden name because “do you know who the Bones are?! You’d honestly want me to take that away from me?!” He didn’t want to, and, in fact, took her name. A promise that, well, perhaps the child was an accident, but he was committed. Wild as she was, he had long given up on denying how he felt about her, and firmly believed that if he could spend the rest of his life with her, it would be a happy life.

Jorge was fiery himself, but more like a steadily burning camp fire than whatever explosion Laura appeared to be. Brave and unwavering as he was, he didn’t fear the judgement of the much stricter Wizarding Society of England, telling her again and again, even in his unbreakable vows at their wedding, that as long as they were together, no amount of rain could dowse his flame.

So, Dell was born. The young family remained unstationary as they had before, travelling the Americas until it was time for Dell’s magical schooling (age 13-19), for which they returned to Jorge’s hometown in Mexico. With his grandparents there, it didn’t matter that Laura kept travelling for months on end, returning mostly for birthdays and holidays like a child at boarding school. But she was not a neglectful mother. She taught her son all she thought important about the world, taught him about his family in England and the high sense of justice they fostered. And, being so far away from them, Dell took great pride in them. A pride akin to a niche interest, the way one is interested in certain periods of history, or dinosaurs.

Dignified like his grandparents -- who didn’t have much, but who carried the kind honour the way only humble people know how -- he put a lot of emphasis on making his family proud. Aware of his precious, bicultural heritage, he was open-minded in situations where others would be more tight-lipped, always hoping to do his name justice. He wanted to be an exemplary Bones, succeeding easily. He was well-loved at school and studied hard, which earned him a traineeship position at Gringotts in London after his graduation. Why England despite speaking English as brokenly as his father? Well, partly because he finally wanted to see all the things his mother always told him about for himself, and partly because he wanted to show off in England what admirable off-spring the Bones had produced.

The reason why Laura agreed to follow a year later? Well. Ten years ago, another such accident as Dell had happened... By the time Dell was off to England, little Rigby was almost old enough for his letter from Hogwarts, and Jorge thought perhaps it was his time to struggle with helping with his son’s homeworks, instead of his wife. Laura agreed, though her reasoning was simpler. Less pragmatic. Less humorous. The truth was, when she looked into her little boy’s eyes for the first time, those big blue orbs like her mother’s which no other Bones-Centello has, she was overcome by the strongest, deepest and most earnest feeling a person can have, a feeling which Jorge had already felt many years prior when he had first seen Laura and which had only grown with every day he had given Dell a big, long hug: loyalty. Loyalty to family. Loyalty to a need of togetherness. Loyalty to a creation of ‘home’.

It made her miss her own parents, made her miss seeing the same people every day, made her miss looking at a pile of bricks and think “this is my house, this is not just where I sleep, this is where I live.” A big, happy family, all gathered in one place, this was what she wanted. So off they went.

Rigby, who had seen Dell go through his school-career with stellar grades, wanted nothing more than to be like him. He adored his big brother. Worshipped him, really. Always followed him everywhere. All the “why?” questions typical for children his age were directed at Dell, not his parents or grandparents. Everything Dell had, he wanted to have, too. Everything Dell was, he wanted to be, too. There was a joke going around the Centellos, that his eyes were only so big so they could see all of Dell at all times, and only so blue because Dell’s school uniform was blue, like the sky and ocean sharing each other’s light and colour. In his private schooling he was studious -- because of Dell. In social situations he was attentive and friendly -- because of Dell. His clothes were always neat and clean -- because of Dell. So naturally he was devastated when Dell moved away. He tried to hide himself in his suitcase! And in return how happy he was when his mother finally agreed that they’d all move to England!

But oh dear. The shock that awaited him there... Dell met them at the Port Key and they found that their good little boy had turned into, well, into a hippie. Long hair, no shoes, and strong convictions on his lips. Whatever he had expected England to be, it had bitterly disappointed him. He had been horrified by the strict structures of the Wizarding Society there, the conservatism, the purebloodism, the way half-breeds and magical creatures were treated, everything! He had promptly quitted his job and joined a few travelling magi, and by the time his family had followed him, he had turned into the Dell we know today. And the first thing he told them as they arrived in the old House of Bones he had always dreamed to live in once, was: “I reject the heritage, by the way. I don’t want to own money that has been used to oppress the unfortunate.” In fact, he declared that all money was bad and that he’d be travelling some more now, dismantling all of society’s norms until everyone had accepted Diogenes’ teachings as their one truth.

Needless to say that his mother was incredibly proud of him and had Jorge pack a lunch for him. He’s always welcome to come back home, and whenever he does, for birthdays and the holidays, just like Laura used to do it, he explains how he denies social norms to have an effect on him through personal actions, such as helping others for no rewards, rejecting monogamous relationship structures or negative opinions on ‘bad habits’, and wearing dresses and wearing lipstick beneath his bushy beard. Every year for Yule, he comes back with more strange concepts, and every year his family gathers around and listens attentively, though never entirely capable of distinguishing his jokes from his serious suggestions.

But before all the family could adjust and grow fond of the Bones gene showing itself once again, Rigby’s little heart had to break. Seeing his brother like this, so ... different from how he remembered him? It upset him terribly. Perhaps the first time a Bones has ever disapproved of another family member’s weirdness. But you see, it wasn’t logical. It was something deep within Rigby that was shaken and, in a way, awoken. Until now, his personality had been this idea he had had of his brother. But if his brother wasn’t Dell anymore (no calculated smile left, no gender left, no shoes left), then who was Rigby?

His first two years at Hogwarts he tried his best to uphold who he thought he’d been. Perhaps to prove himself that one couldn’t just be so wrong about one’s identity. But the more aggressively he studied, the more care he took in what others thought of him, the less ... happy he was. And when his younger siblings, the twins, joined him at school, he became more and more aggravated by the day to see them taking ‘who they were’ so easily. Amelia just bursting with ideas and love to give, and Edgar floating through the halls as though he thought himself a ghost, untouchable by others anyway. Between who he was and who he wanted to be grew a chasm. A chasm only one person could allow him to cross and help him to explore: Dell.

For Rigby’s thirteenth birthday, Dell took his brother aside. The talk lasted all night. It went from the Bones’ family history and values, over fears and love and imagination, to how no one could and should tell you what is ‘right’ but the unfilled cavities of your own heart. Rigby cried a lot that night. It’s not always easy to quite detect where the thorn sits, but with a bit of luck, patience and acceptance, water washes out the wound.

Rigby never became as wild as any of his siblings. He might’ve given up to put such weight on scholastic achievements but he never quit caring for proper attires or quoting particularly charming passages from his favourite books at the prettiest boys he could find. His sense of justice, different than Dell’s, is a private one. It’s not the world he wishes to flip off, just all the factors that could influence who he is. Dell doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him, but Rigby very much does. He needs people to understand who he is, to accept him fully and to not ask him to cut himself down. Not society needs to strip itself off all judgement, but every person needs to see what is truly within them, and accept it. That is what he wants.

Naturally, his family agrees, and when he finally introduced them the -- by then (in)famous long-term -- boyfriend (and his former boss at work) he had always carefully shielded from the weirdness of his family, saying that they’d not only exchange vows next Summer but also planned on adopting a child, everyone was more than elated. Until they realised that this meant by the terms of the tradition, the heritage would therefore not be able to go to him either. He could’ve gotten a wife and have a child with her for good measure, even left her afterwards, but Rigby refused to because of his integrity to who he was. And because no one wanted to fight with him about it, all eyes went to Amelia, fifteen at that time. With a gasp she pointed at Edgar: “He’s five minutes older!” who had long realised what was going to happen and was intently hiding behind his book.

Amelia and Edgar had never any doubts about who they were. Perhaps because right from the very beginning, they always knew that they were each other’s other half. One right-handed, the other left-handed, they were able to do most anything while keeping their fingers locked, not mirroring each other -- never mirroring each other! -- they were more all the assembled parts that the other didn’t have. What one was brilliant at, the other failed, what scared one, intrigued the other, and yet their laugh had the same melody, chiming in unison as though a well-rehearsed song. At the age of eight, after leaving Mexico, where they had shared a small room, their parents could finally offer them each their own bedroom, but Amelia’s was barely ever used. Yes, they were tucked into their own beds every night, with both parents telling them a story each to make sure they’d actually fall asleep, but before the clock would strike midnight, Amelia would be hiding under Edgar’s blanket.

Thus it came, that after their first night at Hogwarts -- which both had anticipated greatly! -- they stomped into Professor Dumbledore’s office demanding another try with the Sorting Hat. By the time Rigby renounced the heritage, they had almost peaked in their independence. Like Dumbledore told them that night: them being apart had not washed soft all the perfect little puzzle-locks that had made them fit beforehand -- like glass in the ocean -- but actually created more of those edges which only the other could fit in. Returning to each other over the holidays was never difficult, but they no longer required each other to feel like a full person. The first year at Hogwarts, Edgar had tickled the pears every night, meeting Amelia on the couch in the Hufflepuff Common Room to find sleep in her arms there, the second it had been mostly every day except the few ones where they were too tired and slept through the night, the third it was mostly when they didn’t have to wake up early the next day, the fourth mostly on weekends and special occasions, and by their fifth year, it happened so rarely that Edgar had to explicitly tell the resident Hufflepuffs who he was when he entered the Common Room because they were no longer used to seeing him there.

During their sixth and seventh year of Hogwarts, Amelia stood in constant correspondence with Rigby. She had always been very close with him, trying to comfort him when Dell had left Mexico, trying to lose him up in his dark times before he turned thirteen, and trying to cheer him up when his OWLs had turned out even worse than expected. They clashed, too, being no less impulsive than the other, but when it came to it, when it was important, she was always there for him. Feeling no less awful than him whenever he struggled, crying with him whenever he worked through a heart-break, and staying up many long nights with him in the Common Room just talking about this and that. Both of them demanded to be their true selves, to not be disciplined or caged in for their needs and wishes, and this brought them closer. As Rigby grew more and more confident in who he was, Amelia grew proud of him, defending him whenever someone even dared mumbling something bad about him.

On the other hand, Edgar’s Eurasian Eagle-Owl Maxwell fluttered in at least weekly with a new letter from Dell. Knowing Dell, one could easily imagine that Edgar was heavily influenced by his principles and philosophies, but the truth was that Dell’s convictions were rooted in the factual problems one could pin point with a finger. He’s the kind of person to raise his voice when he gets heated about a topic he cares about, to accuse those who don’t live by their words with harsh insults, to actually goes through with what he preaches. Edgar on the other hand had always been soft-spoken and more passively curious about the world. When he speaks of what he’s learnt, he doesn’t offer advice, he doesn’t have unchangeable opinions or ever thinks himself more right than the kind person before him. But learning of Dell’s adventures was learning of the world out there, and that was why they wrote so many letters. And Dell? Well, Dell did patiently answer all of his brother’s questions and lectured gently through the parchment, but in truth, he too learnt from his brother open-minded way to view the universe, always surprised by what he found in those letters in the end.

Perhaps Amelia and Edgar would’ve gone on to live fairly separate lives, unwavered by what the other was doing whatsoever, forever. At first it seemed to work. Amelia went to study and do her traineeship at the Ministry, while Edgar went to travel around with Dell for a few months, then alone. They barely saw each other during that time. Loving each other still, yes, but no longer needing each other as desperately. Sometimes they joked about it. That they were grown up now. That they had done as Dumbledore had told them they would: become their own, full person. And then came the war. The Order. The first deaths. The intrusive thoughts, whispering doubt into this head that had always seemed sure of itself all these years. And Edgar found himself in Amelia’s arms again. She too saw the world changing, knowing of her twin’s secret only a few nights after the Order had sworn him in already, and she knew that whatever had happened -- they never spoke of the Order -- it had hurt him terribly. Therefore it hurt her too. By the age of twenty, they were as co-dependent as they had been with eleven. Child-like, clinging to each other, seeking each other’s warmth, feeling incomplete without the other there.

At age fifteen, when the heritage was rewritten in Edgar’s name, to be received after his marriage upon his first child’s birth, it mostly seemed like an awkward topic to talk about for him. But now? Now, at age twenty-eight with multiple failed, long-term relationships and death following his every step? While he does long for a peaceful family life, he doubts it’ll come soon. He is too anxious, he’d be distant, he’d not be able to commit to love someone he could so easily lose. Who could lose him even more easily. So his gaze goes to Amelia again, the same way it did when they were fifteen. But now his gaze goes to her because in theory she’s the one who lives the secure life, the one who could be a safety-bringing mother to her child. And his gaze goes to her because -- and no, he’d never admit it -- the idea of Amelia finding someone more important than him, makes him sick to his stomach...

Amelia wants Edgar to find someone to love that way, and she’s certain that it’ll happen for him eventually. But as unspoken as he is about it, they know they feel the same about it all. The idea he might love someone more than her terrifies her. She had a few relationships as well but the love never felt as deep, as palpable, as important as Edgar’s love, and sooner or later she’d sabotage it -- consciously as well as subconsciously --, make the other break up with her so she didn’t have to break their heart. So if he were to leave her, she’s certain she’d have no one left.

They could reject the Bones’ heritage as well. The family book into which the traditional vows are carved into and only ever need the names changed out, would probably sigh at their nonsense, but it wouldn’t refuse. These are the Bones we’re talking about, after all! When has a generation ever been easy? And as long as at least Laura Bones is alive, there’s no rush in inscribing the name into the vows just yet anyway. And who would receive the heritage then?

Colter. The youngest. The wildest. The most dangerous, courageous roaring lion that has ever lived. Being his father’s precious little treasure, he comes after him. When the Centello grandparents came to visit once, they said that Colter resembled Jorge so terribly, it was as though someone had turned the time thirty years back. And with every year he was surrounded by Gryffindors (he was a Hufflepuff but chose himself mostly Gryffindor friends), he became wilder and wilder. Amelia’s bratty influence certainly didn’t help. “Hey you go do this and see what mom says because you're the youngest and you can get away with it,” was her way to go about it, rather than acting like an older sibling. No sorrows seemed to weigh on Colter ever, no fears would ever affect his muscles, no injustice would ever pass his mind. He was the youngest and had it the easiest, never worrying about the future whatsoever. And so, when Edgar took him to the side one day and asked him how he’d feel about getting the heritage, he almost choked on a horrible laughing fit. Here he’d been, thinking to be left alone with all that traditional baggage, only to find his oldest brother a Cynic, his older brother queer as a 2/5th Knut and the twins too stupidly intense about each other to find another spouse.

He never said no, so that’s currently every Bones’ hope, but he did buy a one-way ticket as he left to tame dragons in northern Russia, so...

#{ it's rotten work }#{ wisdom begins in wonder }#listen #this is so long #it's #just so long #its a compilation of every hc ashley and i came up with so #please don't feel obliged to read this #it's ok i swear #and if you want to skim thru it it should be possible to just read the bolded stuff to give u an overview #i #yes #pls forgive

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cero-blast · 5 years

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Your post about Gin "messing with people's heads" makes me think, doesn't this also apply to Ulquiorra? He also psychologically tortured Inoue, don't you think it's hypocritical to say Gin's actions don't nullify the bad things he did, but say that UH is good/not toxic? I'm not trying to hate on you, I don't ship anything in Bleach, I just wanted to know why Gin is considered a bad inexcusable guy but Ulquiorra's relationship with Inoue is glorified?

This will get… really long. I’m genuinely sorry it’s this long.

I never said Ulqiorra did nothing wrong (though it’s fair to say I didn’t happen to specifically point it out), or that UH is a ship with many positive feelings associated to it. That would be… an interesting take. I hope you don’t think I think that. But I also need you to understand that I don’t base my taste in ships on what I desire/consider healthy in real life. They exist in the context of the canon — not interchangeable with reality considering the existence of superpowers, ghosts, semi-human creatures and time warping — and that’s where it ends for me. Applying the dynamics in my ships to any situation other than the precise one of Bleach’s canon would make them fundamentally different.

I’ve wanted to mention this about Ulquiorra for a while now and I’ll take the occasion to do so. It’s a mistake to put him in the same framework as a human or shinigami. (The latter two also have their differences but based on observation shinigami seem to behave in a much more human-like manner compared to hollows/arrancars.) He’s practically incapable of understanding what empathy is or find any good reason not to hurt other people, which is why it’s surprising when he manages to grasp even a shred of the concept right before dying. Hollows are born from experiencing such severe pain that it distorts their whole ‘essence’, so something has gone terribly wrong with them emotionally by definition, whether they evolve to arrancar form or not. Ulquiorra’s aspect of death, his ‘theme’, is emptiness — characterized by complete neutrality towards everything. Since a person with a healthy mindset tends to focus on danger and negative events, neutrality often comes across as immoral for being equally conceding towards moral right and moral wrong. The point is, Ulquiorra’s motivations for provoking Inoue had nothing to do with him taking joy in causing pain to her. In fact, it’s hinted he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it, like the scene where he tells Inoue he’d laugh at her friends’ foolishness in her place. He’s unaffected by most things AND has difficulty placing himself in others’ perspective, which results in him assuming everyone around him would be unaffected. The only thing that factored into him doing just about anything was curiosity, the need to fill the void, however you want to put it. If a human or shinigami behaved the same way he did around Inoue, it would come across in a vastly different way and I’m not sure it would even interest me as a ship. Ulquiorra is not only a hollow, but a hollow with a particular impediment in understanding how others feel, and this is an integral part of him as a character, of his interactions, of UH, of anything regarding him. I know it’s funny as a fandom meme to act as if he were human, but he’s NOT and this needs to be kept in mind.

This applies to any arrancar or espada, really. It’s tempting to judge them on the same basis as enemies who are closer to humanity, mainly because of their appearance and intellect. But this is the trick itself the narrative plays, a progression that has been present in Bleach since the start: it created a human/monster (shinigami/hollow here) dichotomy, then spent the longest arc deconstructing it by blurring the lines between the two. It doesn’t matter how smart and eloquent the espada manage to get, the only productive way of interpreting them is as people who are missing a very core part of their personality, so someone severely psychologically ill. (I say this as someone who has their own problems, before it gets misinterpreted as condescension.) Should this absolve them from punishment? Bleach says a very clear no. They almost all get killed by shinigami, in Ulquiorra’s case Ichigo specifically — Ichigo, who, by his own admission, empathized with everyone he fought and even gets angry at Yammy for speaking ill of Ulquiorra after his death. (I don’t want to start arguing about how he was in hollow state when he defeated him. He would have killed Ulquiorra either way if he continued to stand in the way of protecting his friends.)

In summary, the espada aren’t human. Ulquiorra isn’t human. It’s unrealistic to expect him to behave like a human. You’re free to pick who you want to have compassion for among Bleach’s positive and negative characters and if you decide Ulquiorra is irredeemable in your opinion, that’s fine — many characters would agree. But at the very least it can be objectively said that Bleach spends a lot of time presenting ‘evil’ characters’ perspectives as nuanced and explicable instead of writing them off. It gives the audience a choice in the matter. A core message of the entire story is that we’re subjective and maybe we’ll never manage to see the world the same way as someone else, but that’s fine and it doesn’t make us all that different; hollows can become *almost* shinigami, shinigami can become *almost* hollows, and they both have ways to relate to one another while retaining the insurmountable differences and even fighting and killing each other.

Now, onto Gin. First off, you seem to be under the impression that I don’t like him as a character. That couldn’t be further from the truth; I only said it in the tags because I figured saying it in the post would have sounded like making excuses, which is not what the post was about. I don’t know if I would call him a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ person. All I know is that I really enjoyed him as a character and I could see how he evoked sympathy — in the tragic way antagonists do when they get some sort of redemption. I noticed it’s a common tool in fiction to make an impact on the audience, I suppose because we’re happier when we see ‘bad people getting fixed’ rather than someone already good doing more good things. It’s a Prodigal Son type of thing; can be argued about but it definitely makes an impact.

Gin is a quintessential ‘mysterious type’; he has a long-running plan that he executes throughout almost his entire life without ever consulting with anyone (an important detail). He had a hypothesis on what would be the most effective way to kill Aizen and constructed a convoluted plan based on it — a plan where the ends would have justified the means in many, many situations, and that required causing problems to a lot of people. He had, however, no certainty that what he was doing would lead to the desired results (which it then didn’t…). A lot of his provocation was a means to create a certain image of himself and there’s a big question of where to draw the line there, whether all of that was absolutely necessary. Leaving to Hueco Mundo and technical demonstrations of loyalty were, sure, but mocking Rukia on her way to being executed? He considered keeping everything a secret a prerequisite for things to work out — presumably because if he talked to anyone, Aizen could have noticed — but was it, really? Many of his actions were based on his personal judgement on what would and wouldn’t have ruined the façade, subjective and hunch-based since he didn’t know the outcome for sure.

Gin isn’t inexcusable, but I noticed a lack of emphasis on the damage his actions caused among fans, both because of the chronological order of the story and his affiliation with the protagonists’ side. Because the last thing he did was a good thing, that’s what he’s remembered by, without taking into account the sum total of his interactions with others. He posited himself as vicious until the last moment and did so consciously. Ulquiorra had a very, very gradual progression in the way he talked to Inoue, which doesn’t make it less rude and traumatic, but there’s a difference between him showing up and telling her she ‘has no rights’ and later taking an active interest in her views on the Heart. It would be equally reductive to interpret him by his last moment and nothing else, but all he did before led to that moment progressively, while Gin’s was a very abrupt twist.

My post was a comment on psychology on the most basic, technical level, not a moral judgement. The two are separate in the way we process trauma and that’s exactly what I find interesting. Having strong negative emotions associated to a memory (what I think Kira, Hinamori, Hitsugaya or Rangiku could have had with Gin’s betrayal) creates a very subconscious reaction that can hardly be fixed by suddenly finding out it was necessary for a positive cause, which is why healing from trauma requires years of therapy. Because *in that moment* you didn’t have that knowledge, the pain remains in your memory and it’s not a matter of logical reasoning. Now, I’m not saying Ulquiorra’s interactions with Inoue were numerous or productive enough to properly process the trauma he caused her — the canon info is ambivalent on how comfortable Inoue was around him towards the end of her captivity because there’s both scenes like the famous slapping one *and* her seeming more light-hearted towards Ulquiorra in Unmasked, plus no one has any idea of which came before which. All things considered, I think repeated discussion and an attempt at mutual understanding does a better job at elaborating something traumatic than one single piece of information on why what traumatized you was justified. And note that the *only reason* the understanding between Ulquiorra and Inoue could have been mutual is because Inoue was exceptionally patient, empathetic and willing to face discomfort, way beyond the base level or what should be expected from anyone. Even if it was a *small amount* of *not very productive* discussion, it’s better than one act in my opinion (which most of the people who had some sort of issue with Gin didn’t even directly witness). Which of them is *morally worse* depends on how you draw the lines and define morality and that’s not something I feel qualified to decide.

So, in the end;Ulquiorra:-working towards enemy goals overtly-motivated by curiosity, which can be considered self-oriented-gradual improvement-not fully conscious of the emotional impact of his actions-Inoue considers him an ambivalent presence but “Isn’t afraid”, in her words-half-succeeded, as in: failed the goal of killing Ichigo but sated his curiosity

Gin:-working towards enemy goals on the surface and soul society goals covertly-motivated by attachment to Rangiku and/or revenge, less self-oriented but still focused on close acquaintances -long-running façade of being a terrible person followed by a sudden twist towards the good side-completely aware of everything he’s doing, plan laid out hundreds of years in advance-Gotei 13 don’t interact with Gin throughout HM arc, consider the traitors a lost cause-failed to kill Aizen

Instead of this encyclopedia I could have just written “Gin isn’t irredeemable, I just said he did bad things before”, but I thought too much about it. And I might go through spelling mistakes once I wake up.

#anon #ask #long post

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