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tofixtheshadows · 6 months ago

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Id love to hear ur interpretation and analysis on falin! She’s one of my favorite characters and and I was wondering what ur thoughts on her are

Man, I struggle to think of anything I could say about Falin that others have not already said. But she's one of my favorite things about Dungeon Meshi too.

So much of the story revolves around Falin, and she's not even there. Tumblr loves to talk about haunting the narrative, but Falin might be one of the best examples of it ever put to page. She's dead. She's alive. She's dead. She's alive. She's alive but she's missing, she's alive but she isn't herself. She's dead but she might wake. She's dead but she's frozen in ice. She's alive but she's sleepwalking. They chase her ghost and they chase her body all through the story.

I think what Kui does with her is fascinating. Not just as character with a personality we can analyze, but as an object in a narrative- that's why I say she's one of my favorite things about the story, because I also mean it in a mechanical sense. As a writer, Kui's really good at misdirection- that is, setting you up to believe or expect something about a character or a plot, and then turning that on its head. It's most apparent with Kabru, but it works really well with Falin too.

Because the precious little sister is a very well known character archetype, right? So is the gentle healer. The heart of the party. The white mage girl. The damsel in distress. The martyr.

And this isn't a Laura Palmer situation, where we find out that beneath her wholesome surface there's something dark and troubled. No, Falin truly is a kind and gentle person. That isn't where the misdirection leads (and that, too, I think, is another misdirection- it's not "Plot twist, she isn't as nice as you thought!", which would almost be too easy).

The misdirection here is more about structure than about character (but also, yeah- a little about character).

What I mean is, with these archetypes firmly in mind, along with a whole other host of fantasy genre expectations, I think anyone who goes into Dungeon Meshi un-spoiled probably expects Falin's rescue to be an endgame event; at least on a subconscious level, where you're not really thinking about it but in the back of your head you're already stretching out the story to place Falin firmly in the distance. Fire breathing dragon at the bottom of the dungeon is perfect final boss material, right? Slay the dragon. Rescue the princess.

And Falin is the perfect prize in the traditional old school fantasy that the concept of the titular dungeon is a send-up to. Blonde (white), soft-spoken, sweet-natured, beloved by everyone. An angelic figure.

Maybe that's why Ryoko Kui gave her white wings.

It is sort of jarring when chapter 23 rolls around and it's already time to fight the red dragon. And it takes a few chapters, but they succeed. And then Falin's impossible resurrection succeeds. But by then you guess that this is not going to be the story you expected it to be.

I want to point out that Falin spends a lot of time getting, well, babied, post-resurrection. Marcille washes her in the bath, despite Falin stating that she's capable of washing herself. Marcille schools her about her mana use despite Falin demonstrating that she is not hurting for mana, and brushes aside Falin's explanations. Both Marcille and Laios refuse to actually tell her what happened. Laios scruffs up her hair like she's a little kid and scolds her for something she can't remember doing. Marcille explicitly calls her a little kid when Falin tries to talk about how much she's grown.

Of course I'm not saying that Laios was wrong to act like a big brother, or that Marcille shouldn't be worried about taking care of her shell-shocked friend in the bath. But the framing of it clearly shows a Falin who is struggling to be heard.

If you'd like to address the big gay elephant in the room while we're here, I want to state for the record that- whether you read her as gay or not -I think Marcille is completely oblivious during this. Because Falin is her little friend from school. Her best friend, yes, but also the young tallman student she, in her infinite elven wisdom, had to mentor and look after. Marcille has not yet accepted that Falin is an adult now, nor has she accepted that she, herself, is only barely past teenagerhood developmentally and is not nearly as mature as she believes. Of course she'd scrub Falin in the bath and fuss over her.

Falin, meanwhile, seems more than aware of her own adult body and the inappropriate way Marcille is treating it.

The mana-sharing scene is, I think, Falin trying to get a little of her own back. How do you like it, Marcille?

And she tries again in bed.

Maybe she's wondering if their relationship will change now that they're grown ups. If Marcille prefers her as a little girl, or at least as a woman who lets herself be guided like one; if Marcille will react badly if Falin keeps trying to assert herself. She also might be subtly trying to signal to Marcille that bed sharing, like bathing, carries a different weight to it when you do it as adults rather than as children.

With all this in mind, the decision to turn Falin from the precious prize they rescued into to the vicious dragon they have to slay, hits a lot harder.

Falin with a powerful, monstrous, destructive body. Falin, who couldn't even stand to cause people pain from using healing spells, slaughtering half a dozen people in brutal ways. And that's not her, she's being mind-controlled, but as an object in the story she has completely flipped. From damsel to threat.

And I love that she carries a little bit of that with her when she's resurrected again.

Because she's no longer the girl who's going to let herself be stifled by her brother's and her best friend's co-dependency, no matter how much she loves them. She's different now: stronger, eyes open, forging her own path instead of following in their wake. Falin is still going to come back to them again, but this time it won't be because they chased her. It'll be because they let her go.

#Dungeon Meshi #Falin Touden #hiiii anon I hope you're still around #I'm sorry I didn't get to this last week but it was a bad brain time and I had to keep coming back to this #can I also apologize for the amount of tangents I nearly went off on here?#musings with Dea #dungeonposting #Dungeon Meshi spoilers #I had to rein myself in a lot because I could have taken like five other points here to expand on #Dea answers #Dea's anonymous friends

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justlemmeadoreyou · 7 months ago

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rain-kissed* (footballer!harry x

nerd!y/n)

summary: y/n and harry, former rivals turned reluctant partners, find unexpected chemistry. heated glances, playful banter ignite a spark. a near-tragedy makes y/n confront feelings, and...will they be reciprocated? ft. lots of mutual pining

words: 6.1k

warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of a major injury, cursing, kissing, hints of smut, mutual pining.

Y/N groaned as she walked into the lecture hall for her literature class. "Are you kidding me?"

There in the very front row sat Harry Styles - captain of the football team, president of one of the biggest frats on campus, and certified douchebag extraordinaire. His feet were obnoxiously propped up on the desk in front of him as he laughed loudly with his friends.

"This class is gonna be a nightmare," Y/N muttered, taking a seat as far away from Harry's circle as possible. She couldn't stand arrogant jocks like him.

Class started and the professor cleared her throat loudly, shooting Harry a pointed look until he dropped his feet to the floor with an eye roll. "Alright, since this is an upper-level lit course, we're going to kick things off with a big group project."

A collective groan went through the class. Group projects were the worst, especially when half the group didn't pull their weight. Harry raised his hand lazily.

"What's the project, Millers?"

The prof narrowed her eyes at Harry's casual address but proceeded. "You'll be analyzing the themes and formatting an anthology of poems, plays, and short stories from a particular era or movement. I'll be assigning the groups and topics."

Y/N mentally prepared herself to get stuck doing all the work as usual for her group when Millers started listing off the pairings.

"Styles and Y/L/N - you'll be covering the Romantic period."

Y/N's head whipped up in horror as Harry scoffed loudly. Of course they'd get partnered up. This was quite literally her worst nightmare.

"Fucking kill me," Harry grumbled, slumping back in his seat rudely.

"I'd rather work alone," Y/N couldn't stop herself from retorting. Immediately, Millers zeroed in on her with a stern look.

"I don't recall there being a choice, Ms. Y/L/N. Unless either of you plans to drop this course, I suggest you learn to work together effectively."

Gritting her teeth, Y/N forced out a tight, "Yes, Professor."

Harry was already texting rapidly on his phone, not paying any attention. This project was going to be utter hell.

The rest of the semester only proved Y/N right about what a nightmare it would be to work with Harry. Their first meeting to divide up the work went about as well as could be expected - which is to say it was a total disaster.

"Look, I don't have a bunch of time for this bullshit poetry stuff," Harry kicked back in a creaky chair, looking entirely too at home in the empty classroom they'd claimed for their work session. "How about you just do the whole thing and I'll, like, proofread it at the end or whatever?"

Y/N stared at him incredulously. "Absolutely not! This is a hugely weighted project, Styles. I'm not doing all the work myself."

He shrugged impatiently. "Why not? You seem like a big ol' nerd who'd be into this."

Biting back a retort, Y/N forced herself to remain calm and reasonable. If he was going to act like a damn child,she had to be the adult in the relationship–or whatever this was.

"Forget it. We're going to split everything 50/50 whether you like it or not. I'll take the poetry analysis and you can have the plays. We'll swap sections to proofread before compiling the final thing."

Harry made a face like she'd asked him to perform surgery. "Do I have to? Plays are so boring."

"Don't care," Y/N said flatly. "You're pulling your weight on this one way or another."

With a melodramatic huff, Harry finally agreed and they were able to separate the reading materials and due dates before parting ways, both dreading the long weeks ahead.

Except...after trading several heated email chains and a couple disastrous coffee shop meetups, something shifted. Maybe it was the punctuality that struck after virtually living in the library for a week straight. Maybe it was how they both surprised each other by not being complete idiots about the subject matter. But at some point, the bickering and resentful silences turned to a bearable truce and even - dare Y/N think it - a hint of reluctant respect between them.

Y/N had assumed Harry was just another brainless party bro who skated by on his looks and family money. But to her surprise, he actually had intelligent insights into the Romantic poets and playwrights - even if he still whined about having to read "this dramalogy crap."

And Harry, who had fully expected Y/N to be an uptight, pretentious book nerd, found himself caught off guard by her whip-smart analysis...and her unexpected sarcastic quips that had him stifling laughs more than once during their study sessions. He called her nerd instead of her usual name, but was now slipping back to using Y/n more often.

"Oh my god, you did not just say that about Lord Byron!" Harry snickered as Y/N made another scalding comment about the poet's arrogant womanizing.

"What? The man was an infamous manwhore by all accounts," Y/N shrugged unapologetically. "Self-important dickhead thought his brooding and philandering made him a genius."

Harry gasped in mock offense. "How very unromantic of you, love! Have you no poetic soul?"

Without missing a beat, Y/N deadpanned, "I prefer to admire poets who didn't give the clap to half of London."

The startled laugh that burst from Harry's lips was so warm and uninhibited that Y/N felt an unexpected little flip in her stomach at the sight. Whoa, what was that?

Shaking it off, she hid her face behind her book again, tamping down an oddly giddy–sort of feeling. Just because she'd managed to find Harry slightly less insufferable lately didn't mean anything.

And so it went, their bickering gradually becoming more lighthearted and playful rather than biting. The weeks ticked by as they somehow formed an unlikely...friendship? Bros? Sure, they'd go with that for simplicity's sake.

At some point, they started expanding their hangouts beyond just study sessions too. Grabbing food after class turned into actually sitting together, Harry regaling Y/N with stories from his frat's latest shenanigans as she pretended not to be entertained.

On the rare nights Y/N wasn't holed up writing papers, she started joining Harry and his boys at their favorite dive bar, quickly becoming the calm voice of reason trying in vain to talk them out of their next boneheaded plan.

"Come on, PlainJane! Live a little!" Harry teased, throwing an arm around her shoulders at the bar.

The rowdy group cackled at Harry's horrible attempt at a literary-themed nickname for Y/N, as per tradition when any new face got absorbed into their friend circle. Personally, Y/N thought it was a lame pun, but she secretly loved how easily she'd slotted into their bizarre fratty family...and maybe especially how Harry always seemed to plaster himself to her side whenever they went out.

The camaraderie and effortless banter flowing between them should've been a huge red flag that something was shifting. But Y/N was quite stubbornly oblivious, as was Harry in his own way.

At least, that was until their big group presentation day rolled around. They'd been prepping and quizzing each other for weeks, reviewing notes and analysis essays till they were cross-eyed. Harry had really stepped up, much to Y/N's surprise, retaining way more than she'd expected about the playwrights and their major works.

The whole lit class was spread out in the lecture hall, with bullet-pointed notecards and thick anthologies ready as the first group took the floor. When it was finally Harry and Y/N's turn, they moved to the front in sync, Harry shooting her a subtle wink as he grabbed the microphone first.

"Buckle up, kids - this is how you do a proper literary presentation," he drawled cockily.

Y/N rolled her eyes on reflex, biting her lip and bumping his hip with hers in playful admonishment. "Shut up and just start already."

Neither of them noticed the amused looks being swapped by their classmates at their easy rapport. Or Millers leaning back with a knowing smirk, clearly recognizing the chemistry flying between her formerly antagonistic partners.

For the next hour, Harry and Y/N launched into their meticulously prepared overview of the key figures and works emerging from the Romantic period. Their back-and-forth was flawless yet casual, almost playful at times with little ad-libs and jokes only they were in on.

At one point, Harry lightly mocked Lord Byron's arrogance with a pompous impression that had Y/N doubled over giggling into the mic, barely choking out the next lines through her laughter. When she managed to catch her breath, she shot him a look that was equal parts fond exasperation and...something more heated.

There was a noticeable spark between them that had clearly evolved far beyond the adversarial classmates they'd started as. And if anyone could miss that subtext, it became blindingly obvious at the end when they seamlessly transitioned into their concluding remarks, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"So in summary, while the Romantics may have been a pretentious bunch of melancholic lads-" Harry began.

"-their pioneering works cemented their place as quintessential figures in literary history," Y/N picked up without missing a beat.

They shared a grin before finishing in unison, "And that's the tea, no cap."

A surprised burst of laughter rang out from their classmates at their cheeky sign-off, even the prof hiding a smile behind her hand. Everyone could see it - the easy chemistry, the almost electric undercurrent between the former rivals.

Everyone, that is, except Harry and Y/N themselves.

As they moved to return to their seats amid the applause, neither seemed to register the weighted looks and muffled whispers following them. Harry just ducked his head with an almost bashful smile, still riding the high of how flawlessly they'd worked together. While Y/N felt her cheeks flushing under the weight of what she convinced herself was just residual adrenaline.

In the weeks after their wildly successful presentation, that same strain of electrifying connection only grew stronger between them. You'd never know they'd spent the first half of the semester low-key loathing each other based on their current vibe.

Now, when Harry's frat brothers tried to rib him about his "study buddy" at their typical dive bar hangout, he just threw an arm around Y/N's shoulders and proudly declared, "More like my brain twin!"

Y/N would just duck her head with a bashful grin, pointedly ignoring how her heart did a little somersault at both the affectionate nickname and Harry's easy touch.

Or like when they sprawled out on the quad between classes, passing a bag of chips back and forth as Harry ranted about his coach riding his ass over the big rivalry game next week. Without even thinking about it, Y/N would reach out to squeeze his knee consolingly as he huffed out his frustrations. It was such a simple, natural gesture between them now that she didn't even register the slightly stunned look Harry shot her before clearing his throat gruffly.

Even their friends couldn't resist commenting on their respective obliviousness at this point.

"Bruh, Y/N literally lets you call her 'love' without punching you in the dick," Niall pointed out bluntly one night when Harry claimed, once again, he and Y/N were "just friends." His Irish buddy arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Pretty sure she wants to ride your lancer if you know what I mean."

Harry smacked him hard while trying not to get flustered. "Shut the fuck up, asshole."

While on Y/N's end...

"Sooooo, when are you gonna admit you have a huge crush on Styles?" Her friend Riley asked point blank over brunch, making Y/N nearly choke on her mimosa.

"What? No I don't!" She insisted a little too quickly, refusing to meet Riley's all-knowing gaze. "We're just...really good friends."

Riley hummed disbelievingly. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest further before clamping it shut as her mind started helplessly rehashing all her favourite little moments with Harry over the past few weeks. His warm, anthracite eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at her jokes. The proud grin he'd get whenever she successfully understood something he'd tried explaining. The way she felt this inexplicable magnetic pull to stay pressed into his side for as long as possible whenever they hung out...

"Oh my god," she breathed out, smile slipping as the enormity of her revelation dawned. "I'm in love with Harry fucking Styles."

That's not to say the smitten epiphany immediately changed anything between the two. Well, maybe it made their lingering hugs and casual touches go on for a few beats too long. Or had them both shyly stealing glances when the other's back was turned.

***

Mostly though, they just continued their cozy, obliviously pining routine of late night FaceTimes and weekends holed up studying together for finals. All while Harry's team prepared for their annual football rivalry game - the biggest matchup of the season that would make or break their championship chances.

The night before the game, Y/N found herself inexplicably anxious as she sat in the stands amid a drunk, raucous crowd. Harry kept shooting cheesy grins and double finger-gunged winks her way whenever he trotted past her section, clearly buzzed on adrenaline.

"Go get 'em, superstar!" She shouted at one point, laughing as Harry blew her an obnoxious kiss before getting back in the huddle.

The energy in the stadium was electric and infectious, Y/N finding herself caught up in the cheers and chants despite not being a huge football fan normally. Something about watching her...Harry out there gave her swirling butterflies low in her belly though.

As the intense game raged on, Y/N was on the edge of her seat, nails digging into her palms whenever Harry took a brutal hit or made a heart-stoppingly risky play. At one point he got absolutely leveled by a linebacker twice his size, his helmet bouncing sickeningly off the turf.The roar of the crowd faded into the background as Y/N watched in horror as Harry's body slammed violently into the turf. She felt her heart stop as he didn't immediately get back up after the brutal hit.

"Harry!" she screamed, her voice drowned out by the gasps of the other spectators.

The medical team rushed out onto the field as Harry lay unmoving. Y/N's hands shook with fear as she watched them carefully roll him onto a backboard and load him into the ambulance. She felt tears streaking down her cheeks as the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally received word that Harry was going to be okay. The doctors said he had suffered a severe concussion and possible spinal injury from the whiplash of the hit. He would need weeks of rest and recovery.

Y/N rushed to the hospital, desperate to see him. When she entered his room, her heart broke at the sight of Harry's battered body hooked up to various machines, a cervical collar immobilizing his neck.

"Harry..." she whispered, taking his hand gently in hers. "I'm so sorry."

Harry's eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice. "Y/N? You're here..."

"Of course I'm here, you idiot," she tried to joke, blinking back more tears. "I was so worried about you."

A small smile tugged at his bruised lips. "I'll be okay, love. Harry is a thick skull, remember?"

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help grinning at his terrible joke. "Don't scare me like that again, Styles. I don't know what I'd do without you."

A look of tenderness crossed Harry's face that made Y/N's breath catch in her throat. But before either could say anything further, the doctor entered to check on Harry's condition.

***

Over the next week, Y/N diligently stayed by Harry's side in the hospital. She helped feed him, kept him company, and supported him through the difficult early recovery stages. Harry quickly grew restless being cooped up, but every time he tried to get out of bed against doctor's orders, Y/N was there to scold him.

"You heard what the doctor said, Harry. You need to rest and let your body heal properly," she chastised him one day as he tried to get up.

Harry groaned in frustration. "But I'm going stir crazy in this damn bed! I feel fine, Y/N, honestly."

"No, you don't," Y/N said firmly. "You could have had a serious spinal injury. You're lucky it wasn't worse. Now lie back down before I get the nurses to strap you in."

Grumbling, Harry reluctantly complied, though he continued to hate being so confined and immobile. Little did Y/N know, he was already hatching a plan.

A few days later, Y/N arrived at the hospital only to find Harry's bed empty. Her heart leapt into her throat as she rushed to the nurses' station in a panic.

"Where is he? Where's Harry Styles?" she demanded.

The nurse gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, he checked himself out against medical advice earlier today."

"What? No, he can't have!" Y/N cried. She knew immediately where he would have gone.

Sure enough, when she ran across campus to the football practice field, she found Harry standing on the sidelines in his gear, acting as if nothing had happened. White hot fury blazed through her veins.

"Harry!" she yelled, storming toward him as the first raindrops began to fall. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Harry turned with a cocky grin as he saw her approach. "There's my favourite nerd. What's got your panties in a twist, love?"

"You insufferable asshole!" Y/N exploded, not caring that they had an audience of his confused teammates. "The doctor said you needed weeks of rest and recovery! You could have permanently injured your spine!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Relax, babe, I feel great. Probably just overreacted with that whole backboard and neck brace nonsense."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Y/N seethed, hands balling into fists at her sides. Rain began pouring down around them, quickly soaking them both, but she didn't care. "You're incredible, you know that? You have zero self-preservation! No regard for your own safety and well-being!"

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" Harry scoffed, though his casual demeanor faltered slightly under her furious glare.

"Dramatic? You could've been paralyzed, Harry! Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Her voice broke with frustrated tears. "Don't you understand how terrified I was watching you lying there, not moving? I thought...I thought I might lose you."

Something flickered across Harry's features then. His cavalier mask slipped for just a moment, allowing a flash of guilt and tenderness to shine through that sent Y/N's heart lurching treacherously. Then it was gone, the wall snapping back into place.

"Well, I'm right as rain now, so you can quit your worrying," he said gruffly, turning his back on her.

That was the final straw for Y/N. She grabbed his arm and whirled him around to face her, not caring that they were getting drenched by the downpour.

"You're so fucking reckless with yourself, Harry! Like you have zero self-preservation or even an ounce of common sense! Do you have any idea how scary that was to see you lying there, not moving? How I thought..." Her voice hitched, throat growing too tight to continue as burning tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Through the rapidly blurring vision, Y/N registered Harry staring, chest heaving like she'd actually winded him with her outburst. His hands hung frozen at his sides, knuckles going white as he watched her come completely unraveled. And still she wasn't finished.

"You can't just keep putting yourself in danger like that! Pulling stupid fucking stunts and flipping off your own safety like it doesn't matter! Because it does, Harry. It matters so much to...to me," she finished in a thick whisper, finally allowing a tear to escape and streak down her flushed cheek.

A weighted silence stretched between them, Y/N struggling to regain her ragged breathing as Harry continued gaping at her, utterly shocked by her reaction. Waves of tension rippled through the small space separating them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, Harry seemed to recalibrate. His expression went utterly blank for a beat before, out of nowhere, his eyes hardened into flashing jade. When he spoke, his tone was laced with a chilling detachment.

"Why?"

Y/N blinked owlishly. "W-What?"

"Why the fuck do you care so much, huh?" Harry exploded, eyes flashing as he aimed his scathing hostility directly at Y/N. "Last I checked, I'm not your boyfriend or your family. I'm just some dumb jock you study with, right?"

Y/N flinched at the biting sarcasm, feeling tears prick her eyes anew at his harsh dismissal. But Harry was on a roll, fists clenching and unclenching as he visibly wrestled with...what? Anger? Fear? She couldn't tell, but his next words sliced deep regardless.

"So why do you get to flip out and pass judgment every time I take a hit, huh? You think I don't know how to handle myself out on that field?"

"That's not what I-"

"No, clearly you don't think I have any sense of self-preservation or whatever psychobabble bullshit diagnosis you want to armchair next!" Harry barreled over her attempted protest, voice rising in a sharp crescendo.

He took a menacing step closer, using his full height to loom over her in a move that likely would've been intimidating...if his eyes didn't look so pained and conflicted behind that mask of bitter anger. "Tell me, Y/N - what gives you the right to freak out like that, huh? To look at me with those scared eyes like you have any claim over whether I live or die or-"

"Because I love you, dammit!" The confession exploded from Y/N with the force of a meteor strike.

A stunned silence fell over the field as Harry gaped at her, mouth hanging open in shock. Even the rain seemed to pause in the heavy tension between them.

After several moments where Y/N felt her panic rising, Harry finally found his voice again. "You...you what?"

Y/N took a shuddering breath, bracing herself. She had come too far to back down now.

"I love you, Harry," she repeated, slower and more sure this time. "I have for a long time, you idiot. But you're always so reckless and careless 'bout your own safety. You take stupid risks and shrug it off like getting hurt is no big deal!"

She stepped closer, feeling tears mingling with the raindrops on her cheeks. "Don't you understand? The thought of you being seriously injured, or worse...it terrifies me. Because I couldn't handle losing you. You mean everything to me."

Harry continued staring at her, eyes blown wide and lips parted as if her confession had utterly short-circuited his brain. Y/N pressed on, needing to finally unleash all the feelings she had kept bottled up for far too long.

"I love your stupid jokes and your kind heart. I love how passionate you are about football, even if it drives me mental sometimes. I love the way you always smell like sandalwood and make me feel so safe when I'm with you. I'm in love with every obnoxious, laddish, reckless part of you and I can't keep ignoring it anymore."

She let out a wet chuckle, wiping futilely at her drenched face, her hands still shaking. "So yeah, that's why I care, you absolute wanker. That's why seeing you get hurt destroys me every single time, because the thought of being in a world without Harry Styles in it is just too much for me to bear!"

The words hung heavy in the rain-soaked air between them. Y/N watched Harry open and close his mouth a few times, clearly struggling to find a response. For once, his swagger and cockiness had completely deserted him as her feelings poured over him in an unstoppable tide.

Just when the silence was becoming too much for Y/N to bear, Harry finally seemed to find his voice again.

"You...you love me?" he rasped out, the disbelief and wonder evident in his tone. "Like, you're in love with me?"

Y/N felt her cheeks flush hot despite the cold rain. She gave a small nod, unable to meet his intense gaze. Her heart was thundering so loudly in her ears, she barely registered the shouts and hoots coming from Harry's teammates who had witnessed the whole emotional outburst.

"Shut it, you wankers!" Harry barked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

In two long strides, he closed the distance between them until they were mere inches apart. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Harry reached up with one hand to gently cup her jaw, tilting her face up toward his.

"Y/N..." he murmured, emerald eyes searching hers intently. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch despite herself. "And ruin our friendship if you didn't feel the same way? I couldn't risk that, Harry. You mean too much to me."

Something blazing and tender flickered across Harry's face at her confession. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he leaned in until their foreheads were resting together. Y/N shivered at the intimate proximity, at the way his familiar woodsy scent surrounded her completely.

"You daft woman," he murmured, the words fanning warmly across her lips and making her shiver for an entirely different reason. "Don't you know there's nothing I want more than for you to be my girlfriend? To be able to love you the way you deserve?"

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed at that, her heart feeling fit to burst from her chest. She had spent so long forcing herself not to hope, not to read into the heated glances and lingering touches she shared with Harry. Could he truly feel the same earth-shattering connection she did?

Her eyes blinked open again at the feeling of Harry's calloused thumb brushing reverently across her rain-soaked cheek. He was staring at her with such naked adoration and longing that it stole the breath from her lungs.

"I'm so bloody gone for you, Y/N," he confessed roughly. "Have been for ages now, if I'm being honest. Thought maybe I was imagining things between us or reading too much into it since I couldn't fathom someone as incredible as you wanting a mug like me."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, to reassure him that she wanted every infuriatingly charming part of him, but Harry pressed on before she could get the words out.

"Then today, hearing how scared you were when I got laid out...how you thought you could lose me?" He shook his head slowly, curls dripping rivulets of rainwater down the sharp planes of his face and throat. "Don't know how I didn't see it before, love. The way you care about me, put up with all my shite...it's because you love me. Isn't it?"

It wasn't really a question, more like Harry was testing the words out for the first time and savoring the way they sounded. A thrill went through Y/N at getting to be the one to put that Look of rare, hushed awe on his handsome face for once.

"Yes, Harry," she answered anyway, both hands coming up to cradle his beloved face. "I'm desperately in love with you. The good, the bad, the reckless...all of it."

A crinkly-eyed grin stretched across Harry's lips then, brighter and more vibrant than Y/N had ever seen before. He wasted no more time closing that minuscule distance between them, capturing her mouth in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Y/N gasped against his lips as the dam finally broke, months of too-long denied want and need bubbling over in heated waves. Harry's hands slid into her soaked hair, angling her head to deepen the embrace as he licked hungrily into her mouth. Y/N clung to him just as fiercely, fingernails scraping against his scalp and shoulders as if trying to physically pull him closer.

They were both panting harshly by the time they wrenched apart, sharing the same air in the infinitesimal space between their swollen mouths. Y/N felt drugged by the glazed, predatory darkness swimming in Harry's blown pupils,by the intimate glide of their rain-drenched bodies.

"Fucking finally," he growled against her lips before diving back in, one large hand splaying possessively across the small of her back.

Y/N hummed in ardent agreement, getting lost in his dizzying taste and scent and touch once more. It felt like a cosmic star had been reborn between them, the force of their crashing inevitability obliterating all the hurt and confusion from before.

Neither was sure how long they stayed like that, trading desperate, drugging kisses amongst the pouring rain. But eventually, Harry pulled away just enough to nose his way along Y/N's jaw, lips dragging hotly up to her ear.

"Let's get out of this downpour, hmm?" he husked, teeth grazing her shell and making her shudder. "Got some making up to do for being such a blind tosser."

Y/N pulled back just enough to catch the incandescent fire blazing in his darkened gaze. Her breath hitched at the onceiled promise flickering there, at the tips of his wicked fingers already slipping beneath the drenched hem of her top.

It seemed she wasn't the only one who had been harboring some pent-up longing and hunger.

Still, there was one loose end she couldn't resist tugging before allowing Harry to whisk them away... "Does this mean you're finally going to start taking better care of yourself?" she asked archly, arching one pointed brow. "No more stupid, reckless stunts for my idiotically brave footballer?"

Harry audibly groaned, dropping his forehead dramatically against her clavicle as his hands flexed with bruising force against her hips.

"Whatever you want, love," he conceded gruffly. "No more injuries or shite, I swear it. Now can we please get the fuck out of here before I embarrass myself further by ravishing you in the mud right in front of my teammates?"

Y/N gave a squeak of surprise as Harry abruptly ducked to gather her up in his arms, hitching her legs around his waist in one fluid movement. He sealed his wicked promise with another lingering, molten kiss that left her head spinning.

"Now, where were we..." he growled darkly before striding determinedly off the field, Y/N clinging just as fiercely in his embrace.

The teammates' raucous catcalls and laughter faded into the rainy background as Y/N tucked her face into the curve of Harry's neck, savoring his familiar sandalwood and smoke and the feeling of being wrapped in his arms at last.

She was never letting him go again. Not if she had any say in it.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

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genderqueerdykes · 3 months ago

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i'm going to continue talking about what trans men experience and transandrophobia until we finally break the silence forced upon transmasculine people and trans men. we are no longer tolerating being invisible, pushed aside, mocked, abandoned, disrespected, questioned, harassed, and denied the right to be addressed correctly with respect and grace.

trans men and mascs are going to exist no matter how hard you try to deny our identities, or abuse us out of them. there will always be transmascs and men no matter how hard you try to prevent us from talking about it, publicly sharing our identities, or finding community. no matter what, trans men and mascs will always be here and it's best to just let us carve out spaces for each other because trying to silence us permanently isn't working.

we are trans. we are queer. our masculinity and manhood is not a threat to you. we are not inherently dangerous. we are not "ruining our bodies with testosterone". we're not confused. we're not stepping on trans women's and transfemme's toes when we create spaces for ourselves and talk about our issues. we're not taking resources away from other queer people.

we need resources, too. just because someone is a man or masc does not mean they will have an easy time making a lot of money. it's still hard for transmascs in transition to find well paying, stable jobs. workplace discrimination still exists- "female" deadnames and F markers are still going to get in the way- especially now that they know you are trans. intersex trans men struggle to have our identities addressed correctly. workplaces can still fire trans people for them being trans, especially in states where at-will employment is in place. they can claim they fired you for one reason, but it was really because you are trans.

policing the verbiage and identities of transmascs and men is not going to make us stop identifying with them. trans men are allowed to call ourselves trannies- we are trannies. we're allowed to call ourselves dykes and butches and lesbians. we're allowed to have multiple genders, including being women, without that invalidating our masculinity and/or manhood. we're allowed to be and dress femme. we are allowed to choose whether or not HRT and surgery is right for us.

regardless of how much someone hates these things- they're still going to happen. you can tell us that we can't be "real men" or that we can't be wholly or partially women, genderfluid, closeted, detrans, non binary, genderqueer, butches, femmes, dykes, lesbians, or sapphic- but we're still going to be those things anyway.

resistance won't make us go away- it just makes us angrier, and it makes us fight harder for our rights, and the rights of our brothers, siblings, partners, husbands, fathers, relatives, and every transmasc and man out there.

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nicenight · 1 month ago

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thinking about that jubilee clip of the trans man steamrolling shapiro about how abortion rights affect him directly as a man and all ben could do was (impotently) attempt to fall back on the tired "i don't think you're actually male" sex essentialism debate that's the furthest most transphobes will engage in the topic of transexuality.

we can have existential arguments all day about whether trans people are ~really~ this or that with transphobes who won't listen to or believe us no matter what information is presented, or we could instead say "this is who i am regardless of your personal or political bias, these issues affect me directly, this is how they affect me, and what are we going to do about it?" because trans people aren't philosophical/conceptual debate pawns but Real people with Real problems worth addressing in this Real material world, and no amount of debate to the contrary changes that fact.

like if you don't think trans identity is legitimate, or you think we shouldn't exist or be part of the conversation, uuuhhh too fucking bad. we're here, always have been, and always will be. so what now?

#m text #transphobia #transgender

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fans4wga · 1 year ago

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26 July update from WGA's Chris Keyser

youtube

From the WGA: With SAG-AFTRA now on strike and new levels of solidarity across all Hollywood unions, we are witnessing the spectacular failure of the AMPTP’s negotiating strategy. In this video, WGA Negotiating Committee Co-Chair Chris Keyser lays out what this moment means and how we move forward. To learn more about the WGA strike, visit https://www.wgastrike.org.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Fellow members of the WGA East and West. It's been a while since our last video and quite a bit has happened in the meantime. So on behalf of the negotiating committee and leadership, I wanted to give you an update on where we are and what the near future at least is likely to bring.

We've been walking side by side on picket lines in New York and Los Angeles for a little over 12 weeks now. Only now we're joined by thousands upon thousands of members of SAG-AFTRA who, like us, have finally had enough.

This is the endpoint and the fruit of the AMPTP’s game plan. For 11 weeks, they negotiated with everyone but us. They claimed it was just practicality, that they could only do one thing at a time, which is not normally a point of pride. But events have made clear what we knew from the start: that not only was it a strategy, it was their only strategy. Negotiate a deal with a single guild and impose that deal on every other guild and union in Hollywood, whether it addresses the needs of those unions or not, all with the implicit threat: if you want more, strike for it.

Wow. It’s their 2007-8 playbook applied to 2023 as if nothing has changed, as if the accumulation of economic insults and injuries inflicted on us over the past decade would be borne in perpetual silence, as if the giant of labor had not awakened. But it has. And you only need to look as far as the front gates of every studio in LA and New York to see the evidence.

Two unions on strike willing to exercise their power, despite the pain, to ensure their members get the contract they deserve. For us, that means addressing the relentless mistreatment of screenwriters, which has only been exacerbated by the move to streaming; the continued denial of full MBA protection to comedy variety and other appendix A writers when they work in streaming; and the self-destructive unsustainable dismantling of the process by which episodic television is made and episodic television writers are paid.

It means addressing the existential threat of AI and the insufficiency of streaming residual formulas, including the need for transparency and a success-based component. All of these will need to be addressed for there to be a deal because in this strike it is our power and not their pattern that matters, not their strategy. Their strategy has failed them. Now they're in the midst of a streaming war with each other, an admittedly difficult transition. And as they face the future, their interests and business models could not be more different from Disney to Sony to Netflix to Amazon.

We root for their success, all of them. They root for each other's failure. We are the creative ammunition through which they will succeed. They are each other's apex predators. And yet, in a singular shared dedication to denying labor, they have shackled themselves together in what increasingly seems like a mutual suicide pact, as the 2023-24 broadcast season and the 2024-25 movie schedule and its streaming shows disappear, melt away week by week.

So what does this mean? What does it mean going forward? How do you play chess against an opponent who insists on screaming checkmate at every move regardless of how the board looks and the game is going?

You stay firm, you stay resolved, because our cause is no less existential than when we started and our leverage is increasing every day. Alone we withheld our labor with the support of our union siblings and the Teamsters and IATSE and the Crafts, we were able to delay the vast majority of production. Now with SAG-AFTRA on strike, those few studio projects that remained have also shut down. And it's not just the obvious delays. If this strike drags on, it's the actors with conflicting obligations and the directors and the double-booked studio facilities and release date chaos that the companies must now also contend with. Some of their most valuable product could well be delayed for years.

Add to that, no promotion of movies or television shows and famous faces on the picket lines and social media speaking directly to their customers. For the tech companies and the mega corporations, that should be their nightmare scenario: WGA and SAG-AFTRA side by side. Our bargaining agenda may not be identical, but our cause is the same. Our army of labor, defending labor has increased 17-fold in the past two weeks alone.

Even so, even with all this wind at our backs this negotiation won't happen overnight. It's not because the negotiations themselves are so complex. Once the companies fully engage, it could go very quickly, but because their strategy of many decades has just fallen apart and they didn't see it coming, and it's going to take them a minute to regroup, 'cause the companies have things to work out internally, and saying no to labor in unison is a lot easier than saying yes. So either together or separately, as their divergent interests might suggest, they will come back to us, despite their understandable concern about how they've navigated this transition to streaming, which is on their heads and not ours; and their worries about costs and their worries about Wall Street; despite this being a season of doom and gloom, none of them are walking away from the riches of this business, and certainly not over the equitable minimum compensation to writers.

They didn't get the deal they wanted; that's fine, it happens all the time. They're not taking their ball and going home over it. And since we know they come from union families themselves, and since they've denied that “even-in-Hollywood-you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me” ugliness of threatening to starve us out and leave us homeless (which we assume they understand also means making our children homeless,) they will come back to us. Although I will say they took a long time to deny that statement, longer than I would have had it been ascribed to me.

But what does it matter? You can starve a labor force slowly or quickly. The effect is the same. It's not like day rates for comedy variety writers and endless free drafts for screenwriters in exchange for a single paid one in four-week mini-rooms isn't cruelty. It's just cruelty written in contract language instead of a press quote.

So what can we expect from the companies as all of this plays itself out? They will try to convince Wall Street that taking a strike, prolonging it unnecessarily, losing their content stream in the process—that all of that is just smart business and no reason for investor concern. We will be talking to Wall Street too, and reminding them that for all these companies, all of 'em including Netflix, the bill, the price for making nothing, will eventually come due. And Wall Street is listening already. Here's Michael Pachter, managing director of equity research at Wedbush on Yahoo Finance the other day: “I think the studios are completely wrong on this one. Content is their lifeblood. They're feeling really foolish about this."

Wall Street isn't the only one listening. We've been talking to union pension funds too about the risks the companies are taking. We talked to CalPERS, the largest public pension plan in the country, talked about the loss of programming and the cost to the industry, and we heard strong support from its board for our struggle and the promise that the companies will be hearing from them, from CalPERS, and demanding answers on behalf of its 2 million members.

To us, of course, they will continue to plead temporary poverty, but we know the drill. These companies support billions into the streaming wars and taken short-term losses these past three years, because they know that to the winner will go the spoils. We're patient, will they share that with us when the time comes? What are the chances?

Since 2017, the last time the studios negotiated with us outside of COVID, the big six companies alone have made $150 billion in profits off our work, while they slashed our pay and degraded our working conditions. Maybe if they had shared a tiny piece of that then, made $1 billion or so less, this year wouldn't seem so costly. As it is, there is no iron law that these companies are entitled to record profits every year, and it isn't some great travesty if their shareholders or their CEOs get a slightly smaller slice of the massive profits we helped create if some balance is restored.

Look, no one denies that corporations exist to make a profit and no one wants our employers to be profitable more than we do, but the singular pursuit of corporate profits to the exclusion of their social and human cost is a real problem in this country—it’s a real problem. A corporation's bottom line is not the same as the world’s, and there is nothing in our studio's bottom lines today that accounts for the quality of our lives or for our dignity, for the comfort of our retirement or the security of our families. Their numbers have no conscience, but the people who report them as victories ought to.

In their refusal to recognize that, these companies have also extracted an awful price, which is laid at their feet and for which they are responsible. Losses to the economies of New York and Los Angeles and everywhere that film and television are made, terrible losses that mount every day, thousands of people out of work; not just us, all the crews, the crafts, the janitors, the drivers, the businesses that thrive when Hollywood thrives, the restaurants, the stores—for what? For nothing. So they could avoid coming to the table to negotiate the deal they will one day give us. Measured today that is the painfully mixed legacy of our employers, weighed against every beautiful piece of work we have made with them.

And if history is a guide, they have only temporary stewardship over a kind of national trust, which is Hollywood. Our story, our sometimes conscience, our public conversation, our diversion of the worst and best of times, our greatest export, the repository of our imagination. They have some obligation to more than just their shareholders to behave accordingly.

Unfortunately, it seems big tech, mega corporations, and some of the people who run them, as the saying goes know the price of everything and the value of nothing. So they have built a business model that no longer works for human beings who cannot be paid minimum for 10 to 20 weeks a year and make a career out of that, be paid for one draft of a screenplay that demands a year of labor, be paid a few episodic fees for a show about which to take years to decide be paid a daily rate.

And now we have a first glimpse of what they offered our actor colleagues. We are not 170,000 Willy Lomans to be used and then discarded. We know what the companies believe they have the power to do. We know what they think machines can do and do without any of us. Oh yeah, we've seen the writing on the wall and it's plagiarized.

The thing is this: the difference between what you CAN do and what you SHOULD do is the greatest single difference in the world. Knowing that is the only real protection we have against a dystopian future. And if the companies sometimes forget that, writers will do it for them.

I can't know exactly how long it will take this revolutionary moment, and you've heard again and again what is happening today has not happened in 63 years, but I know that's not always how it feels, revolutionary and defining, even though we celebrate that on picket lines together, which is the right thing to do. That's not always how it feels when you go home at night. I know how tough this is: to strike, to hold the line. I know it gets tougher every day even with SAG-AFTRA marching beside us, how hard it is to face the uncertainty of when it will end, when we'll get back to work, how we'll pay the bills. I know it's hardest for those who've just gotten started, for those for whom the world opens doors more reluctantly, battled their whole life just to get here; but hard too for those struggling to maintain their long careers, who find work tougher and tougher to come by, or those with families with children or parents to take care of.

These companies understand the cruelty of what they're doing. It's their plan to starve us just a little, to exact as much pain as they can so that we wish more for the pain to end than for the better life we dreamed up. That we're more afraid of the uncertainty of the present than the certain devastation of the future. It's societally acceptable economic torture inflicted by management on labor every day, then blamed on labor for daring to fight back, for refusing to be complicit in its own mistreatment.

Here's how I know that's not going to work. Not with us, not with the writers, because we haven't come all this way, fought to have these careers in the first place, all the adversity, and marched together for all these months, only to let it slip away on our watch—because there is no point in rushing back to jobs that may not be there in a year or two anyway. Because the business, as the companies have twisted it, is now untenable, unsurvivable for so many of us, because even success is not enough to keep going, because this guild is younger than it's ever been and more diverse. And this young diverse membership knows from hard personal experience the system is broken and that it will not be fixed unless they fix it. And those of us who came before them will not let them down, because we and the writer's guild are the beneficiaries of all those who came before us who gave up everything for us.

Like the writers of 1960, the year I was born, who struck for 22 weeks and who gave away all the TV residuals for all the movies they had ever written so that we could have a health insurance and pension plan and residuals from that date forward. $15 billion flowed to writers and their benefit plans because of that sacrifice. Because writers are brave, because now it's our turn.

So what's our job? Even as we welcome SAG-AFTRA to our side, we are still responsible for our own deal, and so we must remain focused and diligent. We must continue to march, picket signs in hand. But we should also remember this and with pride, that before there was SAG-AFTRA, before even the Teamsters and IATSE and the laborers and the electrical workers and the musicians and the plasterers came to our side, there was the writers. Alone then, we looked at the blank page and began to imagine the future. With no net but each other we typed the words, what if?

And then we took a step into the darkness and found that it was light. And then we were joined by the crews and the drivers and the actors. The actors got a bit more fanfare when they showed up, but that's okay, we wrote the script. The WGA, still small, not alone anymore after all these decades. Hollywood labor has finally linked arms and found its voice, and that voice says enough. There is no road to longterm prosperity that burns a path through your own workforce. We are not your enemies. We are not merely a cost to be borne. We are your partners and your greatest asset. And we are, as you acknowledge yourselves, irreplaceable, but by accident or design and it doesn't really matter anymore, the business you are running no longer works for those who work for you.

What is the point in continuing to deny that? Why deny it when everyone else in the business to a person tells you it's true? Do you think it's a coincidence that two unions are on strike against you for the first time since Eisenhower was president? You can't exactly accuse us of being quick on the trigger. The effect has a cause, it has a cause. And there is no profit in insisting on the answers to the past for the questions of the future.

But if you want instead to invest in something that will reap you fortunes, I have a tip. And if you are visionaries, envision a solution, not a stalemate. Because this isn't a war we're in, it's a negotiation, it's just a negotiation. There is no face-saving here for either side, because there is no winner or loser. It's just a deal. And when you come to remember that again we will be here as we have been here all along.

And at this point with 170,000 writers and actors aligned against your intransigence, that is as generous as I can be, as close to an olive branch as I can offer. But if you insist instead on the same threatening rhetoric, on saying you would rather starve us than pay us, I would remind you of this: You are fighting for a dollar, we are fighting for survival. We are fighting for our home: writing is where we live, and we will defend that home with a bravery and stamina and ferocity that you will come to understand someday, which is why you cannot break us. You cannot outlast us, you cannot.

And not just because we have the will, because we have power. Nothing in this business happens until we start to write. And we will not start to write until we are paid.

Union now. Union forever.

#sag-aftra strike #sag strike #actors strike #union solidarity #i stand with the wga #wga strong #wga solidarity #fans4wga #Youtube #wga strike #writers strike

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sage-nebula · 6 months ago

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I've watched pretty much all of Jenny Nicholson's videos (despite not being into most of the things she's into) for a variety of reasons, but one of the reasons I watch her content is because I think that she seems like a truly stand-up kind of person. Of course, given that she is a person creating content for YouTube, we're only allowed to see the version of herself that she wants us to see. I'm under no illusions about that. But the version of herself that she presents to us, the viewers, seems to be a person who is not only genuinely passionate about the things she discusses (and honest about why she'll hold back on discussing certain topics when fans of those topics can be awful about it), but also who considers the experiences of (for lack of a better phrase) the average person when it comes to the theme parks and other experiences that she reviews.

Three specific instances come to mind: one from the Evermore video, and then two from her most recent Star Wars hotel video. (Side note: she was so, so right that Disney marketing is stupid as hell for not letting influencers et cetera use the common names for things. The average person doesn't know what "Galactic Starcruiser" is, but will understand "Star Wars hotel." Get it together, Disney.)

In the Evermore video, Jenny talks about how she emailed Evermore Park ahead of her visit to try to get more information prior to her visit. Things like whether there was a dress code, what she could expect when she arrived there, information that should have been readily available on the website but wasn't. She mentions that she could have mentioned that she's an influencer and that she probably would have gotten a response (because they never emailed her back), but that she deliberately chose not to.

"So I did attempt to email ahead of my visit, trying to ask basic questions about the park and inquire about renting it out. When I did that, I was intentionally vague; I didn't link my channel, and I didn't use my primary email. And I sort of suspect that if I had done the whole influencer song and dance -- said my channel name, my subscriber count -- I might've had better access to the park, and perhaps even a better experience. But that wasn't the point. I didn't want to call ahead. I'm the mystery diner! I'm the undercover boss! If you can't deliver an equivalently good experience for all guests, that's on you and your business." [x]

Then, in the Star Wars hotel video, there were two instances in which Jenny had to reach out to Disney customer support for assistance, and received absolutely nothing in return. The first was when she paid for a photo taking service, but had absolutely no photos taken of her. When she reached out to Disney customer support for a refund, they refused to give her said deserved refund. The second instance was when she had purchased a large droid figure from the hotel, and had it shipped to her house via the Disney shipping service. The Disney shipping service inputted her address incorrectly (in fact I think she says they put in a completely different address altogether), so her droid was lost. Once again she reached out to Disney customer support to find out what she could do about this expensive item she had purchased, only to be told that they couldn't do anything to help her.

In both cases, Jenny took to twitter to post about how Disney was refusing to a.) issue her a refund for a service she paid for but never received, and b.) help her receive an item she'd paid for but never received. Both times, Disney reached out immediately, issued her the refund, and overnighted her lost item. Jenny correctly identifies that they only did this because she's an influencer with a large twitter following, and has this to say in the video:

"They didn't even ask for my phone number. Like someone at Disney just did the legwork to go into the database, look up my booking info, find my phone number and then call me within a day of the tweet going out. And the person who called me was really nice, and I'm thankful he cared to resolve it. BUT, I just always feel very cynical when I try to resolve issues through the appropriate channels available to all customers and nobody will help me until they find out I'm an 'influencer.' I spoke with several other guests who got [the photo taking service] and had the exact same problems as me, and they never got refunds." [x]

And

"But then after I tweeted about it on my twitter account with a lot of followers, Disney suddenly resolved it and they sent me a replacement. They actually overnighted it to me. And along with it they sent a lot of miscellaneous goodies which I really appreciated. So here again, I feel if this had happened to anyone without a lot of twitter followers, they would have had a significantly more frustrating experience." [x]

I feel that this post will probably read as giving Jenny kudos for doing the bare minimum. And I think that on some level, that's true. But it's true because nowadays, many influencers won't even do the bare minimum. They would have Disney immediately issue them a refund, or overnight the droid to them with the additional goodies, and then make posts gushing about how great Disney's customer service is, despite knowing full well that the (again for lack of a better term) average person who doesn't have a huge internet following would never receive that kind of support from Disney. Similarly with Evermore, most influencers would call ahead and flex their follower count to try to get a bespoke experience to then show on their channels. They wouldn't want the same experience everyone else gets. That won't generate good content, in their eyes, and besides, they're better than that. Don't you know who they are?

But Jenny, despite her follower counts, keeps it real. Yes, she appreciates that Disney did give her the deserved refund and did send her the droid + gifts. But she also points out, both times, that if she'd been a person without a large twitter following, they would not have done that, and people in the exact same position she was with the photo service didn't get their deserved refunds. With Evermore, she didn't call ahead because she DOES want the same experience everyone else gets. She wants to be able to give a genuine review. Whether that review is positive or negative is dependent on the business itself.

Again, this probably seems like giving Jenny kudos for the bare minimum of decency. And I agree that on some level it is. But I also think that, in today's day and age, we really don't get that with a lot of influencers, who are in it for the sponsorship money (and who get their egos way inflated), and so it's nice to have a reviewer / theme park influencer who is honest with her opinions, and who recognizes that yeah, Disney did give her special treatment, but that it shouldn't have been special treatment, that they should be helping all of their guests like this, through the normal channels that she tried using, and they are a shit company for not doing that.

I just really appreciate Jenny.

#jenny nicholson

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genshin-impact-updates · 11 months ago

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Chivalrous Shadow, Shrouded in Cloud

"A new resident in the city, you say? Oh, it's Cloud— I mean, Xianyun. Don't be fooled by her usual manner... She's someone you can truly rely on when the going gets tough. If you ever find yourself in trouble, just tell her — I'm sure she'd be willing to help."

— Madame Ping

◆ Name: Xianyun

◆ Title: Passerine Herald

◆ New Resident in Liyue Harbor

◆ Vision: Anemo

◆ Constellation: Grus Serena

Everyone has something to say about Xianyun: "That tall woman with the updone hair," "that bespectacled artisan," or perhaps "that talkative new neighbor." They all say different things, but together they paint a picture of the impression she leaves — of someone who's witty, chatty, warm-hearted, and easy to get along with.

But that's not how Xianyun sees herself. In her own eyes, she's inarticulate, reserved, and unyieldingly proud. Aside from her mastery of mechanics and knack for making all kinds of little trinkets, it's an entirely different image from how others would describe her.

Some curious individuals, seeing how her mannerisms and bearing set her apart from ordinary folk, are convinced that she's a heroine — so they go around trying to uncover her heroic backstory and whether she goes by any other names.

Ask the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's consultant, and with a wave of his hand, he'd say: "Xianyun? We're not well acquainted, but going by her name, she sounds like a good person."

Ask Madame Ping from Yujing Terrace, and she'd nod and reply: "Xian... Oh, Xianyun? We've crossed paths, yes... She's a good person, you know. Once you've met, you'll find that your days seem to go by much more smoothly."

Ask Ganyu, and she'd nod too: "She is a heroine, but a very discreet one — hence why she's living incognito in Liyue Harbor."

Ask Shenhe, and she'd respond pensively: "Xianyun... Of course, she's a master. Whatever you do, you must not offend her."

As it turns out, such speculations are not wrong. There's far more to Xianyun than meets the eye, but those who know the full story are few indeed. If someone was to address her as "Cloud Retainer"... Well, people would know her instantly, and you'd hear a torrent of praise flow her way: "Who doesn't know Cloud Retainer? Noble, brave, loyal, and wise... A most worthy friend if ever there was one!"

So try asking Xianyun herself then: "Are you a heroine? Surely you're not... an adeptus?"

You catch the new resident just as she's working on her latest invention, her pride and joy — what she calls an "Exquisite Mini Broth Pot." She's too absorbed to take the question seriously, so she simply waves it off as a load of old nonsense and tells you not to bother her while she's busy.

As for what exactly an Exquisite Mini Broth Pot is... No one really knows, other than having been told that it brings out flavors much better than a regular soup pot. Likewise, none would know how profoundly it might impact Liyue Harbor's future gastronomic development. Suffice to say — if Xianyun says it'll be impressive, it'll be impressive alright.

#genshin impact #genshin impact updates #genshin impact news #official #xianyun #cloud retainer #HELLOOOOOO MA'AM

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blackbirdsblackberries · 3 months ago

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What about reader x yandere bat family (platonic) but reader gave up on the family super fast like damian joined the family attacked the reader with the sword reader got hurt next time damian tried it he got throwen into a wall by reader with reader saying that is it I am leaving this shit family and sure jason might be bat mans greatest failure am I (reader) bruce waynes greatest failure!!!

Ahhh! I love this, I would honestly do the same as well! Like you neglect me then don't discipline your newest addition when he attacks me??

It has been six months since you left the manor, what did they expect? Honestly you were only waiting until you turned legal age to move out. Though you wouldn't lie and say you were still clinging onto the hope that they'll love you.

You've left your angst behind, what good is hating someone who doesn't remember you exist? You've made peace with it, you know you're loved by friends and the people who truly matter.

Saying that, it is befuddling when you hear a knock on the door at two in the morning and it's Red Hood there with take-out from Batburger. You aren't surprised or concerned they found your address, they're world's greatest detectives for a reason after all. If anything you're confused as to why one of them pays a visit.

Red Hood had taken your silence upon opening the door as a welcome and limps slightly into your apartment and collapses on the worn down couch. All while you stand at the open door, flabbergasted. Whether it's at the nerve of him to invite himself in or at the fact he's hear, injured, in costume and has take-away like it's an average night you can't decide.

You settle with both.

You hear him grunt and you quickly close the door and walk over to him, eyes narrowed. He looks at you, judgmentally. His helmet thrown into a corner of the room and a burger in his hands. Some of the sauce drips onto the couch and he swipes it up with his hand.

"You look like shit." Is all he says and you have to refrain yourself from punching him. If anything he looks like shit! You just woke up!

"What are you doing here." You ask, you weren't going to get into a petty argument over a comment from a stranger you once knew.

"Takin' ya back to the manor, duh." He says as if it was obvious and he takes another bite of his burger. You blank, what does he mean by that? Is he serious? Does he actually believe you want to go? Maybe he has amnesia and thought you two got along and you didn't blow up at the family and slap Tim? Either way you can't let him continue thinking like that.

"No. The fuck is wrong with you? Why would I go to a stranger's place?" The last part causes Jason to snap his head to you, his eyes narrowing.

"Strangers? We're you're family." You scoff at that, how much head trauma does he have? "Absolutely not. Do you not remember the whole blow up I had a couple months ago?"

"Mistakes happen."

... What? Mistakes happen? It wasn't a mistake! It doesn't matter how he meant it. Neglecting someone for most of their life isn't a mistake. That person then blowing up and leaving because they were mistreated isn't a mistake.

"Excuse me? Mistakes happen? Fucking get out of my apartment!" Okay, you lied earlier, you're still in your teenage angst phase - though it's definitely justified.

Jason sighs as if he's talking to a toddler who wanted a toy they couldn't have.

"Don't be so emotional. Your blow up earned our respect and we want you back. We let you play pretend for a couple months and now you need to get out of fantasy land and return home to your family."

Your jaw drops, what else could it do? You just heard the most insane thing come out of a stoic man's mouth. He was completely serious. Delusional. Utterly delusional.

"You prick! I don't think you understand. You guys fucked up and I don't want anything to do with your family- hey! Listen to me you zombie!" Jason was back to eating his burger, ignoring you. He throws a wrapped burger at you and you fumble with it.

You bite the inside of your cheek, he's more of a child then anyone you know! You throw the burger back down onto the table and glare at Jason.

"You don't get it. Of course you don't. Batman failed you, someone who you had a "co-workers" type relationship. You are Batman's biggest failure. But Bruce, he failed me. I am his biggest failure. I was forgotten about, looked down upon, left out, I suffered. And you know what's amazing? You were able to get revenge and end up loved but me, I couldn't get revenge, I'm not a villain of any kind! You say you and the family respect me so act like it and leave me be. I want nothing to do with any of you guys. Get out of my apartment and never return-"

Before you could finish Jason stands up and heads to the bathroom and takes a medkit out. You narrow your eyes, your fists clenched into balls and frustrated tears start to build in your eyes.

"Heard ya loud and clear so don't throw a tantrum! Just found it dumb how you think that." He states as he walks back to the couch and opens the medkit. "Now, care to tend to your older brother's wounds?"

You want to scream, cry, curse and stab this man in the face a million times. Instead you walk over and grab out disinfectant, you hate that you're doing this but you won't let him get an infection from his wounds.

You start to tend to his wounds and he speaks up again. "I get it. I do. We fucked up and it affected your childhood, we all had it rough and you didn't deserve that. But, give us a chance, you're a Wayne by blood, you won't be able to stay away from Gotham so why not live nicely in the manor? You could finally have what you wanted, you could finally have a family."

"Three big brothers, two younger brothers, an older sister, a dad! Don't you want to be loved by us? Don't you want our protection? We went through your diaries, we read every word. How you wished you could go to one of our rooms when you have a nightmare, how you wish for movie nights, how you want to be able to call us your family. Let us show you we had a change of heart, that we do want that with you now - that we always did but couldn't see it. Let us be your closest group-"

You slap him. What else was there to do? Tears pour down your cheeks.

"I thought I told Alfred to get rid of them..." You mutter. You never planned for them to read your diaries, to know your wants.

You hear Jason sigh before the sound of him pressing a button on his communicator, it's the last thing before your vision fades to black. He wishes he didn't have to resort to using the sticky device he stuck to your shirt when he threw the burger but it was clear you weren't listening.

Waking up with a pounding headache and no memories of last night is usually something that happens when people get wasted but you don't drink - you're underaged.

You groan as you open your eyes and take in your surroundings. It's a fancy bedroom - too fancy, too big. There's a picture hung up of the Wayne family with a picture of you taped to it to make it seem like you were in the picture.

You immediately panic and sit up, the bed is too big, the lights are too bright, the whole room is too much. You stand up and make your way to the door and put your ear against it for noise. You hear footsteps approaching and run back to bed and pretend to still be asleep.

The door opens and you hear a deep chuckle - Bruce's chuckle. He stalks over to the bed and gently runs a hand through your hair.

"Honey, I know you're awake. Don't be afraid, Dad's here now..." He coos. You open your eyes and move away from him, he frowns and sighs slightly. "I'm sorry, I know we should have gotten you back home sooner you just looked like you were having so much fun..."

He was acting like you living on your own was just a play-pretend? That you genuinely did it for fun? What is his problem?!

"Let me go! I swear to god Bruce, if you don't let me go I'll claw your eyes out!" You yell, Bruce tuts and shakes his head. "It's Dad to you. Now stop throwing a tantrum and come along, brunch is ready - you slept through breakfast."

With that he pulls you up from the bed and gently rests his hand between your shoulder blades and leads you downstairs to the dining room where everyone is; The head of the table reserved from Bruce, on the left it goes Dick, Tim, Cass and on the right it goes Jason, Duke, Damian, other end of the table.

You're led by Bruce and sit at the end of the table next to Damian who doesn't look at you and Cass who stares at you intently.

The stares from the others makes you want to vomit. Dick looks at you with pure adoration like he's looking at a defenseless puppy, Jason looks at you like how you'd look at a cute video of an animal, Tim looks at you calculatingly and Duke looks at you with a faint smile, his eyes a mix of emotions you don't want to decipher.

When Damian finally looks up it isn't with an irritated look, it's one of protectiveness, possessiveness and something akin to anger and guilt mixed together.

Clearly you've somehow imbedded yourself into their hearts, or atleast a version of you they created in their heads imbedded itself into their hearts and they weren't going to let you go any time soon.

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 6 months ago

Text

Good Omens graphic novel update: May 2024

Happy 34th birthday to Good Omens - published in May 1990. We don't need any extra reasons to celebrate Aziraphale and Crowley, but we're always happy to find some.

Admin

Thank you to everyone who has completed the PledgeManager so far; as mentioned, this will be open through 2024 into early 2025 to complete. A few key queries that have arisen in the past month:

I ordered via Kickstarter, but when I go onto PledgeManager, it is setting me to Human Tier and/or asking me to pay again. Please check the email that you are using on PledgeManager. The email to access PledgeManager must be the same as the one you used on Kickstarter for the system to connect your account to the order; if your email is not showing a prior order, please try your other emails, or drop us a message from the account you pledged on (and are, presumably, reading this from!) and we can confirm the email address linked to your pledge.

I have been charged twice for shipping. What do I do? We have raised this with PledgeManager, and they say it is a known issue that can occur via Stripe, but it is easily fixed. Please contact [email protected] with information on your order, and note that your shipping has been charged twice, and their system can verify this and process the refund swiftly and easily.

I need to change my address. How do I do that? We have left the option to update your shipping address open on PledgeManager and will do so for as long as possible. Per PledgeManager, here is a step-by-step on how to change your address: Return to your survey (which you can also do by visiting my.pledgemanager.com and using the ‘Forgotten Password’ option if needed) and scroll down on the receipt page. There, you will see the below button. After clicking that, you will be taken to the first page of the survey and will just need to click through to the shipping page. On the shipping page, you can use the ‘Create New Address’ button to enter their updated address.

If you have any further issues or queries, visit the central FAQ page as your first port of call.

Good Omens items...

The desk at Good Omens HQ is slowly filling up with prototypes, the latest of which appears to be as popular as Aziraphale and Crowley, and for good reason. We are, of course, talking about the ducks. Here's an early version of the duck mug:

We've got some early prototype designs of the trading cards too. Illustrator Steve Gregson has begun work on the base card deck illustrations, to be unveiled in future, and designs for some of the variants are fully underway. Here are some early samples of graphic novel variant cards from Colleen Doran, and Rachael Stott's Crowley:

The base packs (Hellhound+) currently include 80 cards, and have caused quite heated games with those who have test-played it so far on their attempts to thwart (or indeed cause) the apocalypse. Hellhound+ backers will also get a booster pack alongside the main game. Rarities for sharing at random in these orders are shaping up nicely too. Hoping to share some of the base pack design imminently.

If you've been wondering what your other alternative cover choice is, alongside Rachael Stott's (Serpent+), then wonder no more: here is Frank Quitely's take on Aziraphale and Crowley, ready to shine on your shelves.

Update from Colleen

We often end with an update from Colleen, whether that's her art, or her shots from her studio. However, we thought it was about time we invite Colleen to update you herself, so we are handing the rest of this month's over to your ineffable artist for a glimpse inside the process of making Good Omens. Enjoy.

---

As you may imagine, I’m having a wonderful time working on the Good Omens graphic novel. The Dunmanifestin team asked me to pop in and give you a look at my process.

The task of adapting a beloved novel into graphic novel format is a complex, wonderful sort of pressure cooker. Even without the well-publicized complications I got smacked with over the last year, it promised to be an intense, time-consuming project.

The graphic novel is about the book and not the show. Getting Michael Sheen and David Tennant out of my head was quite a task. I’ve seen it dozens of times and I adore it, but I to had devote a lot of time to re-reading the novel and listening to the audiobook to clear my head of them.

The few times I allowed myself to watch the show again screwed me up a bit. So, I won’t watch it again until I am completely finished with every drawing. Maybe a view-a-thon will be my reward for finishing the book.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. There’s still a lot to do, so let me show you it.

Before we knew the Kickstarter fundraiser would do well, the graphic novel was to clock in at 164 pages. After the good news of the Kickstarter success, I got permission to take the story to 200 pages. That meant a major rewrite and redraw on some dozens of thumbnails and layouts.

And you guys are getting a much longer book.

Not complaining one bit. I was so happy to get more space to give breathing room to the ending.

Anyway, here's a look at my workspace.

To the left is my laptop computer with the script. The laptop is connected to my graphics computer via ethernet, and all my reference is on the main system, from which I share files.

On my older projects, I dutifully printed out every bit of reference. I think this is the first project where I’ve done all reference and organizing on my MAC.

As you can see, I draw comics the old-fashioned way – by hand – and there is my script on the computer.

But I do all the coloring on this project on the MAC. I know some people hate Photoshop, but even if I wanted to switch, I don’t have the time to dive into a new system.

That entire box with all the narrow drawers in it you see there contain Good Omens pages in varying degrees of completion. Finished pages are at the bottom with layouts, pencils, and partial inks toward the top. The middle drawer contains templates, French curves, and a ruler.

The box isn’t fancy art studio equipment. It’s just a Childcraft brand puzzle storage rack. I realized a long time ago the heavy wooden bookcases, puzzle racks, and construction paper storage made for children’s classrooms made great modular storage for professional art spaces. It’s solid as a rock, heavy so little children can’t tip it, and I can move it and rearrange my space however I like.

The final art is drawn on 11”X14” Strathmore 500 acid free Bristol.

I do all my prelims as tiny “thumbnail” sketches, some in ink, some in very loose pencil. I keep them organized in this Levenger notebook. The thumbnail paper is both Canson brand, and Blue Line Pro, and both are acid free. Blue Line Pro is good for ink, but Canson is better for pencil because it has more tooth. I usually use Canson.

Using the Levenger hole puncher, I perforate my pages and keep them organized in a Levenger Circa system. It’s pricey, but I love it. There are other brands far less expensive, however.

The ruler shows how tiny the thumbnails are.

If the storytelling is clear at this small size, then it will be clear in the final.

I redo quite a bit as I go along, as you can see from the sequence below.

From thumbnail:

To pencils:

Since I did multiple rewrites, adding a large section at the end and popping in earlier scenes I originally had to skip, this meant redoing almost all the page numbers about 4 times.

Nearly went barmy.

I use the construction method of drawing, as you see. This is an old-school technique. Some people seem to assume that artists always use computers and tracing for their drawings, but most cartoonists of my generation work extemporaneously. There’s quite a bit of noodling around and searching in the sketches. Using too much reference often results in stiff, dead work.

In comics, it’s very important to make sure you’ve considered word balloon placement when designing a page. The script for Good Omens is more copy-heavy than most modern comic book scripts because I want to preserve as much of the clever original language as I can.

Here I scramble about working out the word balloon space allowance.

Here’s a deeper look at the process for page 2 from thumbnails to final color.

Now here is where things get a little weird. What you’re about to see is a process called flatting.

If you color a comic without first flatting the art, you are consigning yourself to many extra hours of labor and frustration.

Flatting is a way to tell the computer to select areas inside the black lines so that whenever you click on that particular color, you can paint inside that area perfectly. Since the computer only understands 1 and 2 - or on and off - when you tell that computer to stick to that area, that is what it will do.

There are computer programs that you can use to create your flats. I use Multi-Fill. The results are uniquely ugly, but they get the job done. Here is what that looks like.

Absolutely hideous.

But pretty much all I have to do from this point on is click each block of color and change it to whatever I like. The result is this:

I also experimented with selecting areas of the line work as color holds, but I’m getting into more complicated color technique than we may have time for at this point. But from here, I can start painting.

And the painting stage looks like this.

Since I wasn’t entirely sure exactly how I wanted to approach this color style, I took screen shots of some of the changes I made as I went along. In the shot at the left, I’ve given Aziraphale’s heavenly self a golden glow by using a color hold on the line. But I found it needed more contrast to make his figure pop, so I darkened it in the next shot.

I use the computer to create the initial flats, but I either do the final flats myself, or I have help from Julmae Kristoff and/or Dee Cunniffe.

The flats are (usually) not intended to be part of the final work. They are a technical tool.

For example, here are the original, computer-generated flats for one scene in Good Omens.

And here are the secondary flats by Julmae Kristoff.

And here is my final color work.

Since I’m running behind on the book, I’ve brought in Dee Cunniffe to do some extra color work. He is a wonderful colorist, as well as an excellent flatter. I’m not sure to what extent I’ll be handing pages to Dee at this point, because I’m very controlling, and I want to make absolutely certain there are no stylistic anomalies in the art, and I want all the Crowley and Aziraphale pages for myself, is that too much to ask?

I use Faber Castell Pitt Artist pens for my inking. I sometimes use an old-fashioned crowquill as well, but Faber Castells are easier to control, and the ink uses real pigment instead of dye like many markers. All of my originals are created with longevity in mind: acid-free and lightfast. I want the drawings to be fade-proof.

And that is a quick tour of the work so far.

A thousand thanks to Neil Gaiman and the Dunmanifestin team for their incredible kindness and patience, and that goes double for all Good Omens supporters out there. Your indulgence is appreciated more than I can adequately express. I am truly sorry to have been the cause of the delay in the book, but I can only make it up to you by doing my very best.

And that is what I am doing.

BTW, many years ago, I found a little yellow duckling who was getting beaten up by the other ducks, so I saved him and took him to my home to live until my parents adopted him, since they had a nice yard and a pond, and I didn’t.

He had a birth defect and could not fly, which is probably why the other ducks were pecking at him.

He got to stay in the family house, and eat goldfish crackers, and swim in the tub. Eventually they built him his own house. We called it the Duck Majal.

He lived for ten years.

I named him Fred because I’d been watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s when I heard him quacking for help that day we met, and Holly Golightly’s brother was named Fred.

So, here’s to you Fred.

Until next time.

#good omens #graphic novel #good omens graphic novel #graphic novel kickstarter #colleen doran #fred

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lymtw · 7 months ago

Text

"Hey, it's, uh, Toji from... Fuck, why am I telling you this? You already know. Well, you said I could hit you up if I ever needed a gym buddy... So, how 'bout it? Maybe in an hour or so? Alright, let me know."

You laugh as you listen to the voicemail for the third time in a row. He sounds dumber and dumber, but in the most adorable way, every time you play it again. You're tempted to get back to him, but it's been two hours since he left that voicemail. You weren't able to answer when he called because you had just gotten home from work and you left your phone on the couch while you went to change into comfy clothes. Maybe he'll answer if you shoot him a text message.

Hey, sorry I didn't get back to you earlier

Just got home from work

He didn't answer fast at all. You figured maybe the window of opportunity had closed and he went to sleep or something. So, you went to your kitchen cabinet and grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass. You put some popcorn in the microwave and transfered it into a bowl once it was ready. You set everything down on your coffee table, and picked up the TV remote, but before you could turn the TV on, you heard a buzz.

Don't sweat it, unless you're doing it at the gym with me ;)

I'm still down if you are. Want me to pick you up?

You giggle at the corny first message.

I could go for an hour or so.

Are you sure you're fine picking me up?

Just send the address. I'll be there soon.

—

Toji shows up at your place fifteen minutes later, honking twice to let you know he's there. You open the blinds to peek through the window, and he greets you with a raise of his hand above the steering wheel. Why you felt your heartbeat pick up after that, you're not sure.

You grabbed your things, turning off all the lights except for the porch light. You've stumbled on the stairs once, stumbled even twice, but you will not stumble a third time, so the light stays on.

Toji unlocks the car, looking around to make sure there's nothing in the way for when you get in.

"Hey," you smile, inspecting the passenger seat to make sure you don't sit on any of his stuff. "Thanks for picking me up." You enter the car, everything sinking in when the door shuts.

You look at the man beside you, taking in his appearance. He looks the same as last time, but for some reason you don't recall him being so handsome. Perhaps, it was your adrenaline getting in the way when you first met him, and the fact that he was pushing the hell out of you when your arms started shaking at the pullup bar.

"Don't worry about it. I know it's a little scarier to travel alone at night, so what kind of man would I be if I let you leave your house alone at this time?"

You laugh, putting on your seatbelt while he backs the car out of the parking spot. You kept yourself in check by declaring that he was only objectively attractive for now. You don't know him well enough to say he's a good man, or that you trust him entirely, but he's gaining some of your trust, given this is only the second time you've seen him, and he already knows where you live.

Throughout the drive to the gym, you and Toji talked about yourselves. How long you both lived in the area, hobbies, whether you were in school or working, or both. It was a conversation that scratched the surface off, allowing you both to dig deeper and make room for friendship.

—

Toji told you stretching is always a must, especially if he's working out with someone else. He doesn't want them to get hurt once the workouts got more intense, and he won't be held responsible for any muscle damage. He's being especially pushy with you, though.

"We're not moving on until you stretch, so get on the stupid mat."

He watches you pace around, turning to avoid his intense gaze. You sigh, bored and ready to start the more rigorous stuff. "I never do this. I usually start out with a run and go from there." You plop down onto the mat, just sitting there.

His brows furrow, the information not processing in his head. For someone who claims to go to the gym enough, you don't take the correct precautions necessary to avoid damaging your body. "That's a perfect way to develop shin splints, dummy." In his mind, his eyes are rolling straight out of his head. "Alright, just follow my lead. Mirror me."

He had you doing leg stretches, lunges, calf stretches, quads, the whole nine yards. There were times when he stopped to watch you, to make sure you were doing it correctly. When you got to the supine stretches, his eyes went low on your body. You felt like you were being torn with all the stretching. This made you gain a new level of respect for Toji starting all his workouts this way.

Toji kept his eyes on you, unable to ignore the groans and hisses you let out. He didn't know what compelled him to stand so close over your head, but he ended up helping you out. With his hand locked around your ankle, he pulled your leg back just a little more.

"Huh?" You tilt your head up to look at Toji. You weren't sure if you had missed something he said and he went on to the next stretch, but his touch had you shaking.

"You should be feeling more pressure in your hamstring. You're not pulling your leg back enough."

You could feel your face getting warm. You were unsure if it was the pressure of the stretching or if it was the touch his warm hand on your ankle, but in all that confusion, you still managed to mock him under your breath. "You're not pulling your leg back enough..."

He chuckles, hearing a good amount of that impression. "I got you, don't worry." He releases your ankle, the cool air from the ceiling vent hitting it as it dropped to the floor. "Switch." His hand beckons for your other leg, and he does the same for that one. He grabs onto your ankle, and pulls your leg back slowly until you tap the floor. "See how far you can actually go? You're more flexible than you think."

Toji was really enjoying watching the way your leg quivered with its unaccustomed use of certain muscles. He looks down at your uncomfortable facial features. Your nose is slightly scrunched, your lips are tucked, and your brows are pinched. It's cute, but he can't help but picture it in a more vulgar scenario.

He pats your leg before releasing it. "Good girl. Have some water."

Your eyes widened at the praise, something you had to let go of quickly because Toji was ready to move on to the next thing. That didn't stop your stomach from flipping around as you took a quick water break.

"Arms? Legs? Back? What do you wanna work on tonight?" His voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

"Oh, um... your choice. I'm following your lead, aren't I?" You smile.

"Alright, then. You're gonna spot me." He picks up his water flask and walks ahead, assuming you'll follow. Your heart starts racing. He's joking, right? Right?

He puts his flask down, sitting on the bench in front of the huge shared mirror. "How much can you lift?" He asks, looking at your timid frame through the mirror.

"Um... well... I-"

"You don't, do you?" You see the hint of a smirk forming on his lips.

"Yeah, not really. I don't," you say, feeling a little embarrassed. You didn't know this was a good thing for him know. There was no challenge meaning he was going to take this opportunity to show off for you. Toji knew that any amount of weight he lifted that was over one hundred pounds would impress the hell out of you. This was Toji's equivalent of the bird mating dance. His muscles were the colorful feathers and him lifting a lot of weight was the attention grabbing dance.

"Wanna help me put the weights on?" He points at the rack with varying weight plates.

"Okay," you agree.

"How about ninety to start?" That is absolutely nothing to him, but he really wanted to you to believe that you would be spotting him.

"Sure," you confirm, following him to the weight rack after. You grabbed a forty-five pound plate with both hands while he grabbed another, holding it with just one hand. He laughed at the slight change in posture for your walk, from carrying the weight. You returned to the bench, putting the metal bar through the plate while Toji did the same on the other side.

He sat down on the bench, watching you through the mirror. "You ready?" He asks. "If I start struggling, you're gonna pull the bar up, yeah?" His serious expression really sells his little joke on you.

"Mhm," you mumble, with little certainty. Your hands shake as you near the head of the bench.

Toji lays down, looking straight up at your nervous expression with a sly grin. The sound of the bar coming off the ramps makes you jolt, something that Toji breathily chuckles at as he brings the bar down low then pushes back up. You lose focus by the fifth time he does this, narrowing your eyes on the veins bulging out on his biceps. He can see you staring, and it only fuels his motivation to do more reps. But then your eyes start wandering. You see the way his chest inflates and deflates as he continues to push, you notice the shape of his abs bulging through his shirt, and then you find yourself looking all the way down south. You start wondering if he could bench press you. Maybe at his place, with a lot less clothes on.

He whistles, green eyes absorbing the flustered reaction on your face. "Eyes up here. Could've been crushed over here and you wouldn't have even noticed, doll."

"Sorry... fuck, i'm so sorry."

He laughs at how awkward you got after getting caught. He finished up a couple more reps before securing the bar back in it's spot. He sits up, only able to see your back through the mirror.

"What's up with you?" He asks, standing up from the bench.

"I don't think i'm the best person to spot you. Maybe someone else could do it. I could ask this guy if you want. Hey-"

"No, no. Nope. It's all good." He pulls you away from the guy doing squats next to you guys. "I was just messing with you." His hand rests on your shoulder. "You really think i'm not capable of lifting ninety pounds without struggling?" You still can't look him in the eyes after what happened earlier without going red, but that's fine 'cause he can look at you. "Sweetheart, I can lift you up so easily. I'm talking featherlight easy."

"I knew you could lift ninety pounds alone. You just like to make me feel dumb." You glance at him and hold back a laugh.

"Guess you're too smart. Is that why you let yourself get distracted so easily?"

You groan, the embarrassment from before flooding you again.

"It's water under the bridge, but listen, I'm gonna stay and do a couple more sets. You can chill here and watch me, or you can go to some of the other equipment, or... you can be the sweetest girl and do squats right next to me. You know, to keep me motivated."

"Toji, you dog." You smack his arm, giggling to yourself. Toji finds it really amusing when he makes you blush. You turn away or cover your face every time, like it'll hide the reason for why you're acting that way. "I'll pass on being a sweet girl, just this once."

Toji smirks, crisp green eyes raking up and down your body.

"I'm going on a run. I've got too much energy to just stand here or, you know, squat for you."

"That's too bad. Was really hoping you'd be my prize for finishing my sets." He watches your tongue dart out to lick your lips, completely mesmerized by how the gesture transitions to you nibbling on your lip. "Go on, but you're showing me your pull up game when I come get you."

You playfully roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah. See you in a bit."

—

You ran a mile and a half to rid yourself of those lust filled thoughts that formed in your mind when Toji was around. You thought the lack of breath would be enough to cloud your mind and discard all thoughts in general, but you still found yourself looking for him on the other side of the gym.

"Looking for someone?" Toji asks, scaring the life out of your already racing heart. You gasp, turning the treadmill off. It slows you down at a good pace, eventually stilling you.

"Almost two miles. That's really good." He grabs onto the sidebar, watching you lean forward onto the control panel in an attempt to regain your breath. "Heh, you look like a tomato," he jokes, poking your cheek. "Come on, clean yourself up and drink some water. We've got one more stop and then we can head out."

He offers you his towel, seeing that you didn't bring one with you. Your legs feel like they're buzzing, and you feel incredibly sluggish, but still you pick your head up and have some water.

Toji watches your throat movement as you swallow the water. He notices how fast it's going, and he wants to tell you to slow down, but instead becomes distracted when some of it seeps down your chin and lands on your shirt. You really are a pretty picture in that moment. Your neck is glowing with a layer of sweat, your baby hairs on the back of your neck curl and stick to your skin, and your cheeks are flushed with color.

"I'm tired," you sigh. You use the towel to dab at your forehead lightly, handing it back to Toji afterwards. "Ready," you huff. You cleaned up the treadmill and waited for Toji to lead again. He seemed to be buffering though. "Hey, aren't you the leader here? Come on. I wanna go home."

"Yeah, my bad. Let's see those pull ups."

—

Reaching the bar has always been your biggest issue. It's like the starting height for some of the equipment is six feet. You stand beneath the bar, your arms stretched upwards, and you jump, barely grazing the metal.

"Too short?" Toji asks, ready to assist you.

"No. I'm gonna get it." Your arms go up again, your knees bend and you put all your remaining strength into your jump, still missing the bar. "Fuck. Yeah, i'm too short."

"Need a hand?" He asks, stepping towards you.

"Let me borrow your thigh, please. I'll dust my footprints off aft-"

His hands are on your waist, lifting you off the ground with ease. You freeze in shock of his gesture. "Grab the bar when you're ready. No rush." He chuckles.

His fingers are poking into your sides, leaving a ticklish sensation behind that snaps you out of your thoughts and pushes you to grab the bar.

You huff, your hands tightening on the bar as you hang for a few seconds before pulling up, slowly.

"One," Toji starts counting, watching you dip down again. Your shoulder blades flex as you bring yourself up, then down again. "Mhm, there you go. Got another one in you?" Toji asks, watching you look up. You exhale, and with slightly shaky arms, you pull yourself up, letting yourself hang for a couple seconds after.

"My hands hurt. Two more and i'm tapping out."

"I'll give you some of the salve I use for my calluses. Now, go."

You grunt, knowing how much harder it is when you pause in between. Your arms are worn just from hanging, but then having to pull yourself up again? It's a task and a half.

"You got it. Up, up, up!" Toji drills. The fact that you were able to do two was impressive enough to him, but you were a trooper for pushing yourself to do more.

Toji paces around you, supposedly taking note of your form, but really he's peeking at the exposed skin that is revealed by your shirt raising up. Your stomach, your lower back, your waist, it's all eye candy. He gives your ass a good stare down once he's behind you again, but something that unexpectedly got him was you doing the final pull up cross-legged.

You groaned at the burn in your muscles, the force of your arms having to pull your weight up one more time. Even though your arms were shaking and your hands were in agony, you pulled up. Your chin made it slightly above the bar before you quickly dropped to the ground.

"That was good. I'm done. I'm out," you blurt, exhausted beyond belief.

Toji grabs your hands, examining your palms. "Gnarly," he mutters, running his thumb across the thickened, rough skin. "I've got just the thing for these in my car. Come on."

—

"Just a little bit of this will do the trick." He grabs a blue tub of hand salve from his glove compartment, twisting the lid off to reveal a faded pink colored substance. "Let me see," he says, after dipping his index finger into the tub. You put your hand in his, and watch as he distributes the medication across the bumps on the upper part of your palm. "Your hands are way too pretty to have any type of damage on them," he murmurs as he rubs your palm until the salve is properly smoothed in. He does it for your other hand as well, his excuse being that he can't just start something without finishing it. "Good to go," he says, before releasing your hand.

"Thanks," you respond. Thank god he turned the light of immediately, because it would have been mortifying if he saw the furious blush on your face.

"Don't mention it, doll." He inspects his own hands, and though his have calluses as well, he doesn't want to hold you up any longer, so he puts the lid back on the blue tub and stores it in his glove compartment. "Let's get you back home."

—

You felt tension throughout the whole drive back to your house. There wasn't as much conversation going on as before, but there was something. You felt something. You kept trading glances with him, occasionally meeting eyes. He could take turns, looking into your eyes and watching the road, but you wouldn't let it happen. As soon as he made eye contact with you, you turned to look out the window.

The tension was driving you insane, but at last, you made it home.

Toji turned the car off, his headlights dimming down until they lacked brilliance. You unbuckled your seatbelt, and made sure you had everything you brought with you.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Toji breaks the silence, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other on the compartment between your seats.

"I wouldn't do it more than three times a week," you joke, grinning at him.

"Hey, that's better than nothing. That's three days out of my week that I expect to see you... at the gym." Toji realizes the pause in his sentence was very much noticeable, so he chooses to elaborate. "You know, you can hit me up whenever. For the gym, a random food run, whatever. I have a pretty open schedule."

You laugh, nervously. "I don't. I work five days a week. I don't really have time unless I force it."

This doesn't discourage Toji. Rather, it raises the stakes for him.

"How about forcing some time out for me?" He sees the hesitant look on your face and decides to double up. "What do you have to lose? A boyfriend?"

Your jaw drops. You don't know if he's assuming you have a partner or if he's foreshadowing himself in your life.

"Is that your way if asking if i'm single...?"

"Maybe." He chuckles. "Only if it's not offensive to you."

"It's not. I'm not hiding it or anything like that, but yeah, i'm single."

Toji nods in acknowledgment, a content grin on his face. "Good to know. I won't be limiting my calls or text messages anymore, so pick up, will you?"

You smile. "I'll do my best." You take one more look at the floor to make sure nothing is left behind, before opening the door and stepping out.

"I'll stay until you make it inside your house. Need to make sure no one hops out of the bushes and drags you away."

"Stop, i'll have nightmares." You look at the bush next to your staircase and sigh. "Goodnight, Toji. Thanks for the ride," you say, slightly unsettled by the scary thought planted in your head.

"'Night, doll."

You shut the door and go up the stairs, carefully so that you don't stumble like you did the last two times. This time would be really embarrassing, considering Toji is still there waiting for you to make it inside, safely.

You unlock your door and shut it behind you, quickly, locking up for the night. You fast walk to the window, hoping Toji is still there, and thankfully he is. You wave goodbye to him as he's reversing his car, and he reciprocates with a hand raised above his steering wheel like before. You watch him drive off, his taillights being the only things visible in the dark street, until they're gone.

You turn the porch light off and secure your home, shutting the windows and closing the blinds. Once everything is closed, you carelessly throw yourself on the couch and allow yourself to melt—fully dissolve, at the thought of your time spent with Toji.

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