#like if they are not a thing at some point then the writers need to explain all of this haha
Note
Idea for fic: enemies to lovers Dom older Spencer and f reader with age gap can’t stand eachother at work and then away on a case they get paired up to be in a room and there’s one bed anyways reader goes and showers and comes out wearing nothing but her bra and panties since she left her tank top the bed and Spencer is shocked and teases her all night and thennnnn rest is history😏
A/N: has this been sat in my inbox for over 3 months? Yes. I hope this makes up for the wait, sorry it tool awhile :( but I did see it when it was first asked, but I’ve been dealing with a lot in the past few months, and I’ve been dealing with some writers block. But I hope you guys enjoy it :)
Summary: Basically what ANON asked for. Spencer and reader hate each other, but Emily has a plan that could resolve all the issues or make them worse.
Content: Fem!reader. Dom!Reid/Sub!reader. Use of Y/N. Spanking. Degradation kink. Praise Kink. Power imbalance kink (kind off). Use of sir, slut, good girl and sweetheart. PinV/creampie. No mentions of contraception. No mentions of aftercare.
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You and Spencer hated each other. Maybe it’s because Spencer felt genuine competition from you, or maybe it was because you seemed to effortlessly outshine him in everything you did. And well you hated him, because every time Spencer walked into a room, he carried with him an air of superiority that grated against your nerves. You could see the jealousy in his eyes whenever someone praised your work or complimented your achievements.
Everyone had grown tired of the way you both acted around here. Emily would often call you both into her office to yell, “You are two of the best agents. Two brilliant minds. And yet no one can stand to be in the same room as you two.”
You both sat in Emily's office, the tension thick between you. Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact with you as Emily’s words hung heavily in the air. You couldn't deny the truth in Emily's words - your rivalry with Spencer had reached a breaking point, affecting not only your own work but the entire team dynamic.
Emily heaved a sigh, running a hand through her hair before continuing, "This behaviour ends now. I'm not going to tolerate this any longer. I need you two to figure out a way to work together, or I will have no choice but to reassign one of you."
*
“Oh, my god. Reid, do you ever shut up?” you muttered under your breath, unable to hide your irritation at Spencer's endless rambling.
Spencer shot you a glare, his frustration evident in the way his jaw tensed. "At least I have something worthwhile to say, unlike you," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Oh, please. Your so-called facts and statistics don't mean anything in the field. It's called real-life experience, something you clearly lack."
“Lacking real-life experience? Really?” Spencer paused, his voice fuelled with anger “I am older than you, and I have experienced things you wouldn’t even believe.”
Spencer's outburst surprised you, the raw emotion in his voice catching you off guard.
“Whatever you say, Dr Reid. From now on I’ll just worship the ground you walk on, shall I?” you retorted, trying to mask your unease with a casual tone. Inside, you felt a twinge of admiration for his ability to get under your skin so easily.
Emily glared at you both from across the room, she knew she had to put an end to this, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to do that.
Spencer's nostrils flared with indignation at your remark, his eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and frustration. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, Emily's stern voice cut through the tension like a knife.
"That's enough!" Emily's command was sharp, her gaze piercing. "I've had it with this childish bickering between you two. This behaviour is unprofessional and completely unacceptable."
You both fell silent under Emily's unwavering stare, guilt creeping into your conscience as her words echoed in the room. The weight of her disappointment hung heavy in the air, suffocating the animosity between you and Spencer.
"I don't care who started it or whose ego is hurt more," Emily continued, her tone firm. "What I care about is that you two find a way to work together effectively. The team's safety and success depend on it."
*
Emily was sick and tired of how the both of you acted, and she knew she needed to act fast. She didn’t want to lose either of you, but she also couldn’t let things carry on. So, she devised a plan, one that could go horribly wrong or one that could go perfectly.
*
“Hey, everybody.” Emily’s voice echoed through the jet, “the hotel we are staying at doesn’t have enough rooms for us all to have our own.” She paused for a brief second, she didn’t want anyone to catch on to her, “so, Rossi and I will have our own room. Tara and JJ, you’ll share, Luke and Matt you’ll share and erm… Y/N and Reid you guys will also be sharing.”
You exchanged a wary glance with Spencer as Emily assigned you to share a room. “Emily, I’m sorry. But what is this? You expect me to share a room with Reid? Also assigning us rooms, what are we like thirteen or something?” you scoffed, the incredulity evident in your voice. Spencer's expression mirrored your own disbelief, his eyes widening in surprise at Emily's unexpected announcement.
Emily raised an eyebrow at your protest, her gaze unwavering. "Yes, I expect you two to share a room. It's high time you both learn to work together and put your differences aside. Consider this a team-building exercise," she stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.
You opened your mouth to protest further, but Emily's steely glare silenced any objections before they could form.
*
“Seriously, one bed. Is she serious. I hate her, just as much as I hate you.” you spat out, glaring at Spencer as you both entered the hotel room assigned to you. The tension between you was palpable, suffocating the space as you stood on opposite sides of the room. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of Spencer's exasperated sigh.
"Believe me, the feeling is mutual," Spencer shot back, his tone laced with irritation as he surveyed the small room. The single queen-sized bed in the centre of the room seemed to mock your predicament, a constant reminder of the forced proximity between you.
“Because, unlike you, I’m nice. You can have the bed, as long as I can shower first.” You retorted, determined not to back down in this battle of wills. Spencer's jaw clenched at your words, a muscle ticking in his temple as he fought to keep his composure.
"Fine. Just make it quick," Spencer replied through gritted teeth, his pride wounded by the concession.
Before you headed towards the shower, you started to unpack, you hated keeping everything in your bag when you were in the hotel room. Once, you had finished you grabbed your essentials and headed towards the bathroom without so much as muttering a word to Spencer.
Spencer watched as you disappeared into the bathroom, the click of the door echoing in the tense silence of the room. Alone now, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. The mere thought of sharing a room with you made his skin crawl, but he knew Emily's intentions were well-meaning, if not a little misguided.
The rush of the warm water against your skin did little to soothe the simmering frustration that lingered within you. As the steam filled the bathroom, you tried to shake off the tension that had built up between you and Spencer. But every time you closed your eyes, his infuriating presence seemed to seep through the cracks of your composure.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” As you looked at the pile of clothes you had in the bathroom, you realised you hadn’t brought in your PJs, and all you had was a pair of panties and a bra. You were too embarrassed to ask Spencer to bring you the rest of your clothes.
You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options, but you weren’t going to be admitting defeat anytime soon, and maybe some part of you wanted to flaunt to Spencer something he could never have.
You dried yourself off and stepped out of the bathroom in just your underwear. Spencer’s eyes widened in disbelief as you emerged from the bathroom clad only in your underwear, the audacity of your actions catching him off guard. His cheeks flushed with a deep crimson hue, his gaze darting away as if to shield himself from the unexpected sight before him.
“Are you kidding me right now?” Spencer’s voice wavered slightly, a mix of shock and embarrassment colouring his tone. He struggled to maintain eye contact, opting instead to focus on a random spot on the wall.
You couldn’t help but smirk at his discomfort, a sense of satisfaction blooming within you at having turned the tables on Spencer for once. The power shift in the room was palpable, the tension crackling between you in a different way now.
“Just grabbing my clothes,” you stated nonchalantly, making no move to cover up as you retrieved your pyjamas. “Do you like what you see, Spencer?”
Spencer's cheeks burned hotter at your teasing words, his jaw clenching in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. He struggled to find the right response, his mind racing to come up with a comeback that would regain the upper hand in this unexpected exchange.
"Very funny," Spencer finally managed to choke out, his tone strained as he averted his gaze, refusing to give you the satisfaction of seeing how flustered you had made him.
“You know the way you’re acting right now, Y/N, isn’t of someone who hates me.” Spencer teased through gritted teeth, his attempt at levity falling flat in the charged atmosphere of the room. Your smirk faltered for a split second at his remark, a flicker of something unidentifiable crossing your features before you regained your composure, your mask slipping back into place.
"Let's get one thing straight, Spencer," you retorted, your tone firm as you met his gaze head-on. "Just because I'm not actively trying to strangle you right now doesn't mean I don't still think you're insufferable." The underlying tension between you simmered beneath the surface, waiting to reignite at the slightest provocation.
Spencer raised an eyebrow at your response, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. “Or you’re not actively strangling me, because you’d rather I’d be doing that to you.” Spencer paused, the words hanging in the charged air between you. His attempt at humour fell flat, the gravity of the situation pulling at the corners of his smile.
“What? No. What?” It was your turn to be embarrassed now as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red at Spencer's unexpected remark.
“Oh, so I’m right. You do like the idea of me choking you.” Spencer paused, his eyes widening in realization at the slip of his words. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension between you both reaching a new peak as his inadvertent confession hung in the air, heavy and loaded with unspoken implications.
You swallowed hard, trying to mask the sudden rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. Spencer's gaze bore into yours, searching for a reaction, for any sign of the impact his words had made. And in that charged moment, something shifted between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer even as you both stood at opposite ends of the room.
“Spencer, I…” your voice wavered, uncertainty creeping into your tone as you struggled to find the right words to respond. The weight of his words hung heavy between you, begging for acknowledgement, for resolution.
“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything. Brats like you always act out when they are attracted to someone.” Spencer paused, his gaze softening as he took a step closer to you. The air between you crackled with a newfound vulnerability, baring emotions that had long been buried beneath layers of animosity and pride.
��Spencer, you have a very active imagination. I have, erm, I have never thought of you like that.” You stumbled over your words, the admission weighing heavily on your conscience. Spencer's expression softened at your response, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes as he processed your words.
“I do not believe that for one second, sweetheart.” Spencer 's voice was barely above a whisper, his words laced with a raw honesty that left no room for doubt. The tension in the room had shifted once again, morphing into a charged undercurrent that pulsed between you, drawing you closer in a dance as old as time.
In one swift motion, Spencer seemed to have place you on top of his lap, your ass up in the air, and the palm of his hand striking against your backside.
Your breath hitched at the unexpected contact, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as Spencer's touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. The sting of his hand against your skin reverberated through your body, igniting a primal fire that had long been smouldering beneath the surface.
“Now, you’re going to be a good girl, and say thank you after every time I spank you.” Spencer paused, his voice low and commanding as he laid down the rules of their newfound dynamic. Your head spun with a mixture of confusion and a strange exhilaration at the turn of events, the rush of adrenaline heightening your senses.
“Yes, sir.” You replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you complied with Spencer's demand, the unfamiliar title sending a thrill down your spine. Each strike of his hand against your skin sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, a heady mix of pain and desire intertwining in a dangerous dance.
“Are you sorry for been a brat? For constantly picking fights with me over nothing? For making Emily do this, just so I can use you like the slut you are.” Spencer paused; his voice laced with a deliberate edge as he pushed the boundaries of your newfound dynamic. Your breath caught in your throat at his words, a surge of conflicting emotions crashing over you. The raw honesty in Spencer's tone stripped away the layers of pretence between you, exposing the raw desire that simmered beneath the surface.
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of submission and defiance.
Spencer’s hand moved over your panties, so he could feel the ever-growing wet patch. “Do you like that? You like calling me sir, and me calling you a slut. You know for the type of brat you are out in the office or in the field, you break a lot easier than expected.”
Your breath caught in your throat as Spencer's words sent a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through you. The intensity of the moment hung heavy in the air, the boundaries between desire and shame blurring as his touch ignited a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing second.
“Yes, sir.” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensations that pulsed through your body. The weight of his hand against your skin, the pressure of his touch against your most intimate places, all served to push you to the brink of a precipice you had never dared to explore before.
“Good girl, now stand up and take off your bra and panties.” Spencer demanded, his voice firm and authoritative. You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you grappled with the new dynamic unfolding between you. But you knew that you wanted this, needed this, and so you did as he commanded.
With trembling hands, you unclasped your bra and let it fall to the floor. Then, you stepped out of your panties, your legs feeling unsteady as you stood there before him, naked and exposed. The air between you was thick with desire, and you could feel Spencer's gaze raking over your body, devouring every inch of you.
"Now, bend over the table," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. You did as he said, your hands gripping the edge of the table as you lowered your body, presenting yourself to him. The cool surface of the table against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat that was building inside you. You could feel the moisture between your legs as it dripped down your thighs, a testament to the arousal that was consuming you.
Spencer stepped closer to you, his cock hard and pulsating with need. He ran his fingers through your hair, tangling them in the strands as he pulled your head back, his gaze never wavering from your exposed ass.
"You're such a naughty little slut, aren't you?" he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "You know you want this, don't you? You've been craving my cock since the first day we met."
You could only nod in response, your body trembling with anticipation as his erection pressed against your wet sex.
"Good," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Because I've been waiting for this moment ever since I saw you, too."
With one swift movement, he positioned himself at your entrance and thrust inside you in one smooth motion. Your eyes widened at the sudden invasion, the pleasure and pain intermingling in a way that was unlike anything you had ever experienced before.
You gasped, arching your back as his cock filled you completely. Spencer's hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he began to move within you. His thrusts were rhythmic and powerful, filling you to the brim with each movement.
Your moans filled the room as Spencer's cock slid in and out of you, every thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure as he fucked you hard and rough. Your mind was a blur of mixed emotions, guilt mingling with desire as you surrendered to the animalistic lust that was consuming you.
You could feel his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room. Your legs were trembling with each movement, your body submitting to his every command.
"You feel so good, baby," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "So tight and wet. Just the way I always imagined you would be."
His words sent a rush of pleasure through you, making you clench around his cock. Spencer thrust deeper, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm that had you gasping for breath.
"Tell me you want me, baby," he growled, his voice harsh with need. "Tell me how much you love my cock inside you."
You couldn't form words, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure and desire. All you could do was cry out and arch your back, begging for more.
"Please, please, please," you moaned, your voice ragged with need. "More, oh please, more."
Spencer's smile was wicked, his eyes dark and full of lust. "Tell me you want me, baby," he demanded, holding your hips tight as he thrust into you.
"I want you, oh, I want you so fucking much!" you cried out, your body writhing beneath him. Your nails dug into the edge of the table, your legs trembling as you pushed back against him, taking him deeper inside you.
His thrusts became harder, faster, each one a razor's edge of pleasure and pain. You could feel his fingers digging into your hips, his breath hot against your skin as he possessed you completely.
"Tell me, slut," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me you're mine, and that you'll do anything I say."
You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you grappled with the new dynamic unfolding between you. But you knew that you wanted this, needed this, and so you did as he commanded.
"I'm yours, sir," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you surrendered to the power, he held over you. "I'll do anything you say."
Spencer's eyes widened at your submission, a sense of triumph and desire flooding his entire being. He thrusted deeper into you, his cock aching to be buried inside you even further.
Your moans grew louder, your body shaking with every thrust as he took control of you. The power he wielded over you sent ripples of ecstasy through your entire being, your mind hazy with pleasure.
"That's it, baby, let me hear you," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me how much you love taking my cock, how much you love feeling me inside you."
You couldn't form words, your breaths coming out in short, sharp gasps. Your fingernails left marks on the edge of the table, your body writhing under his assault.
"Mmm, that's it, tell me baby," he urged, his hips moving in a relay and powerful stroke. "Tell me how much you love my cock inside you, how much you need it."
You could only whimper in response, your body trembling with each thrust. Your moans filled the room, and your entire body was on fire with pleasure and desire.
"Say it, baby," he demanded, his voice growing rough with need. "Say you love my cock inside you."
"I-I love your cock inside me," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you, please don't stop."
Spencer's eyes darkened at your plea, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust into you harder. Your moans filled the room, your body arching and begging for more. You could feel the tension building, the wave of pleasure and desire crashing over you.
"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Come for me, let go of all that pleasure and surrender to me completely."
Your body shuddered, your moans growing louder as the orgasm overwhelmed you. Your pussy clenched around his cock, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure through Spencer's entire being.
He continued to thrust, his cock sliding in and out of you in a relentless rhythm. Your moans grew louder, your body trembling with each movement.
You could tell Spencer wasn’t far off from his own release, the muscles in his abdomen tightening with every thrust.
The feeling of him inside you was indescribable, the intensity of your orgasm mixing with the pleasure of him taking you so roughly. You could feel him hardening even more, his cock pulsating with need as he fucked you deeper and faster.
"I'm gonna cum, baby," he growled, his eyes locked on yours. "I'm going to fill you up with my cum."
Your mind was a blur of thoughts and emotions, pleasure, and lust mingling with the desire to please him. You wanted him to take you, to possess you completely.
"Yes, sir, fill me up," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to feel you cum inside me."
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You’re an amazing writer!!! Please do a piece about Emilia being the WORST patient when sick.
Like idk she’s sick during summer break or something but refuses to be sick and is all “I’m not sick!!!” but then it becomes unavoidable so she just becomes the absolute worst sick patient and makes all these crazy demands and stuff and max is just very amused.
Thank you 🫶🫶🫶
I hope you like where I went with it!!!!
✨Set in Australia 2023✨
(He’d build) a fire just to keep me warm
You don’t get sick. So when you wake up on the morning of Australian Grand Prix with a churning stomach and a tightness in your throat for the third day in a row, you take an ibuprofen and a lozenge and get on with it. You fill yourself with orange juice for the vitamin C and even say no when Daniel offers you some TimTams, but you power through.
Sure, you’re tired, but that’s just the jet lag, and you’re a little dizzy, but that’s just the fact that you haven’t eaten properly. You’ll be fine by the time the race starts. That’s what you tell yourself, and everyone in the garage, when they point out that you look uncomfortable.
“This weather is making me all sweaty,” you complain, fanning yourself with spare Red Bull cap even though you’re not even hot, just clammy.
“You’re sweating because you’re sick,” Max tells you, collecting his gloves and water bottle from the small cubby hole behind you.
You glare at him. For the past two days he’s been fussing around you, worried that you have the same thing he had before Jeddah. Even though you’ve been nowhere near as sick as he was. What’s making you feel ill is the hovering.
“Remember when I was sick last week I was sweating all night,” he says pointedly and you roll your eyes.
“And here I thought you’d just found the only Saudi porn channel,” you tease, and Max drops his worry to laugh, which you like. “And I’m not sick. I don’t get sick.”
“Except now,”
You nudge his shin with your foot. “Max, shut up.”
“See, if you weren’t sick, I’d be pissed off with that attitude,”
“Max, she’s not well, be nice.” GP says as he takes the space next to you by Max’s helmet shelf. His eyes narrow as he looks at you. “Do you want someone to take you back to the hotel? You’re looking very pale,”
“No, I’m fine,” you say, harsher than you meant to as you take Max’s water bottle out of his hand. “Just need a drink,”
“You can’t drink from that, you’re sick,” GP argues in shock.
You make a point of unknotting the straw, opening the cap, and taking a long sip of coconut water which frankly tastes like lukewarm bilge water.
You swallow with a small wince and the water actually turns your stomach more. GP looks disgusted, while Max just looks slightly amused as you hand him the bottle.
“I’m not sick.”
****************************
You don’t get sick. So you resist the urge to tell every paddock photographer that stops to take pictures of you sitting with Daniel outside Red Bull hospitality to fuck off. You’re not looking your best by any stretch, and you are starting to come round to the idea that it might be more than the heat. Not illness, per se. Just feeling slightly under the weather, desperately in need of a spa day. You’re fine. Just too spoilt and under pampered lately. It’s a dangerous combination.
“Why are you outside?”
You turn towards the voice to see Lando and Max making their way towards you, fresh from the driver’s parade and already sporting a sun kissed glow.
You’re out there because the fresh air feels like it’s helping, and they’re serving lunch inside. Despite being so hungry you can feel it in your bones, your stomach was protesting idea of food, and the contradiction of your insides was worsening your headache.
But you’re not going to tell Lando all that.
“What happened to you?” He says when they reach your table, a quizzical look on his face. “You look like shit,”
“Thanks,” you tell him, raising your middle finger.
“Lando, don’t be a dickhead. She’s sick,” Daniel chides, winking at you as if that was him having your back.
You groan. “I’m not sick.”
“I think she has the stomach flu I had last week,” Max chips in as he pulls out the chair beside you and sits down.
“Can you get stomach flu from sex?” Lando asks.
“Yeah, like crabs,”
You smack Daniel in the arm and debate reaching for Lando but can’t find the strength to move. “It never stops being fun being the only one in the room who has ever attended a biology class,” you say dryly, unfolding the pair of sunglasses clinging to your shirt and putting them on.
“Anyway, we haven’t…” Max says, clearing his throat as you all look at him. He gestures to you vaguely. “You know, so,”
The boys laugh like they don’t believe him even though they do, and you roll your eyes even though no one can see.
“I can always count on you to focus on the important part, Max, thank you.” You say, reaching over to pat his thigh.
That sets the boys off laughing again.
Jesus, why is it so cold all of a sudden. Are there sweat patches on my shirt. I think I’m going to be sick. No. No, I’m not. Because I’m not sick.
You don’t really pay attention to what they’re talking about after that. The pounding in your head gets worse and it’s hard to follow along with the conversation. You feel like every inch of you in stuffed with cotton balls. Through all of it, you feel Max’s hand on your back, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm. It’s something he only down you’re sick, and not you’re not sick so you should tell him to stop.
You don’t.
******************************
You don’t get sick. The garage is just ridiculously noisy today. It’s so noisy that you have half a mind to see if one of the wheel guns can be used to drill a hole in your head and let out some of the pressure. It’ll be okay once the race starts. You’ll put on some headphones and take another painkiller and it’ll be fine.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to stay in the hospitality?” Max asks.
You’re loitering with him for the last few minutes before he has to get to the grid. Normally you’re teasing him by waving a snack he can’t eat in front of his face or discussing dinner plans, but today you can’t muster the energy, and the thought of food is a step too far.
“You really don’t look okay,”
You feign offence, smacking a hand against your chest with a gasp. “And just think, today is the day I was finally going to give you a good luck kiss,”
“Now I know you’re really sick,” Max snorts, and the offence isn’t as fake this time.
“I’m not sick,” is all you say in response.
“I thought you liked being sick,” he says, slipping his arms into this race suit to shrug it on. “You get to be even more demanding than usual and I can’t even say anything,”
“Yeah, but not…”
Not when Max needs to win this race to stay ahead in the championship. Not when for the last week he’s been recovering from the last of his own illness as well as dealing with several media attacks on everything from Checo edging him out for the championship, to Jos’s reaction to his loss in Jeddah.
You don’t finish the sentence. This is not the time to bring any of that up, just like it’s not the day to be sick.
“Max, I’m fine,” you insist, noting the way his jaw is ticking. Whether he’s worried about you or the race you can’t tell. “And I’m not demanding,”
He scoffs. “Sure,”
He picks up his balaclava, but doesn’t it on right away. He runs a hand through his hair, looking at you and then out to the track and back again.
“If you feel bad just for back to hospitality, or even go and-“
“It’s a couple of hours, less if you drive like I know you can. I feel fine, I promise,” you tell him. Normally, you’d hug him, but you hesitate, shoving your clammy hands into your back pockets. “Now go destroy Checo’s hopes and dreams,”
He laughs at that as he pulls his balaclava over his head.
“I’ll see you at parc fermé,”
*****************************
You don’t get sick. So when Max finishes first after what feels like the longest, choppiest race in history and heads over to his team only to find you missing, he worries. He high fives the engineers with a full smile, wondering if you just decided to stay inhospitality after all. Because you’re not well. He knows you’re not well. When he saw you before the first restart you looked unsteady on your feet, and now you weren’t even there.
It’s Helmut who tells him, over the cacophony of cheering, that you had gone to lie down after the second red flag. Max immediately feels his chest tighten.
He remembers how bad he felt all week when he’d come down with whatever that was. He remembers feeling like his lungs had migrated somewhere else in his body and were being crushed. He remembers everything tasting awful. He remembers the shivering and the exhaustion. It was hell.
And right now, he wishes he could have it again just so you don’t have to.
He’s on autopilot through all the interviews. When he makes it back to Red Bull, he doesn’t find you in hospitality, or the garage. He heads to his driver room to get his phone to call you, barging into the room only to be greeted by the sight of you curled up on the small grey couch in a Red Bull hoodie, asleep.
Something in his chest eases, but only slightly. When he thinks of how bad you must have been feeling to not even finish watching the race and sleep through the noise of the podium celebrations, he gets even more worried. And when he thinks that you spent all that time alone in here because no one was there to take care of you, he feels like shit.
He crouches down in front of you, knowing that he has to at least know you’ll be okay for another couple of hours, because if you even hint at being in any discomfort he’s going to skip the race debrief. Your face is covered in a glow, your cheeks a little flushed, and your breathing is heavier than normal.
“Engel?” He says, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand gently shaking your shoulder. You let out a short groan. “Engel, du musst aufwachen. Es tut mir leid, schatz,”
Your groan again, but this time your eyes flutter open, and Max feels an almost ridiculous relief.
“Maxy?” You smile when your eyes open properly, and you lift your arms over your head to stretch, back arching. You look like Sassy after her mid morning nap. “Did you win?” It’s asked through a yawn as you settle on your side.
“Yeah,” he says, brushing some damp strands of hair away from your face.
“Good,” you say with a contented smile, but it only lasts a second before the pout is back. “Maxy, I’m sick,”
“I know, Leibling,” he says, fighting a smile. He shouldn’t be smiling, you being sick is doing something terrible to his heart rate, but there’s something undeniably sweet about you when you’re like this.
“Can you get me a coke? A Zero, not a Diet, but not from a fridge because I’m so cold,” you say, your voice a pitiful whine.
“Yeah, I can do that,” Max says, surprised that it could be that easy, but it turns out you were just taking a breath.
“And a SmartWater,” you sigh. “If they don’t have SmartWater then some kind of energy drink and a Voss but if you can’t find the Voss then just the energy drink,”
“Yes, I know the water hierarchy,” Max says, thinking to himself that that might be the strangest sentence he’s ever said.
“And a blanket, please, this hoodie is so thin,”
Max nods, getting to his feet, already thinking where in a thirty degree paddock he is going get a blanket, but you’re not done.
“And could you close the blinds so I can sleep until you’re back from debrief,”
He nods, turning to go to the door. He stops halfway. Maybe he should do the blinds first. But the couch is front of the blinds so he’ll need you to move and he doesn’t want to move you-
“Actually, Max?”
Did he say he liked you like this? Yeah, he’s an idiot.
He turns back to you. “Yeah?”
“Could you just sit with me for a minute?”
He melts.
“Yeah,” he says, giving in to the smile this time. “I can do that.”
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My Experience in Inpatient Psych
So I know a lot of people on here have talked about their experience in inpatient psych facilities, but I'd like to add mine just to give all you writers out there a writer-focused one. It's below the cut just in case you have to sit this one out for your own reasons.
To give you some background, I am 30 years old and have had hallucinations since about 16 and bizarre intrusive thoughts (someone living in my house that wasn't supposed to be there, somebody poisoned my walls, etc...) for about a decade, as well as very severe anxiety since I was about 3 years old. This is something not a lot of people know about me, even people I am friends with IRL.
The only thing I am actually diagnosed with is anxiety, which I'm starting to think is a failing of the psych systems I have been a part of. I have had counseling off and on and prior to this hospitalization I took escitalopram, aripiprazole, and gabapentin prescribed by my primary care doctor- all for the severe anxiety.
Quite frankly, I should have been in inpatient psych at least a few times before this, and it's by sheer dumb luck that I've survived to continue this blog.
On Friday, I was at home alone and made a few pretty bad decisions. I wont say what they were because frankly they're embarrassing, but they have to do with self-harm. I was scheduled to work Saturday and at about 9pm I realized that if I drove myself to work I would crash my car. Since my wife drives me sometimes, I figured I would just ask her to.
I told my wife and she asked- even if she drove me to work, since I was a nurse, would I be able to keep myself safe around insulin or other potentially dangerous drugs? I couldn't answer that question. We talked for a couple hours and came to the conclusion that I probably needed to go to the emergency department.
At this point I figured they would evaluate me and release me because I couldn't possibly meet the criteria for inpatient. I was wrong in this assumption. After telling them the decisions I had made that day, the feelings of wanting to die in a car crash, plus about a previous attempt, they recommended inpatient. Turns out, when you're a nurse, you can make some really bad life choices with the knowledge you have, and they didn't want to take any chances.
I was given paper scrubs to wear (so I couldn't hurt myself with my clothing or a hospital gown). I was also given a patient companion (someone who sits in the room and makes sure you don't hurt yourself).
They gave me the option of signing myself in voluntarily, or putting me on a writ of detention. A writ of detention is a piece of paperwork that allows a medical professional or law enforcement officer to hold someone for 3 days in a psychiatric facility against the person's will for the purposes of psychiatric treatment. Whether you sign the voluntary or get placed on a writ, you cannot sign yourself out. You need to wait until the psychiatrist taking care of you thinks you're ready to go.
I didn't believe at this point I needed to go inpatient, but I took the voluntary option because there are some perks, like being able to leave within 3 days if appropriate. At this point I was convinced I was probably going to have to call off work Saturday and Sunday, probably be out of the hospital Monday, have a few days to rest and be back at work on my next scheduled shift after that, which was Thursday.
Well, that's not what happened.
Because of some of the decisions I had made, along with bed availability, they wanted to keep me in the observation unit overnight before they sent me to psych. I stayed overnight in a unit that shares staff with the unit I work on, so I was taken care of by my coworkers. This was surprisingly not that bad. I like my coworkers and they were really professional about it.
Saturday I felt like I was in a fog all day. I couldn't watch TV. I couldn't color or write. I worked out some in my hospital room and paced the halls once or twice. Mostly I hung out with my wife and occasionally talked with my companion, but even talking was difficult. I had refused ativan because I felt like I had no hope of finding a medication that made me feel better, and I figured I didn't want to take the one medication that might actually work and then not be able to get it ever again.
Around 7PM I took a 45 minute ambulance ride to the facility. Getting my blood pressure taken is a big anxiety trigger for me, but my brain felt so scrambled that I couldn't express this well. They took it every 10 minutes on the ride there and by the time I got there it was in the 170s/100s (BP goes up when you're having severe anxiety). This was not their fault of course, but no matter how much I thought about telling them or refusing the BPs, I just couldn't do it.
When I got to the facility I was greeted by a tech who took my BP again (150s/90s this time), showed me around and looked through my personal belongings (basically just the clothing I came in with since my wife took my phone and wallet knowing I wouldn't be able to have them on the unit) to make sure I didn't have anything I wasn't allowed to on the unit. She showed me around my room and was really thorough with telling me how things worked, what the rules were, etc..
The rules included:
No patients allowed in other patients rooms
No personal belongings that had strings, belts, or laces, or that could be used as a weapon
No caffeine after lunch and no free access to caffeine
No personal electronics (including eReaders and watches). There was a TV in the day room and 2 phones mounted to the wall for patient use
A little later my nurse came into my room and asked me a ton of questions. Here's the thing about any hospital- you get asked the same questions over and over. By the time I'd gotten there I could give my story in under a minute. Or at least, that's what it felt like. There were only 2 clocks on the unit, at the nurses stations.
The unit itself was laid out in a "T" shape. There was a main nurse's station at the place where the two hallways intersected. At the end of the long hallway there was another smaller nurses station, a cafeteria/day room, and a "comfort room" which was a small room off the day room that had a collection of the oldest and worst donated books that have every come together on a bookshelf.
I did some pacing that night and then went to bed, but didn't sleep particularly well.
On Sunday morning the tech woke me up to take my blood pressure, which was, not unsurprisingly, still high. It was about 5 AM so I got up and paced the longer of the corridors for about an hour. Breakfast was served at 8 and the food wasn't that bad. The coffee was about the worst I'd ever drank, which I suppose helped with the no caffeine goals.
Just after breakfast I met with a psychiatrist on an iPad for about half a minute, and I'm not exaggerating there. The only questions he asked were whether I was suicidal and whether I would be fine with tripling my dose of aripiprazole in light of the hallucinations. I had had a 50-lb weight gain in the last year so I asked to switch my med. He switched the med to cariprazine. That was all.
I had a much longer meeting with my nurse later. All the nurses did an excellent job of assessing me, asked tons of questions, and it seemed like they really tried to figure out what was going on. That day I also met with a social worker, and a therapist, and a nurse practitioner. Each of them did an assessment to see what my needs were while I was there.
There was also a music therapy session where I cried my eyes out to Because of You by Kelly Clarkson.
I was really tired by the end of the day but I also didn't think I could sleep so I asked for trazodone. I should clarify that when I say "I" in this piece I really mean my wife convinced me to ask because I legitimately didn't believe I needed or deserved any of the things I asked for at this point. To my utter shock and surprise, they gave me the trazodone.
My first night on trazodone was amazing and I realized I hadn't slept well in a long time. With trazodone I fell asleep and stayed asleep until the blood pressure cart came rolling down the hallway at 5am. The second I got up on Monday morning I was wide awake.
I paced a lot Monday. I went to a goals session in the morning where I gave a goal to write 3/4 of a page. I didn't know if I could do it or what I was even going to write about, but I know I like to write and it might be a reasonable introduction to getting back to life.
I also was having kind of a rough day brain-wise. My brain was coming up with all the ways I could hurt myself in my room. There weren't a lot of them, but it was trying. I told the nurse during her assessment and she asked if I felt I could keep myself safe. I asked her what she would do if I said no. She said they could move me to a more secure part of the unit and give me more supervision. I knew what part of the unit she was talking about, and I didn't want to go there (no space to pace, and pacing was keeping me alive right then). So I told her I could keep myself safe (if anything, the idea of moving was good motivation to do stay safe in itself). I hallucinated some black and white blood cells falling from the ceiling and music coming out of my vents.
I also had another meeting with the social worker to figure out discharge plans. I voiced in the meeting that I wasn't sure that I could trust my wife, since it felt like at the time she was the one who exaggerated my symptoms to get me in here. The social worker said we had really good communication skills, since this was something I felt needed to be said in front of both of them and we both stayed really calm through the whole thing.
I finished the day with an art therapy session that really helped me turn a corner. The prompt was to draw the emotion(s) you felt right now on one side of the paper, and to draw the emotions you wished you could feel on the other side. For the first time I realized that my emotional state was actually really bad and that the suicidality hadn't come out of nowhere, and that I needed help.
When my wife came to visit later that night I was able to tell her about my breakthrough, even though I still felt a little bit like she had done something to get me in here and I still wasn't sure I needed to be inpatient.
Tuesday was a lot better. I felt like I had woken up out of some kind of fog and I had no idea how long I'd been in it. I went to goals group, a spiritual group, and group occupational therapy. My goal was to be more social and I made a friend and we paced together and worked out. I read a quarter of The Martian by Andy Weir (my wife brought it for me because the best thing on the bookshelf was Louis L'Amour). I wrote about how good I suddenly felt. Turns out, I thought, a few days of good sleep, lots of therapy, and a new medication or two will really change things.
A quick side note about The Martian. I highly recommend it to anyone who is chilling in a psych hospital but has the ability to read while they're there (I sure didn't the first few days). I don't really know why, but the first few times I read it, I felt like they had created this superhuman character in Mark Watney just so they could throw a ton of wild things at him for the story. This time reading it, as a suddenly not suicidal person, I realized anyone with Mark's skill would have done the same thing and not just died on Sol 7 to get it over with.
Wednesday I woke up not feeling nearly as good as Tuesday, but still like the fog had lifted. I was a little disappointed (I hallucinated my cat (thanks for coming to visit me, Corina), some spiders, and just felt kinda meh. But I remembered how good I felt the day before, and that really kept me hopeful about going home.
I saw the psychiatrist again and asked to go home. He joked a little about me staying till Christmas, but ultimately he said as soon as his note was in I could go. I ended up leaving at about 12:30 with my wife.
In the time since leaving I have required a lot of support from my wife. The medications are all locked up, so are the blades and anything I could use to hurt myself. My wife has me in eyeshot at all times. I can't drive due to intrusive thoughts, so she does all the driving now. I quit my job because I feel like it was a big part of why I ended up as bad as I was. As someone who has been a pretty independent person this is a big change of pace, but something that is really necessary to my healing.
Ultimately at the end of my hospital stay, I was prescribed escitalopram, gabapentin, trazodone, cariprazine, and then a few days later propranolol. I'm currently on a total of 5 psych meds and honestly I don't care one bit because its so much better than being not on them at this point in my life.
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Need help prepping your zine portfolio or could use some pointers? Here’s a brief guide for choosing and organizing your works to make a successful portfolio!
Let’s start with artists.
What format should you use? Simple is usually best! Google Drive folders are often preferred because they easily display your work with no extra steps. Carrds, websites, or curated social media work too, so long as there is not extra material or posts hiding your work. Try to have as few clicks before seeing your work as possible, so no need to separate work into folders and certainly don’t require a mod to search your entire page for it—they may not have the time.
Make sure that your work is publicly viewable! Double and triple check that your Drive folder is shared publicly or your websites are not behind a password.
When choosing which pieces to include, always choose your best and most polished work. All works should be complete, in full color, and be fully shaded or rendered. Try to have at least some of your works be approximately something that would be found in a zine, which usually means about A5 sizing. Backgrounds are an essential skill for zines; make sure you show you can draw them well. Of course, sometimes some of these elements are excluded in a piece as a stylistic choice, but all are important skills to show you have.
If possible, try to include the topic of the zine in your portfolio. It does not need to be every single piece. If you only have WIPs or messy work of the topic, then it may not be worth it to include it and that’s alright (though make sure the zine does not require art of the subject when making that decision. Ours does not).
Most zines ask for featured works separate from the portfolio. These are the first things mods look at when evaluating your application. Choose your strongest three (or however many are asked for) pieces as your featured works. Typically, try to include art within the fandom as a featured work if you can. Try to have those vital skills on display in these as well (backgrounds, rendering, etc) so it’s immediately clear you’ve got what it takes.
No need for every piece to hit every point. Try your best for the portfolio together to hit most of them and meanwhile you can work on creating some art specifically to show off anything you’re missing!
There are some things you want to avoid including at risk of weakening your portfolio. A portfolio is only as strong as its weakest piece, so having less pieces is better than having weaker pieces. Only include polished work you’re most proud of. WIPs, sketches, or isolated character work may give the impression that you won’t provide a complete zine piece. Including multiple styles or mediums (especially ones that you wouldn’t be comfortable using for the zine) may confuse a mod as they might not know which you’ll use. If you include multiple styles, make sure that you are skilled and polished enough in all of them to use them for the zine. It’s totally fine to have a smaller portfolio, especially if you’re just starting out—don’t clog it with art that’s not your finest.
Merch portfolios are very similar to page art portfolios, but focus on character-centric work often without backgrounds. Do research on what makes a good merch design, because not all compositions translate well to physical products.
Photographs of merch you’ve made are excellent, but if you don’t have them then you can make mock-ups to help mods understand what you’re envisioning for the final product. Merch portfolios can be a combination of photos, mock-ups, and designs. Print samples may look very similar to a typical page art piece.
If applying as both a page and merch artist, you will likely want to have separate portfolios, as the roles require emphasis on different skills.
Writer portfolios are similar to artist portfolios in that they should contain only your best work. You may also use a Google Drive folder or another hosting website so long as it is highly curated and does not contain many other works to sift through. Typically, zines ask for 3-6 works under 3k words, but double check these numbers with each project you apply to.
If you’re applying to a specific role, such as poetry or article writing, try to have those kinds of samples ready. It may help to make a separate portfolio for those more specific applications.
Here are some other tips! Of course, there’s an infinite amount of ways to make a great portfolio, so if this guide isn’t working for you that’s totally fine. Experiment with different ways if you’d like!
Our applications open soon. Good luck!
Got additional questions? Send an ask here on Tumblr or on our Retrospring! We’re always happy to help or clarify.
Learn more about our Dungeon Meshi zine here!
#zine applications#fandom zine#zine#fanzine#delicious in dungeon#dungeon meshi#dungeon meshi zine#dunmeshi#dungeon meshi anime#artists on tumblr#writers on tumblr
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hi, i have feelings about cartoon nostalgia and the audience perception of them 20 years on
this is gonna read hyper-specific, but bear with me
i refuse to credit butch hartman for the way danny phantom came out during it's first two seasons, at least outside of the initial pitch and the idea of the protagonist having white hair. i know the majority of enthusiasts for this show are more than aware of hartman's antics at this point. these anctics, i won't get into. other people are far more suited to explain that stuff vs me, a random guy on the internet. but there's very specific topics that i don't often see get brought up in detail, like the production and staff behind this show.
i'll get into it below the cut so as not to clutter your dashboard. but if you're not familiar with the actual production history of danny phantom, this might be interesting to read.
it's common knowledge these days that stephen silver is the one who developed the design for danny based on hartman's original rough sketches. the similarity between each drawing is apparent, but you can see clear as day which design was gonna be more apt for animation and overall audience allure back in 2003.
he also did character designs for hartman's other poster child, Fairly Oddparents. the trend is similar, though far from a huge concern. character design overhauls happen all the time in media production. designs might be too complicated for animation, so they get stripped down. or maybe things aren't complex enough and more nuance needs to be added. that's normal stuff, and i am not dunking on hartman for not nailing danny's design right out the gate. i'm pointing this out in case you've ever looked at butch hartman's recent work and wondered "how are these done by the same artist?"
the answer is they weren't. hartman had to adapt to stephen silver's conceptual designs in order to work on the storyboards. take from that what you will.
onto the actual writing.
butch barely wrote a single episode for this show's first two seasons.
steve marmel helped write at least 28 episodes of the original two seasons, with writers like sib ventress and marty isenberg bringing a good amount of episodes to the table, as well.
butch hartman is credited primarily for directing and storyboarding this show. the episode pitch and writing was by other people almost entirely. the ONLY episodes in the first two seasons that hartman is credited with having written are mystery meat, one of a kind and splitting images. and he's credited with co-writing these episodes alongside steve marmel and mark banker. ie, he did not write these episodes on his own. and allegedly, butch hartman had a tendency to be credited as a writer for an episode, even if he only wrote a few lines of dialogue. again, take from that what you will.
past that in season 3, he wrote infinite realms, torrent of terror, forever phantom, urban jungle, and ofc, phantom planet. which a lot of people know, these episodes in particular weren't the most enjoyable, nor was the overall direction of them very good.
a director's job is to make sure that the overall tone, feel, and message of the show is being kept consistent with intent. that means meeting with producers, who are the ones managing the, y'know, producing part of the whole project. it may sound like the director is the one heading the project if it's their job to keep things in check. which, i will not deny, hartman must've put in a good deal of work to make the show come out as well as it did.
but pile that with some of the off things per episode. the mean-spirited way that characters tend to be taught lessons, the voice direction getting a drastic change in season 3 (you can hear it explicitly with david kaufman suddenly going for higher pitches instead of the usual one he's done so far). there's really only one consistent motif in the entire show's OST. which isn't a bash against the music producer. it's a concern that the director of the show never asked him to change things up, and ONLY stuck to this one motif.
to briefly touch on the mean-spirited thing. there's multiple instances in the show where danny or someone else is seen fighting back against whatever has given them trouble, or they're taking matters into their own hands to ensure they won't be hurt ahead of time. and repeatedly, the show likes to kick these characters back down for trying to stand up. it's a trend in all of butch hartman's shows, and it's treated more like comedy than anything else. it's up to audience perception on how to view it. but for me personally, it starts to feel like an overused gag and turns into something more malevolent after seeing it overused almost every single episode.
okay besides that, i actually wanna look at specific examples of episodes that steve marmel wrote for. again, this is the guy who's more or less responsible for the show's serialization.
the complete list of episodes is as follows:
Mystery Meat, Parental Bonding, One of a Kind, Attack of the Killer Garage Sale, Splitting Images, What You Want, Bitter Reunions, Prisoners of Love, My Brother's Keeper, Shades of Gray, Fanning the Flames, Teacher of the Year, Fright Night, 13(Thirteen), Public Enemies, Memory Blank, Reign Storm, The Ultimate Enemy, The Fright Before Christmas, Secret Weapons, Flirting with Disaster, Micro Management , Kindred Spirits, and Reality Trip.
multiple episodes listed here are from the first season, which a lot of people consider the show's best. and of the handful listed for season 2, he wrote all of the hour-long specials.
i would be here for hours talking about how steve marmel tackles all of these characters and concepts significantly better than hartman does in season 3. but that's a topic best praised elsewhere. point is, if you watched any of these episodes and thought to yourself "wow, that was actually kinda clever," steve marmel is more or less the guy responsible.
butch hartman was in charge of direction, but that does not give him exclusive credit for every single line of dialogue or plot beat. there could be a LOT we just don't know because people on production staff don't want to comment. but the writing consistency taking a dive off the board by season 3, which is the same season that steve marmel departed from the project due to conflicting direction in the story? you might deduce that butch hartman was not the prized writer and artist behind this otherwise beloved cartoon.
to dredge up an easier-to-tackle target, season 3.
my criticisms are 18-year old echoes at this point, you've heard them all. from otherwise pointless episodes that don't develop the characters or world, to completely out-of-touch writing (looking at you, phantom planet) that juxtaposes the characters with everything we've been told about them so far. it became a slog of a season that didn't have any build-up to it's finale. the occasional gem of an episode like frightmare helped in some aspects. or the promise for something later with d-stabilized. but it all gets swept under the rug thanks to a rushed finale with poor build-up, bad writing direction for the characters, and most importantly, an unlasting effect on the viewer. (or a negative lasting effect, which is arguably worse)
for a season that knew it was on its last leg before inevitably needing to give up, there's seldom few episodes dedicated to advancing an overall narrative, and thus give a slimmer of hope for a satisfying conclusion. instead, the show goes all in with villain-of-the-week stories, and even the returning villains are hardly taken seriously or given more to do besides just being there.
of course, we know the reason steve marmel had left the project was because hartman wanted the show not to taken a more story-focused drive. it almost starts to feel like spite that kept the show so horribly grounded, letting it become stagnant before eventually being forgettable.
all this is in service of letting people know, it really wasn't butch hartman that made the show, not alone. death of the author and all that nonsense aside, he pitched the concept. and it takes a lot of love and dedication to make a concept something you can physically see and adore. don't let him swath in all the credit. recognize the others who made the work you can still enjoy.
#stormy weather#danny phantom#hey guess what i found in my drafts!!!#this is an INCREDIBLY old post#this is dating back to like almost 2016!!!#anyways i rewrote most of it because the og was a lil rough lol#but all of these feelings remain the same to this day#it's kinda wack#a younger me knew what he was feeling#and an older me knows how to say it
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Officially asking your timeline for the 2012 series!
Feel free to answer in two parts if that's easier (and/or less confusing) considering the first three seasons are less convoluted than the last two.
Thanks!
Yeah! Of course here you go:
So this is assuming that the Turtles’ birthday is in the spring, I could of course be wrong, but it seems unlikely it’s a different time.
Okay so first thing you probably notice is that the time line doesn’t start in 2012, it starts in 2011. It’s weird but according to Rocksteady’s résumé, they joined the foot clan in 2013, but they do that in season 3, which should be about 3 years later.
There’s also a few other things, including the fact that Kraang Prime states I believe in season 3 that it has been 2 years since their first invasion. I’m not as certain on that one as someone told me about that, if you have an episode number that’d be great.
If you can prove me wrong on this really weird error I would be genuinely delighted.
So I guess starting with season 1 and 2’s distance, there’s a line between Casey and Raph during the episode The Invasion Part 1 where Casey states it’s been 1 year since the last invasion: (source: turtlepedia.fandom.com)
So that means that season 1 and 2 have to span 2 years. Mikey also states there was a month gap between the first and second season heard in The Mutation Situation: (as in season 2 episode 1, not my comic)
After season 2, stuff starts getting a bit weird. Assuming we ignore the animation error that there is no snow on the ground and the trees have green leaves in early December in Massachusetts, then it’s definitely true that 3 months have passed since December so now it’s March, which makes sense for there to be no snow.
There’s another really odd error in The Croaking, where Michelangelo introduces himself as being 15 years old, when actually he’s 16 almost (or is, depending on their birthday) 17. I figure though that’s probably an error with the script writers and not related to the actual timeline.
Then of course there’s the time travel dilemma. At the end of season 3 it ends with the planet being blown up and they travel back in time an amount that Donnie claims to be 6 months given the Earth’s position in comparison to the sun.
However, there are a few issues to this. One being that in the episode Trans-Dimensional Turtles(season 4, ep 10) the turtles go back in time. The time is unclear until the end when a Kraathatrogon pops out of a portal that is the same one that they threw into a portal back in the episode The Manhattan Project(episode 13, s2)way back in season 2. Unfortunately this means that either A) all of season 2 and 3 covers 6 months, which is definitely not true, or B) Donnie was wrong about how long they were actually in Space.
Now the tricky part is the question “Well if Donnie was wrong, then how long were they ACTUALLY in space.” Now I made the guess that maybe it’s more like 1 and a half years because that way Donnie was still right, he didn’t realize how many times the Earth had made a full circle, so it’s more plausible.
I have some issues with how he guessed 6 months, because they are right next to the Earth, but the Earth has an elliptical orbit around the sun, so 6 months would be half a circle, so unless they were also following the earth in it’s orbit, it would actually need to be 1 or 2 years—one or two full circles to the same position—but whatever I guess. Diagram of what I mean:
The other issue is that yes, now we have a point of reference in the first timeline, but where was that in the Space timeline. There’s not a clear answer, but given that there are 14 episodes in the space arc, The Manhattan Project taking place at episode 10, and the fact that the turtles bemoan the fact that the last few episodes are actually incredibly far spaced because of travel time, I’m going to assume it’s somewhere between the first 1/3 and middle of their time in space.
(In this diagram it’s more like 1.667 years, but whatever)
So after that you have season 4 which is even harder to pinpoint the length of be about half of it is the space arc, now, you could say that the remainder 2013 is also the rest of season 4, however another question arises with Rocksteady’s résumé where he states that he stopped working for the Foot in 2016, though I’m not sure when he’s considering their work for the foot to have ended (if you have an episode that’d be great) so I’m not really sure.
So unfortunately, everything after the end of the Space arc I have no clue on, though it seems you were mostly interested in the first half.
I basically have no clue for season 5, but most of it is silly “what-ifs” so I doubt most of it has a time line placement.
So yeah, that’s my wacky timeline research, please nit-pick as much as you can. My goal is to create an official timeline so if you have more stuff to add to this that might clarify things, or prove things differently, I’m all ears!
Hopefully that made any amount of sense, feel free to ask more questions :]
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Initial Thoughts on Chenford in 6x07
All right... I'm feeling... a lot at the moment, so just sharing my initial reactions before seeing anyone else's. I'm sure my feelings will evolve. Also this turned into a GD essay and I'm sorry.
The Good
Grey acknowledging that Lucy was going through a lot ABOVE & BEYOND the break up. I just wish he'd mentioned the shooting, too. Lucy deserves to be more than her relationship with Tim and I need to actually see that in the future.
Lucy laying out 2 key things in her conversation with Grey - how easily Tim walked away and that he had no right to make that decision for her
Prior to the last scene (see The Ugly below), I thought Tim's interactions with the therapist were reasonably well done; if only therapy was that easy in real life lol
"You've always got a home with me" - I loved this final scene between Lucy and Tamara. I don't really have feelings either way about Tamara at this point, and this still hit me right in the heart.
Smitty's poll made me laugh, but also another solid indicator that these writers / producers do in fact really enjoy laughing at the expense of the fandom and shippers (which, whatever, I don't care that they do, I'd prob do the same; but it does irk me when people act like these writers should be worshipped because of all the things they "give" us)
The Tim
"I'm not depressed. I broke up with her."
"I was her TO." Not her friend, cuz god knows Tim has yet to deal with the fact that he started banging his former Rookie I suppose.
I dunno whether to put this in The Good or The Bad at this point; it depends on where they take it, so instead Tim gets a section all about why he's a dick.
To be clear, I do not like that Tim is a dick. But I actually do kind of like that it is very clear TO THE AUDIENCE that Tim is being kind of a dick. Do I still think people will bend over backwards to defend him? Of course they will.
From my perspective, I love Tim, I understand that he thinks he's doing the right thing, and has lots and lots of trauma. I've never seen Tim as a character that magically healed at some point between Seasons 1 & 5 (please see his storyline with his dad, his ongoing issues with UC work and unwillingness to confront or deal with them, his feelings about therapy historically, his inability to dump Ashley, etc. etc.). He's never been perfect and he doesn't need to be.
All of those things are true. None of those things give him a free pass to be kind of a dick. He still has to take accountability for how he treated Lucy (which, to be clear, was like sh*t).
The Bad
Lucy being petty AF with the invites to Tamara's dinner - let her be ANGRY, but give me villain Lucy over this dumb sh*t.
Lucy having no one other than Grey to talk to.
Others acting like Lucy is actually kind of pathetic (why do these writers love sh*tting on her so much? girl could not be down and kicked any harder at this point) -- Celina / Nolan and the double dumping crap, Lucy thinking Grey paid actors and him telling her she was out of her damn mind
The last interaction between Lucy and Tim. I am so angry for her. I needed to see that from her, but instead it felt kind of like her being dumped / a kicked puppy all over again. We got it, thanks. What's next? Lucy being incredibly happy with the hottest man on earth? I'm here for it tbh. Lucy plotting Tim's murder? Also here for it at this point. LOL.
The Ugly
I could not hate the implication of that final scene with Tim and the therapist and the door shutting more. There was ZERO reason they couldn't have had him show up during the day, and it actually disgusts me that they are pushing this line again, but especially with Tim. I am literally NEVER this dramatic, but in this case I really hope they did that to just get a reaction, because if anything were to actually happen between Tim and the therapist, I'd be 100% done with this ship and show as would a whole lot of the audience (I think). If I kept watching, it would only be to see Lucy be absurdly happy without Tim.
Well, what'd I miss? What did y'all think?
#chenford#the rookie#the rookie spoilers#see lana ramble#no one tell the writers that women can have storylines that are not about BABIES
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Like Real People Do
Pairing: Gyuvin x Reader
Summary: You find yourself falling for the cute boy whose writing assignments you proofread, and discover that your lives have been intertwined for longer than you thought.
Tropes: tutor!reader, basketball player!gyuvin, writers, soulmates, college AU, fluff
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: literally none it’s so cute
A/N: This is a formal apology for my Beomgyu angst <3
“And isn't it just so pretty to think
All along there was some
Invisible string
Tying you to me?”
—Invisible String, Taylor Swift
Gyuvin certainly doesn’t need any help with English, but it gives him a good excuse to spend time in between classes and basketball practice staring at you.
If anything, your talents would be better suited to helping one of his classmates understand all the old poems or crazy novels that they get assigned, but he’s the one who lucked out when your former professor suggested you read her most promising student’s work.
From the first draft, you were hooked, and had somehow started a writer’s circle where just the two of you meet weekly to share your works in progress.
In no time, you’ve helped Gyuvin become one of the top students in Writing 101, and he’s worried you’ll notice that he’d be just fine if you stopped helping him. Still, the A’s keep rolling in and you keep meeting up with him anyway.
When Gyuvin’s latest short story gets nominated for a departmental prize, you’re over the moon for him.
“You are so amazing,” you smile up at him. “We should celebrate! That’s a really big deal. I was nominated last year, but didn’t come close to winning.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he points out, looking down at the ground and rubbing the back of his neck. “Really, Y/N. If I win, it would be just as much your prize as it would be mine.”
“Don’t be silly,” you say, packing up the rest of your lunch. You usually only see him in the library at your designated meeting time, but today, he sought you out in the courtyard to make sure you were the first person he told. “I’m just the editor. All of the ideas came from you. Plus, I’m only good at English because I grew up speaking it. It’s much more impressive for you to have learned it recently and write at the level that you do.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Y/N,” he replies, helping you up off your picnic blanket. Before you can do it yourself, he’s already reaching down to fold it, his long arms handling the fabric with ease. “You’d write circles around me any day.”
“I don’t want to get into another compliment war,” you giggle, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. Recently, it’s been filled with way too many books, and your classes are so jam-packed that you never have time to run back to your room in between them.
“Here, Y/N, let me,” he says, taking your backpack from you. He’s already got his own on, but he wears yours over his front, barely even flinching at the extra weight. “Where are you headed next? I’m done with my classes for the day, so I can walk you.”
He’s always been desperate to ask you to hang out outside of your brainstorming sessions, but every time he thinks he’s worked up the courage, you’ll laugh or smile or even just glance at him and his brain short circuits.
“I have a music class across campus in thirty minutes,” you reply. “Don’t you live the other way, though? You really don’t have to walk me. It’s pretty far.”
“I want to,” Gyuvin reassures you. He offers his hand. “Here. I walk pretty fast, so let’s make sure I don’t leave you behind.”
You hesitate for a moment before taking it. You’ve had a crush on Gyuvin ever since the two of you first crossed paths—he’s the literal embodiment of sunshine trapped inside a cute boy—but things have only ever been friendly between the two of you.
His hand is big, wrapping itself around yours almost entirely. The walk is silent, although you swear you can hear your heart about to beat out of your chest as you pull him along your usual route. Gyuvin makes sure to always let you lead.
“You know,” you start, still not looking back at him. “We’re kind of like Orpheus and Eurydice right now.”
Gyuvin lights up at the reference, with mythology being one of the first things you two really bonded over. “If you looked back at me, the only thing I’d probably die of is how cute you are, Y/N.”
You’re glad you’re turned away so he can’t see the bright blush that’s spread across your cheeks. His words get you so flustered that you don’t even notice you’ve stopped walking.
“Did I say something wrong?” Gyuvin asks, his voice laced with concern. He moves to face you, your height difference causing him to crane his neck down. Meanwhile, your gaze is locked on your shoes.
“Gyuvin,” you say, still refusing to meet his eye. You pull him over to a nearby bench. “Remember when I said I liked the love story you wrote the other day?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he confirms. “You complimented me on how realistic it was and I told you it was only because I based it off of real life.”
“Was it…” your words catch in your throat, unable to face the embarrassment of if you’re wrong. “Was it about us?”
“Yes,” he admits almost immediately. You finally turn to face him, greeted by a nervous look. “Listen, Y/N. I only wrote it because I knew you’d read it, and I thought maybe if you saw how good characters that were a lot like us could be together, you’d give me a chance in real life. But you didn’t really notice, or maybe you just wanted to ignore it, so I kind of abandoned all hope of us ever being together.”
You blink back at him. How could you be so oblivious? Your entire major was based on analyzing words, and you couldn’t even see that he wanted to be with you so badly that he had to write it into existence.
Words always come easy to you, except at this very moment.
“You abandoned all hope?” is all you can manage to get out. You try to pull your hand away, but he only grips it tighter.
“I tried,” Gyuvin says, his voice soft. “But you’re all I ever think about. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be capable of writing someone who even comes close to how wonderful I think you are, Y/N. There just aren’t words to describe all the ways in which you’re special to me.”
You laugh, his words making tears well up in your eyes. “You know, I used to go to basketball games a lot before we even met, just so I wouldn’t have to feel so lonely all the time. And I remember liking your smile and the way you always encouraged your teammates. I would go home and wish I had someone like you in my life.”
“You’re kidding,” he says, taking out his wallet. You knit your brows in confusion, watching as he pulls out a small piece of paper and unfolds it. “Here.”
He hands it to you and your eyes widen at the words printed out. It’s the poem that you had published in the school’s literary magazine last spring about wanting to romanticize your life. Talking about your feelings makes you anxious, but nobody reads those publications. Except for Gyuvin, apparently.
“I liked you before we even met, too,” Gyuvin confesses. “Your poem is actually the reason I got into writing in the first place. I used to read it before all of my games, but I know all the words by heart now, so I just keep it in my wallet for good luck.”
This all feels too good to be true, but his touch keeps you grounded in reality.
“Maybe I should start coming to basketball games again, then,” you think out loud. “I stopped going because I felt awkward not knowing anybody.”
“Well, now you’d know me, and I’ll make sure the whole team gets to know you, too, okay?” The way he smiles at you, his eyes so full of light, takes your breath away.
“Really?” you ask, looking at him in disbelief. The thought of meeting so many new people at the same time scares you, but if Gyuvin likes them, you’re sure you will too.
“On one condition,” he says, closing the gap between the two of you. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand settling on your cheek. “I get to introduce you as my girlfriend.”
“Deal,” you grin, inching closer until your lips are pressed against his. You’re nervous that he’ll somehow figure out that you’ve only ever read about kissing in books, but the way he melts into you tells you that he doesn’t mind.
“You’re going to be late for class,” Gyuvin reminds you, pulling away. He desperately wants to keep going, but not at the expense of your grades.
“Class can wait,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. Your fingers lace themselves through his soft, messy hair. “I said we’d celebrate your nomination, so let’s celebrate.”
#zb1#zerobaseone#zerobaseone imagines#zerobaseone reactions#zerobaseone drabbles#zerobaseone scenarios#zb1 imagines#zb1 reactions#zb1 drabbles#zb1 scenarios#kim gyuvin#gyuvin imagines#zerobaseone x reader#zb1 x reader#gyuvin x reader#gyuvin fluff#gyuvin angst#gyuvin smut#zb1 gyuvin#zerobaseone gyuvin
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I've read hundreds of Star Trek TOS fics by now and it never ceases to amuse me how many different ways there are to fuck up Spock's characterization...now hold on just a minute - this post has a more interesting point than “fanfic writers stupid”, I promise you.
Every time, it's a spin on the massacre wheel. It's kind of amazing. Will he be overly emotional to the point where he's not himself anymore? Will he be so cold it's unpleasant and kind of hard to understand how he's lived to this point? Will he be extremely horny for no good reason? Will he speak in a way that sounds complety wrong?
I chuckle and shake my head. Of course, I KNOW what Spock is like, and MY interpretation of him is the most perfect and correct one. Obviously. He's just a very nuanced character, formed by many people in an unconventional way, with traits that seem to contradict each other at first but ultimately form a rich and unique character that so many people fell in love with specifically because he's so complicated...
Or...is he?
Let's entertain the idea that there isn't one correct interpretation of Spock, that all of these messy bits of characterization are not part of a bigger picture, but...just what they are: a product of many people with starkly different visions, working on a show that refuses to properly develop its characters. What then? Well, then Spock is a Rorschach test. Each viewer connects the random dots in their own way, and ignores the ones they don't like.
Let's use an example: me! In my interpretation of Spock (the most correct one, of course) he is, first of all, gay and on the asexual spectrum, reserved, largely uninterested in casual flirting or sex. When he is interested in the aforementioned things, he tends to be quite ashamed of it.
Makes sense, right? I can show you plenty of evidence for why that could be true. However, in the beginning of the first bloody season, Uhura sings a song about how Spock is actually kind of a heartthrob who likes to drive women insane with how hot he is, and Spock smiles. He smiles at her, as if agreeing and being very amused by all this! This interaction goes against pretty much everything I think about Spock. So what do I do? I explain it away in the most bizzare fucking way possible. See, Uhura and Spock are friends (there is no evidence for this), and Uhura knows everything I've just told you about him (through telepathy I guess? Not like he'd ever tell her!) and she's just trolling him (why would she do that? That is NOTHING like Uhura!). I need to do some Olympics-level mental gymnastics here, the opposite of Occam's razor.
“But Danny,” I hear you say, “it's just the start of the show! They hadn't figured out his character yet!”
To which I say: you can say that about anything! You can blame it all on a bad writer for that episode, and ignore virtually any scene that doesn't jive with your headcanons. It's there, and I can't ignore it.
So...how am I different from the people that want Spock to be thar heartthrob Uhura is singing about? That evidence is as much a part of canon as my favorite lines. Well, I'm not any different, that's the thing. And all those writers I complained about also have a point.
It's kind of a nihilistic take, I know, but maybe the reason Spock is such a cultural icon is because he is...whatever you want him to be: just concrete enough to spur on your imagination, yet vague and contradictory enough to let your brain fill in the gaps.
Don't get me wrong: I absolutely do not believe in this. In my mind, it just so happens that I'm one of the, like, 5 people ever who truly understood Spock (and one of them is Jim Kirk himself). But I still think it's something worth thinking about next time you're mad at a fic.
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killing your darlings and all of that
I saw a post on here about what the writing advice 'kill your darlings' means. it made me really think about the book I'm working on currently and how that phrase relates to this project. (the reason my fic/all my fics are on hiatus) And also kind of like how I think about revising a manuscript in general and all the things I've learned since I started writing books. (and yes this is why my fic is on hiatus, gotta grind!)
I've always been a novelist first, I guess, like I came up through traditional publishing and creating my own works/worlds. Which, this all taught me a lot about writing and rejection and how to just keep going. I am still a novelist, obviously, writing fanfic was something I came to much later (with Rose and Rot) and I know even after I'm with fanfic I'll always be a novelist. I don't think I can stop the itch for writing books, making my own worlds and characters from the ground up even if I tried. I love the way a book is like a puzzle and painting at the same time.
Back to the point at hand, which is the idea of kill your darlings, and how sometimes in order for you to make a book be what it's supposed to you have to literally kill so many things. I'm working on this massive overhaul of my current manuscript right now and by massive I mean I have literally rewritten 98% of this book. And it's not only rewriting all of the scenes to adjust language or fix character motivation, it's a full scale pulling everything out and putting it back together, in a way I haven't done since maybe my first queried book. And even that book didn't go far enough, I should have changed more.
I had already thought I'd removed enough from this book. Earlier feedback had the first act feeling overstuffed and the world underbuilt. I killed two characters and two plotlines. And I thought I built out the world, but it was being made in the wrong direction. And even that didn't go far enough.
So here I am at draft 6. And if this is a house, I've removed the walls and plumbing, because just rearranging the furniture hasn't done enough.
With this one draft it's been really fascinating to me because the SHAPE of the book has remained the same. The story I want to tell about my main character remains that story, and her internal journey remains the same, but a lot of how I get there has completely changed. I don't want to get into details, but it's like I've taken my camera and decided to focus its lens on parts of the story that were only mentioned in passing, blow them up, make them bigger parts of the whole, while removing almost everything that had been in earlier drafts.
I didn't do this on my own, to be clear. I sent this book to a trusted person in publishing, believing that it was literally done and ready to go out. Their feedback was 'this feels like a first draft' even though it was literally my fifth draft. And the feedback I got and what resonated with them was really surprising. What I learned about this book was that it is literally impossible to have both a cozy cottagecore fantasy AND a dark and creepy story where your main character eventually learns to accept her necromancy. It doesn't work, and if it does I am the wrong writer to make it work. I was told to play into my strengths, and those strengths are dark and sad.
Which is why I had to remove so much and change so much. I can't even lie some of those changes HURT. I lost a character (her little fox familiar) that I loved because he didn't add to the story at all. And including him just made the pacing lag. The character added nothing and worse detracted from what I was trying to do. A key scene at the end, I swear my favorite scene in this entire project, had to go because it simply didn't fit. The pacing, the world, the events leading up to this scene no longer supported it being included. And yeah, it sucks. I haven't even gotten to the ending which will also need to be streamlined, but the book is stronger for all of these changes. I really believe it. I love this project and everything it's become even more on the 6th draft than I did on the 5th or the 2nd or the 1st.
Gonna wrap this up! Because it's already too long! I was never this wordy until I started writing on here. Moral of the story! Sometimes you really need to be brave and commit to just letting go of what you thought your story was in order to make it what it needs to be. Which for me is legit terrifying, because I'm such a hoarder, but it's the right thing to do!
#writing#i guess#process#my process#revising things#not fanfic related but not not fanfic related#i love writing books 🤪#actually I really do love my books#the god of my own little world
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Because of your latest post: not sure if you’ve answered this before, but how does someone even entertain the idea of writing for the game dev industry? Did you start out on indie games or just write before and show them your work? Since it’s such a subjective field etc
if i have, it bears repeating! here's a rough timeline of what i did. never discount the value of luck and the kindness of friends
2016: i was doing a random freelance transcription job when i saw @theivorytowercrumbles post about writing for voltage. they reblogged the studio's open casting call for new writers. since it was so lenient - no experience, fanfic samples allowed - i applied. they hired me for their new project, but let me go after a trial period, citing that the tone of my writing was a bad fit for that game. i foundered for a while after that. i don't take rejection well. i started dangerous crowns to try to make money from writing some other way.
2017: one of voltage's producers reached out to me and said they'd started another project that i was a good fit for. she felt letting me go was a mistake and wanted to snap me back up. i said yes, i mean, are you kidding? so i started on reiner's route.
2018-2019: i kept at it. i took on diego's route. it occurred to me that i wasn't making very much money, but i liked my coworkers, and i was building my portfolio, so who cared? i also finished dangerous crowns, and a handful of people bought it, but certainly not enough to support myself or anything.
early 2020: between the pay and creative differences with voltage's team, it started to sink in that i needed to find other work. i applied to the few open game writer jobs i could find, but with only mobile romance in my portfolio, i got nowhere. i threw in dangerous crowns samples. i tried to network on twitter. i still never made it to the interview phase. i foundered for a while again.
late 2020: the voltage writers went on strike. i gave a statement to a journalist that one of obsidian's narrative designers noticed. we became acquaintances over it. another old friend of mine threw me a life raft in the form of a different contract, better paying, on a non-romance indie game. i took it gladly. i added a twine game to my portfolio, too. i kept applying. i got a few interviews, but something still didn't click.
2021: i finally accepted that i needed formal help. i did a portfolio workshop. i got resume coaching. the coach passed my name to a writer on the company of heroes team. they liked me! they also paid me more money than i'd ever seen in my life. at the same time, obsidian advertised a narrative job opening. i applied on a lark and let my ND pal know i was doing so. why not, right? college-new-vegas-fan me would want me to. they rejected me, but not before i passed their writing test and two interviews. i had nothing to lose at that point, so i told my ND pal that i was bummed. she gave me a golden piece of advice: "you came really close. try again."
2022: obsidian had another narrative opening. i threw myself at it. i was now going to annoy them into hiring me. since i was a known quantity from applying six months before, they had no qualms about interviewing me again. this time, it worked out, and i've been there ever since.
what's the common denominator here? i met people who thought i was all right and gave me a hand up when i needed it. the standard advice is to work with a community of your peers instead of trying to get your heroes to senpai-notice you. it's not that they don't care - they just have their own thing going on, and your peers could be the heroes of tomorrow if the right project comes along. i also found the portfolio was the end-all-be-all when it came to job hunting. i went through a grieving process with that! i'm not afraid to admit it. i wish studios had held my degree or dangerous crowns in higher regard, but i just had to make games in a wider variety of genres, and that was that.
one caveat: narrative is a really saturated field right now. a lot of people want to write, and there aren't many openings. it's not uncommon for big studios to get hundreds of applicants. larian probably got over a thousand for the job they posted recently. i feel awful saying that, because i don't want to discourage you, but i'd feel worse if i didn't let you know what you were getting into. if it's something you want, you should try! keep an open mind about the random projects you may find. you never know where they'll take you.
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It’s like, yeah. The writers were aware of Destiel, but they didn’t care about it. Even that recent Edlund quote, he said he wasn’t “absolute” about. Basically saying, “yeah it’s something, but don’t really care enough to genuinely explore it.” Bob Singer straight up saying it’s not something they ever talked about, Jensen’s feelings on it. Misha has even said it wasn’t a serious thing until S15, but he’s been changing his story since the start.
I mean, they were pretty aware of the fans, so of course they knew it was a thing in fandom. In a similar way to how they knew fans complaining was a thing in fandom, or wincest was a thing in fandom.
Sure, there were some points where the show made suggestive jokes, but that is mostly an entirely different conversation. One that is not actually about story and authorial intent, but changing cultural views on the relative appropriateness of certain types of humor versus real life usage. One that would need to address the context of the entire rest of the show having the same kinds of suggestive commentary, especially between the brothers as a baseline of how characters interacted.
Part of the hellers disconnect from reality in terms of claiming they were queerbaited is how they want to extract the jokes and interactions of ONLY D/C and demand romantic follow though. It's queerbaiting when they ship it! Except characters making eye contact in dramatic moments and throwaway jokes to ship tease the fans is neither the promise of a storyline nor a storyline in and of itself. It's no more a suggestion the writers were seriously intending D/C than the many more jokes about D/S meant the brothers would suddenly start making out on screen. Which, again, is part of why they freaked out so hard over the barn scene. They'd spent so much time desperately trying to convince themselves that offhand sexual jokes and any degree of intimacy = legit romantic storyline that has to be made canon endgame? That they found one. Oops.
At the end of the day, what the show itself actually told them up through the finale, what the showrunners and Bob Singer told them, what Jensen told them? Was ship what you want, but that's not our story.
They would rather listen to the one guy who also told them that, but then changes his story when he needs money/has something to sell. Because they aren't actually mad about being queerbaited. They're mad they couldn't force the show to play out their fanfic in live action. But they desperately want to pretend being entitled brats is oppression.
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My Hero Academia: Healthcare?
I don't know if any fanfic writers will find this useful or not, but I think the information is interesting and worth speculation in the My Hero setting. This also applies to any fanfic writers in the anime fandoms who want to have more immersive and in-depth writing. Obviously, writing fics that are 'accurate' is not a requirement since the point is to have fun, but here's some knowledge to use (or not use) if anyone is interested.
Obviously, Deku's been in the hospital a lot. A lot of the characters are injured and in the hospital a lot. But for all the hospital visits, nobody in the series is going to be bankrupted by astronomical healthcare costs. (Yes, that's a jab at America's system.) And it's not because the Pros, especially the popular ones, have money.
Here's why:
Quick rundown of how healthcare in Japan works: Everybody receives healthcare, everybody has health insurance. In Japan, your employer is legally required to provide you with health insurance. If you are unemployed, you will be on a community healthcare plan. There is also a plan for citizens over the age of 75. This also applies to foreigners who have established permanent residence of three months or longer.
Article 25 of Japan's Constitution is paraphrased as follows:
“all people shall have the right to maintain a certain standard of healthy and cultured life” and that “the state shall try to promote and improve the conditions of social welfare, social security, and public health” for this purpose.
I'm not going to reiterate the system in its entirety, but if you would like to learn more, this site here (the Article 25 quote I used is also found on that page) has a brief and comprehensive explanation of how healthcare is handled. However, one thing I am going to mention that is relevant for Deku and other Pros is the threshold out-of-pocket expense.
In Japan, citizens enrolled in healthcare do not spend more than ¥90,000 per month out of pocket, protecting them from financial disaster.
(To Americans, this may sound like a sweet deal, but hold your horses because Japan also funds this system through heavy taxation. Medical procedures are expensive and people will be paying for them one way or another.)
The question that needs asking now is how does this system apply to the hero society? Well, first off, since My Hero does take place in a slightly futuristic setting, we could take into consideration the system has been revised.
Assuming not much as changed, are heroes that operate their own agency technically considered business owners and are required to insure their employees and sidekicks?
Or...
Because they are all government employees, is the Safety Commission responsible for insuring all heroes and sidekicks no matter what they rank in their popularity?
Personally, I think it would be the latter since, in the coldest sense of the word, the heroes are essential to the Commission in upholding their system. So that makes them an asset. The Commission would want to protect its assets because as shady as they are, their own system could work against them. They certainly don't want heroes going on strike for lack of benefits or complaining the government doesn't take care of their people. So I assume it's the Commission who is covering insane healthcare costs on behalf of heroes.
(And since the system is probably funded by taxpayers' money, that also feeds into the prevalent societal discontent that's ongoing throughout the series.)
Now what about Deku and his classmates since they have not graduated and are not officially licensed yet? Honestly, I think it's probably UA itself that insures the students. That probably has to do with accreditation and so on, which is another matter entirely, but again, the backing is likely coming out of the Commission (and taxpayers') pockets.
And there you have it. Happy writing, happy research.
#my hero academia#deku#izuku midoriya#pro heroes#speculation#worldbuilding#boku no hero academia#bnha#mha#hpsc#the safety commission#healthcare#fanfiction#fanfic writing#research#archive of our own#ao3
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Thomas Zane's writing or the lack thereof
The third and final point I left unanswered in my theory about the 70’s.
the extent of Thomas’ writing powers, since as much as it is stressed a lot that he wrote himself out of reality, Barry, with a little research, is still able to find out about his existence, yet Alan in one of the “Writer in the Cabin” TV’s claims “A story is a beast with a life of its own. You can create it, shape it, but as the story grows, it starts wanting things of its own. Change one thing, and you set off a chain reaction of events that spreads through the whole thing.” The chain reaction here never happens: we have hard evidence that both Thomas and Barbara existed.
I guess, I should start with the rules of writing things into reality, that we learn throughout several games.
In AW1 Alan says about chain reactions: change one thing and others will follow, because the characters and the world in the story must be true to themselves. In AWAN it expanded even further with Alan making his, sometimes quite ridiculous, phantasies come true by starting the chain reaction by nudging the reality to fit his writing. One way or another it’s established well enough: each word causes the butterfly effect. Write something wrong and the whole thing will fall apart or twist; forget to add a little detail and the event you lead to will never happen.
There is a bit more about it in his Hotlines in Control:
Be clever. Make them do the work. Form the image in their minds. They make it. You just imply. Incept. They are drawn to the mystery. Obsessed. You set it up, they put it together. Their interpretation. And there's only one, because you give them no choice. And they believe in it, because it's theirs now.
Again: put a detail in and make people do the work. If you do it clever, you don’t need to expand on every little thing, the story will leave them no choice but to accept, believe and act accordingly.
The story needed many beginnings. Many springs. Streams that turned into a river, a flood, and then, an ocean. This was one. Wake used the materials he had. The connections he had. The people. The places. Wake put them in to make it true. His wife. The psychiatrist. His city. These connections, like magnets, moved things. Alice was a conduit. She'd been in the Dark Place. The Thing-that-Had-Been-Hartman sensed her near. Sensed Wake through her. Went berserk. Broke loose. Wake made sure Alice was already gone by then. Safe. The more springs, the more the story became real. The more people believed. Cause and effect. It was extremely delicate and hard work. It had to go through the path of least resistance. Where success was most likely. Where there was a connection already.
Alan always stresses out how important it is to thread on reality, use all the tools to make the events as plausible as possible for everything to fall into place. Yet, much of his writing, that came true, is pretty unbelievable stuff. Mr. Door in the second game calls Alan out on it: the rules are self-imposed, the loops are a choice. My take on it and all the hoops Alan creates to jump through: it doesn’t really matter what you write, the chain reaction will happen, as longs as you, as a creator, believe that’s possible.
Thomas, as it is presented, certainly, believed that he can erase himself and Barbara from reality; believed that this was the only way to stop the Dark Presence, to undo his mistake. And we see that some of it worked to a certain degree, as Cynthia tells us:
“He tried to undo it, wrote himself, her, everything he’d ever written out of the world. He was so famous. And afterward no one knew. Oh, Tom.”
Alan, who was very involved in the literary world, doesn’t recognise the name when he sees the shoebox in the cabin; Barry claims:
“Yeah, okay... anyway, there was an island there, owned by a guy called Thomas Zane. Now, some of the articles I found about him make him out to be a famous writer. But I ran a bunch of searches, couldn’t find a single thing he wrote.”
Thomas’ works are really hard to come by; the only people who read him, aside from those who knew him closely back in the 70’s, are Alan and Samantha, who found poems in shoeboxes, and Jesse Faden, who might’ve or might’ve not possessed a shoebox of his at some point in time. But the very existence of Thomas Zane and Barbara Jagger is quite known.
Barry with little efforts finds newspaper articles by Cynthia:
“Zane was heavily into diving, so much so that the place came to be called Diver’s Isle. But the volcano under the lake erupted in 1970, and Zane went down with the island.” […] “It gets better: a local girl, Barbara Jagger, drowned in Cauldron Lake just a week earlier. They were lovers.”
Randolph, the trailer park manager, acknowledges that Barbara is quite famous around here:
“Sure, Jagger’s a local spook story: ‘The Scratching Hag!’ Comes for you in the dark. Childish stuff like that.”
(Thomas is a legend around Bright Falls too, by the way, as seen from this bit of Sarah Breaker’s dialog:
Not even mentioning the Diver’s Isle, that still bears the name given to it by Thomas’ hobby.)
Barry continues:
“I’m just getting to the best part: all of the articles about this stuff were written by Cynthia Weaver. I asked around, and she’s that crazy bag lady you met...” […] “Yeah, anyway, she knew both Jagger and Zane before they both died and she had some kind of breakdown.”
And we have two of those articles in the guide:
This one mentions Thomas at the very last paragraph
And here’s the one about Barbara’s death
What we need from them are dates. They both were written before Thomas erased himself and Barbara from existence, so why the chain reaction didn’t delete those evidences together with other magazines and newspapers that mentioned him or printed his works? I mean, the way-to-go for writers at the time was to publish their pieces in the press, even Alan started like this, yet there is nothing of Thomas’. The bits that remained are those written in Bright Falls, where the AWE, caused by the last poem, originated and is strongest. I don’t believe that the journalist being Cynthia matters in this case; she indeed remembers Thomas and Barbara, but her previous work has nothing to do with it and had to be erased.
There is also a problem of fighting the Dark Presence off. I have to admit, the more I dive into this topic, the more I question if Thomas even wrote anything about deleting himself and Barbara from the annals of history or tried to fix him unleashing the Dark Presence onto the world. All we know about this comes from manuscripts written by Alan and the only two other sources of information. One being extremely vague on what happen and what Thomas wanted to achieve:
The Poet and the Muse
In the dead of night she came to him with darkness in her eyes
Wearing a mourning gown, sweet words as her disguise
He took her in without a word for he saw his grave mistake
And vowed them both to silence deep beneath the lake
And another telling a very different story:
This House of Dreams
The diver (or what was left of him, his true self) spoke the words of his secret poem. The poem described a new world, an island in this sea of darkness, a safe haven, a paradise, a “baby” universe. The nature of the dark place was such that anything dreamed up there, any dream or a work of art, would come true, just as true as anything in our world can be. And the poem came true and the essence of the diver and the essence of his girlfriend escaped from the darkness and disappeared into this new world to live there happily ever after; while their shapes, his now taken over by a bright presence, as his girlfriend’s had been taken over by a dark presence, surged up, through the opening in the lake to our world, to continue their battle there.
According to the Bright Presence here, Thomas wrote his masterpiece about the new world, a personal paradise for him and Barbara to be happy there; not about erasing all traces of their existence and trapping the Dark Presence in the depths it came from, since both Presences surged up to the new playground.
So, did Thomas even care about fixing any mistakes, except for not getting the real Barbara back? Or was his writing so sloppy, he failed to erase anyone from reality properly and failed to contain the Dark Presence in the lake? And what happened after he was cosily tucked away in his new private baby-universe in the Dark Place with his love? How exactly did he save Cynthia, as she claims, from the darkness with his light?
What horror was left behind?
In my theory about the cabin, I wrote that we are led to believe that Thomas was caring, considerate and aware enough to leave a loophole for him to help when someone, as he predicted, eventually will awake the Dark Presence. The catch here is: some of this information comes from Alan’s manuscripts; some — from the “characters trapped” in Alan’s story, as Cynthia put it. What if Thomas wasn’t any of those things? What if he only cared about himself and Barbara and wrote them the happy ending, leaving others to deal with the mess that he caused?
IN TENEBRAS CADERE
“To fall into darkness”. Indeed, in the memory of a very questionable poet.
#alan wake#alan wake 2#alan wake game#alan wake ii#alan wake remastered#rcu theory#remedy connected universe#remedy entertainment#remedy games#thomas zane#tom zane
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Hey GTC,
Hope you're doing okay. I gotta be real with you—I'm kinda in a tight spot. Been a huge fan of your writing forever, and you're like my ultimate inspiration, seriously. But here's the thing: I've had this burning urge to write a fic for ages now, and it's gotten to the point where it's not just a thought, it's practically an obsession. It's haunting me now. No kidding.
The kicker? I want this story to be as British as humanly possible. Like, 99.99% British. But here's the catch: I'm about as British as a snowflake in July. I've tried everything—reading British books, binge-watching British shows, immersing myself in the culture—but nothing's clicking.
So, I'm reaching out to you 'cause I'm at my wit's end. I'm desperate for any advice or tips you might have, especially since English isn't even my second language. I just need some guidance from someone who knows their stuff. Please, help me out here.
~Love💞
My friend, hold on to your hat and get ready to go nuts, because I happen to have exactly what you're asking for.
A Reference Guide to Writing Harry Potter Fanfiction, by Callmesalticidae; and
The Cranky Brit's Guide to Brit-Picking, by hobbitsdoitbetter.
As a Yank myself (and someone who admittedly and shamelessly has littered her own fic with Americanisms) I'm not the best positioned to advise you on how to write Brits and British culture. I just do the best I can and try to weave in things I observe as someone who lives here. All I can do is wish you the very best from one writer to another!
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Well those were some remarkably accurate predictions!
SPOILERS INCOMING! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Tantiss did get blown to bits. Everyone did escape. (Because they had to they hadn’t had a big win in more than an entire season to justify it!) And they DID make it an hour long episode! I was so relieved the second I saw the runtime.
But WOW were a lot of things a surprise. Nala Se doing what she did I feel like I should have seen coming. It was a fantastic character arc conclusion for her, especially that line about Kamino. Rampart being there I didn’t see coming, but also a very well earned conclusion for his character (if you’ll take my meaning).
Omega! Honestly the only predictable character on screen at this point. Except perhaps Echo. Of course she released the Zillo beast-that was set up really nicely. Everyone immediately knowing it was her was delightful and probably the only time I remember laughing all episode because boy was it heavy from there.
The Batch themselves and what happened to them were a huge shock all episode. Crosshair finally voicing what I’d known since S1 and became blindingly obvious post S2 was a fantastic moment. I’m so glad it got said out loud, and I’m so glad it was him that said it. They haven’t been Clone Force 99 since the end of S1 E1 and the loss of Crosshair to the Empire. Their success rate on missions has consistently dropped since then, even more so since the loss of Tech. They were a unit, and they’re missing pieces. They’ve never been whole since the fall of the republic, and then had to operate in a galaxy they weren’t trained for. They’re not the same anymore-they needed to own that.
The three heavy duty action scenes the batch were involved in were all callbacks to previous scenes. The hangar stand off-against what are essentially operatives designed to combat them specifically-is a call back to the first appearance of imperial cross. Crosshair sees the operatives and knows they can’t win. He’s unfortunately right. And wow I did not see Crosshair losing his shaking hand coming at all. I understand practically why the writers did it, and I know I’ll be thinking long and hard about it, but I literally screamed out loud when it happened.
I think all of the batch finally understanding and experiencing what Crosshair lived through was important. The batch met their match in Hemlock. Crosshair was never really an enemy in S1, and Rampart was too stupid. To Tarkin, they were a fly in the ointment of the bigger picture. It was nothing personal. He’s Echo and Rex and the rebellions problem-not theirs. But Hemlock? The experimental scientist who wants to own what they hold most dear. Yeah. They needed to really know him. I knew when Wrecker got injured last episode that if they won it would be by the skin of their teeth-and I don’t think a single character bar omega got out unscathed.
The batch’s rescue is perfect. Regs volunteering and going to rescue the defective clones? This really is a new galaxy. We’ve moved on from Cross and “he’s just another reg”. And it’s Omega and Echo returning the favour. The Batch have gone into a research facility to rescue their own and gotten captured for their trouble twice now. (Not including Echos rescue in clone wars-where they avoid capture but get a tad stuck). This was the third attempt in TBB. Still got captured. But it’s Echo and Omega together who get to rescue the people who got them out of their similarly horrible situations. The parallels abound and I loved it!
And that last confrontation. The rain? The shape of the buildings? That exposed platform? This was Kamino all over again. Except this time, however injured, however changed they are, Hunter and Crosshair are together. For Omega. They’ve both failed to stop her being taken by Hemlock before-they’ve both watched a ship fly away with her on board. This is another third attempt. They both get their do over. Except this time they’ve learned to trust eachother, and they’ve been forced to adapt. The clone’s humanity has always been their strength-and this is one of the most perfectly written, perfectly animated scenes in the series. I knew Cross was going to have to make a shot he didn’t want to take. And I knew he’d do it. But Omega telling him what to do, telling him she trusted him not to hurt her, broke me. It was all leading up to this. And that she hugged Cross first. I was crying before this scene. I will have to rewatch and hope I can actually see next time I was sobbing!
And Hemlock got his slightly gruesome end. Thank the FORCE.
And Pabu at the end. You can feel their disbelief that the trauma is over. That they can have peace. And the epilogue is perfect. I wish we’d got to see older cross and wrecker too-but their character arcs were already handled earlier. This is Hunters scene-it was always going to have to be. For him to truly be at peace, he has to feel OK watching her fly away. He’s spent three seasons clinging on-how he’s happy to let go. And Omega gets her choice. That precious thing all the clones are chasing. She got to have a childhood, grow up, and choose.
I’m so hopeful that Omega at least will reappear-especially if she’s hoping to join the rebellion! Maybe she’ll meet Hera again-that would be amazing. (I’m nothing if not a rebels fan)
I know Bad Batch is a series I’ll be coming back to again and again to rewatch, and I know I’ll see new things in it each and every time, but for now-Thank you Clone Force 99. You’ll always be our ‘dad batch’ of deviants. It was a wonderful wild ride.
#the bad batch#tbb spoilers#tbb season 3#tbb s3 spoilers#the bad batch spoilers#the bad batch season three spoilers#tbb crosshair#tbb hunter#tbb omega#tbb tech#tbb wrecker#tbb echo#force I love this story so much#I’ll have to come back and write some more when I don’t have 4 assignments I’ve been putting off!#star wars
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