#and i like not having to worry about budget so i can go ham and get a ton of items

[twinklefantasia]

on one hand wanting them to bring over features from style savvy

on the other hand wanting fashion dreamer to be able to be its own game....

[luveline]

Hi there! I hope your day’s been going well :)

Could you maybe write something with Spencer where Reader faints? Feel free to ignore this if you’re not up for it!!

thank u for ur request! fem!reader, 1.6k

"It's so hot," you say, startled. The lobby of the hotel had been blissfully air-conditioned. The difference hits you immediately. 

"Don't worry about blazers or professional attire," Hotch says, though he quickly amends, "within reason."

You take off your jacket and follow the herd of the BAU into the black SUVs. The SUVs are even hotter than the outdoors, blistering ovens of heat that have you feeling nauseous instantaneously. Spencer rubs your arm with the back of his hand swiftly —it's a friendly touch to say he's here, but it's quick to prevent any unnecessary added heat. 

It's August in Texas, 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Emily smells distinctly of sunscreen from the front passenger seat. Derek, behind the wheel, looks hot around the collar. Spencer looks as though he wishes he'd had a haircut before he came, chin length curls tucked tight behind his ears. 

Despite this, none of them complain beyond the general whine every now and then. You try very hard to shut up and focus on the case with them, but as the day goes on, bumping you from hot car to hot crime scene (with all inclusive smells of gore!), you feel wobbly on your feet. 

"Spence?" you ask, sitting in a hard-backed chair in the police precinct. 

"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the geographical profile he's building. You're supposed to be helping, but your notes are half-hearted, likely useless. "What?" 

"Do you have any water?" 

He pushes a pin into the left of the map and grabs a ruler. "No, sorry. There's a staff room by the bullpen, the secretary said to help ourselves. Actually, she said to 'go ham.'"

"Okay. I'll be right back. And I'll be more helpful." 

"You're plenty helpful," he murmurs, leaning down to follow the line of his rules with a pencil. 

You don't feel helpful, you feel awful. Head heavy, eyes aching, every step sends a jolt through your teeth and jaw, your skull like a mashed potato. You know you're a poor sight with sweat wetting your hair and a crawling sensation between your legs and the fabric of your pants. 

Letting yourself into the staff room, you're unsurprised to find a bone dry water cooler and a crate of water bottles with only one remaining. Spencer needs a drink too, and he has a thing about germs. You frown at the water bottle as though that might duplicate it, but when it doesn't, you're forced to take it and put it under your arm. You look around for a mug to at least have some tap water no matter how ill-advised that may be. They're all dirtied in the sink and on tables. Fuck. 

Spencer is super, super lovely to you. You wonder sometimes if he might ask you out, or at least want to, but most of the time you're sure it's just a little extra friendliness because he knows how it feels to be the youngest on the team, how patronised or lonely it gets. And the weight of trying to prove yourself every mission, it's almost as heavy as your head. 

"Hey," Spencer says as you open the conference room door. "I think I've worked something out. Could you call Garcia for me? I've got dry-erase marker on my hands." 

"Got this for you," you say, offering him the bottle. He takes it without looking. 

"Thanks. Are you feeling any better? I know you can be sensitive to the heat." 

"Maybe we can get portable fans on the FBI budget next year," you say wistfully, pushing a chair in at the table. You lean on it to grab the phone in the middle of a sea of papers and cases and jackets, black spots popping up in your vision. "My head's rushing." 

"Hey, guys," Emily says, sounding strangely chipper as she and Hotch trudge in. Her hair is in a tight ponytail away from her face. 

You try to greet them and end up hanging your head. 

"Y/N," Spencer chokes, alarmed.

You slump forward over the chair, desperate to keep your footing and failing. Your shin knocks into the chair and your hands grasp at the top of it, but you can't hold yourself up any longer, knocking your face into the chair as you collapse. A cheap tent in a strong breeze, you fall with little more than a weak sigh. 

You're hurting a lot when you come to, blinking like your lashes have been brushed with glue. The lights have been turned off, and a blissful chill soaks your hairline. Someone presses a water bottle to your lips and lifts your head. You drink half the contents in three gulps and get laid down again with the utmost care. 

"She's coming around," Hotch says. 

Your neck aches propped over a leg. Two deft hands hold your head still. 

"Don't move too much," Spencer says, his voice odd. You blink as his face moves into view upside down. "An EMT is on the way, okay? You passed out." 

You can't find your voice. Spencer strokes your cheek with his thumb, says, "Hey, can you hear me? Let's hear your voice. Talk to me." 

"You don't sound like yourself," you say hoarsely, each word tenuous. You wince at the bruising heat that radiates from your nose with each word. 

"I'm worried about you," Spencer admits. "It makes it hard to stay objective." 

"No, you sound funny." 

"I'm worried," he repeats. His smile is strained. 

"She's okay," Hotch says. 

You realise Emily's got your hand in hers when she squeezes it. "Have you had anything to drink today?" she asks you, fondly incredulous. 

"No, she hasn't, and I didn't say anything about it. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Spencer says. 

"Y/N's responsible for her own preservation, Reid. And it's been a tough case, with the heat. Let's not blame anyone for anything." You press your chin to your chest to see Hotch's anxious frown. "We will be having a discussion about this later." 

You turn your face into Spencer's thigh. "Oh." 

"Don't close your eyes," Hotch says. He employs a firm, boss-like tone that has you rushing to follow orders. "You hit your head." 

"I don't feel well," you complain, wanting to close your eyes.

"Considering your behaviour," Spencer says, one of his hands trailing down your face, neck, and collar, where he rests it genially, "you likely have a mild to moderate concussion. And you're dehydrated, so you'll be feeling the effects more severely."

"Why haven't you been drinking?" Emily asks. 

"I just…" You blink sluggishly. "I don't know… We don't take anything that isn't coffee with us places and…" You lean your cheek into Spencer's hand, not quite connecting that it's his hand, or that you're laying on the precinct floor. "They only had one bottle in the staff room." 

"Why didn't you drink it?" Spencer asks softly. 

"I knew you hadn't had anything to drink, either." 

"We could've shared," he says, sounding genuinely confused. 

"You don't like sharing stuff like that. Germs." 

Spencer's voice is barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't care about your germs, Y/N. They're your germs." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means, but you've ample time to think about it on loop when the EMT arrives. He props you up, checking you over thoroughly, shining a light in your eyes and deeming you concussed.

"You don't have to see a doctor," the EMT advises. "But we're happy to take you to the hospital if that's what you want." 

"Yes," Spencer says, as you say, "No." 

Spencer puts a hand on your shoulder blade. It is an extremely forward move on his part, so unlike him that you recognise how odd it is despite your foggy mind. "She should go." 

"She fainted, Spencer," Emily says. 

"Exactly! So she should go to the hospital and–"

"I didn't break anything," you say, waving a shaky hand at the small but concerned crowd of people you've attracted. 

"Luckily," the EMT says. "Drink plenty of water and take it easy. Don't be afraid to call again if you feel worse." 

Hotch walks the EMT out, needing to take a phone call. Emily goes with him, promising to return with a dry shirt for you to wear now that yours has been soaked at the collar by the water they'd been cooling you down with while you were unconscious. 

Spencer settles practically knee to knee with you in two of the uncomfortable chairs, his assessing gaze frankly perturbing. 

"You'd share germs with me?" you ask. 

Spencer's hand leaps across the gap to yours where it rests on your knee. His eyes, brown and sweet, have all the light of a blinding smile as his lips quirk into something more sheepish. "If it stopped you from fainting, yeah. And even if it didn't, I'd be stupid to care about germs when I…" 

You breathe out slowly. "When you what?" 

"Well," he says, looking down at your hands. "I guess I just wouldn't mind your germs, that's all." 

If he's saying what you think he's saying, he's doing it in the most Spencer Reid way possible. Concussed, your charisma fails you. You've no wit to tease him with. 

You fold your hand around his. "Thanks for catching me," you say gently. 

He squeezes your fingers clumsily. "You're welcome. But it was actually mostly Emily." 

[gaywatch]

So I started watching the first episode of The Sign, right? I'd had it on my computer for a couple/few days and couldn't immediately remember what it was actually about, but I knew it was a new Thai BL genre mashup thing I'd seen on my dash and that's good enough for me.

A team of special agents infiltrate a big warehouse/facility place at night. Okay. Cool. There are bombs and a hostage? Sure. One guy tells other guys what to do, so he must be the leader, and he tells a few guys to focus on the bombs and the others to find the hostage. They encounter bad guys when they get inside, and some of the fight choreo is cool and some of it is absurd, but I'm just happy to be seeing an action-oriented BL series and I've seen worse crimes committed by a low budget, no big deal.

But it's been a few minutes into the first episode now, and I'm starting to wonder a few things. We have stakes, technically: there are bombs and a hostage--it would be bad if the bombs went off while the team was inside because they would get hurt or killed, and by default we don't want to see a hostage harmed.

But we have no context. At all. I'm five minutes in and I know nothing. Who's the hostage? Who are the bad guys? What do the bad guys want? Why do I care? I'm assuming this is like some quick action-y beginning and we'll cut to a main character at some point to see the "real" first scene of the show, but now it's been like seven minutes and we're still here in this warehouse place. If the special ops team are supposed to be the cast, I haven't heard a single scrap of dialogue that wasn't about the task at hand. I haven't even seen anyone's face yet.

Tagging @bengiyo, @lurkingshan 'cause they were interested in a side comment I made about this in some tags.

Even when they finally start to pull up their masks and talk, it's all immediate business (which is somewhat understandable given they're in danger but we're still lacking important context). Who am I rooting for? Who are these dudes? Why is this one sequence taking over ten minutes without giving me anything or anyone to latch onto? Are they assuming I read a blurb on the premise of the show and then immediately hit play? Because that's a cardinal sin--you never assume that everyone who watches your show or reads your book will know the premise, even in this day and age. You always lay in the necessary exposition/context to immediately anchor the audience into the premise and main character (or cast). (The only time you can assume everyone already knows at least the broad strokes of a concept is in fanfiction, but even then there could still be changes you made that you need to clue people in on from the get go. )

Then Tharn got his first premonition about Phaya, and I was like 'ohhhh, this is a story about a guy with some form of precognition who's in some sort of special forces. I wish they could have brought this up ten minutes ago, but okay.'

And finally, the big reveal: it's all a test! They're trainees, not officers! Well, that certainly explains why we got zero context all this time, because they didn't want to give away The Trick. Except it didn't feel like a clever rug pull at all. Worrying that the audience will clue in to what's going on doesn't mean you get to just Not Tell Them. You mislead them instead. The team could have easily rattled off the necessary details and context about the mission--after the training reveal, we would have chalked it up to practice mission prep. And with no context or reason to care about anything, I sat there for fifteen minutes only to be told that I didn't have to care anyway because it was all staged.

I would have taken any context, even something super cliche and ham fisted. "Okay boys, remember: our old mission commander is being held hostage in there and they'll kill him unless we hand over their psychotic leader. It took us weeks to track them down to this warehouse, and if they escape again it's game over. Don't let me down!" or something, anything for me to latch onto besides Dudes Doing Things. It's okay to mislead the audience, in fact you pretty much have to in order to pull the well worn "it was all an exercise" trick in the first place.

And fifteen minutes to pull all that off was a rather astonishing waste of screen time. The opening scene in the 2009 reboot of Star Trek establishes a handful of characters, makes you care about them, takes them through an amazing high stakes action sequence, and has you in tears at the end as we watch a guy we've only known for a few minutes sacrifice himself to save what's left of the crew as the film's protagonist--his son--is literally born, and it does all of that in almost half the time.

Compare that to The Sign, where in fifteen minutes we know: dudes in black fight things, one guy has premonitions, and actually they're trainees. No complexity, emotional stakes, or context beyond that. I was floored.

But what really made my jaw drop came after that.

A first episode has a lot of heavy lifting to do. You're introducing a world, a cast, promising the type of fun that's to be had, kickstarting the central relationships, etc etc. One of the most fundamental aspects to all this set up is to let us know why the main character/cast is here, what they're trying to do, and why it matters if they fail. And the entire first episode of the sign doesn't have that. At all. Period.

Oh, we're introduced to characters, the harsh training, Tharn's gift, Tharn and Phaya's initial dynamic, but once again we're given no context or emotionally relevant exposition. Who are these dudes? Why are they training? Why do they care about becoming special ops? What's their motivation? Goals? Obstacles in the way of that goal? Motive/Goal/Obstacle is the engine of story, and we're not given a single one until--and this is what blew my mind--almost halfway through the second episode.

In episode two we finally get a line from Tharn's bff about how if Tharn doesn't get onto the special ops team he won't be able to investigate his dad's (parents? can't remember) mysterious death.

A goal! A reason to care about Tharn's training! Emotional investment! Except it's coming way, way, wayyyyyyyyyyy too late. We should have known about this in the first five minutes of episode one. They should've found another fake hostage, Tharn should've lifted his mask and said "shit, if we fail this I'll never have what I need to find out how dad died." THANK YOU, now I have a reason to care.

I was shocked at such a massive oversight, like I'm gonna remember it as a cautionary example for a long time 'cause that's just wild to me.