#television outreach

[play-bigfaster-podcast]

Want to learn how to get press coverage, land media interviews, and boost your PR strategy? In this episode, public relations expert and media consultant Mitch Carson reveals his proven publicity tactics for entrepreneurs, business owners, and personal brands looking to get featured in major media outlets. Mitch Carson is a media publicity expert and founder of Get Interviewed Guaranteed. With over 20 years of experience in media relations, Mitch has helped countless CEOs, speakers, authors, and entrepreneurs secure coverage on major networks including CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox. Discover how to optimize your press releases, leverage breaking news through newsjacking, and measure your publicity ROI. Mitch shares his proven system for turning media appearances into measurable business results. Whether you're just starting your publicity journey or looking to scale your media presence, this episode provides actionable strategies you can implement immediately. 🎯 EPISODE HIGHLIGHTS: - How to get press coverage without hiring an expensive PR firm - Media pitching strategies that actually work in 2024 - Step-by-step guide to landing television interviews - Free publicity tactics for small business owners - Tips for getting featured in Forbes, Entrepreneur, and top publications 👉 WHO THIS EPISODE IS FOR: - Entrepreneurs seeking media exposure - Small business owners wanting press coverage - Personal brands looking to get featured in media - Startups needing PR strategy guidance - Authors and speakers pursuing publicity - Coaches and consultants seeking credibility - Business leaders wanting television interviews   #PublicRelations #MediaCoverage #PRStrategy #Publicity #PressRelease #MediaRelations #BusinessGrowth #Entrepreneurship #Marketing #PersonalBranding

[agaypanic]

hi omg i got so excited when i saw you were doing egon spengler x reader aaaa! could you do egon and an personality opposite reader? he's all serious and deadpan while she's happy and upbeat (it'd be cool if she was the new girl in the team and had a crush on him). sort of like a "she fell first, he fell harder" situation?

The Sunlight On My Spores (Egon Spengler X Reader)

Masterlist

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Summary: The new addition to the ghostbuster’s team is a ray of sunshine, and she has her sights on a scientist with an interest in fungi and the supernatural.

A/N: AHHHHH ive been waiting for an egon/ghostbuster request!!! since i havent written for egon before, i hope i get his character right lol also idk shit about science/paranormal jargon. and idk if eegs is spelled the way it should but it’s pronounced ee-gs, like egon but s instead of on

***

Joining the Ghostbusters definitely brought amusement and hecticness to your daily life. Although you handled more of the office work, you had seen your fair share of the paranormal action. Namely Slimer, who would get ahold of your lunch every now and then.

Ray was the first on the team that you had met, being the one to interview you. You liked to call him ‘Sun-Ray’ for his bright and positive personality.

You were pretty much hired on the spot, mainly because Janine had been complaining about the lack of extra help. But as long as you had a steady paycheck, you didn’t mind. Ray had immediately showed you around the firehouse. You met Peter and Winston on the main floor, the former being flirtatious and the latter being more polite in his welcoming. 

Then Ray took you up to the second floor, where the dining area, sleeping quarters, and lab were.

That’s where you met Egon Spengler. His tall frame was hunched over one of the lab’s many workbenches, doing some soldering work on a proton pack.

“Spengs!” Ray said with a wide grin, bringing you over to the scientist. The man in question set down the soldering iron and straightened up, adjusting his glasses as he turned around.

“What is it, Ray?” He asked in a somewhat monotone voice. He glanced at you, furrowing his brows slightly before looking back at his friend. “Who’s this?”

“This is Y/n, our new recruit!” Ray replied enthusiastically, patting you on the shoulder. 

“Ah, so you’ve filled the new receptionist position.” He said, giving you a once-over. “Janine will be happy to hear that.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Spengler.” You greeted with a smile. He outreached his hand, which you grasped firmly and gave a few shakes. His hand was slightly calloused, probably from his work, but still felt nice.

“Egon’s fine.”

“I’ve read a few of your papers on paranormal studies; I think the whole thing’s fascinating.” 

Some of his research papers weren’t the only thing of Egon’s you’ve seen. Ever since the Ghostbusters had gained some popularity, you couldn’t help but find him quite cute, spending an extra few seconds looking at him whenever a picture of the group was in your newspaper or on your television screen. 

And he was definitely even more handsome in person.

“Well then, you’ve definitely come to the right place.” Ray grinned, but your focus was still on the spectacled man before you.

“Thank you, that’s very flattering.” Although his voice was a bit monotonous, the response was genuine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my spore samples.”

“Spore samples?” You asked with curiosity.

“Yes. I collect spores, molds, and fungus.” 

“That sounds like fun!” Egon was a bit taken aback by your response. That wasn’t a reply he was used to hearing. And the fact that you sounded genuine and peppy was even more confusing to him. 

Ray, wanting to show you the rest of the firehouse, started to pull you away. You gave a quick goodbye to Egon before bounding down the stairs after Ray. Meanwhile, Egon needed to take a second to get his befuddled thoughts straight before he could tend to his samples.

***

You fell into a routine pretty quickly. The job was mainly making appointments and ensuring the boys were ready for a call, scheduled or unexpected. Occasionally, you filed paperwork or got coffee for everyone at odd hours in the day. But because the job was shared between you and Janine, you often had at least a little bit of free time.

“Got another one!” Peter announced as he stepped out of the Ecto-1 that had just rolled into the firehouse, holding up a slightly smoking trap. As Winston and Ray emerged from the car, you wondered if Peter had been wearing a poncho because he was the only one not covered at least halfway in goo. “He was a real slimy one, too.”

“I can tell.” You laughed as Ray and Winston peeled out of their uniforms with a grimace. 

“You’re back.” Egon’s voice almost made you jump; you hadn’t realized he had come down from the lab. He walked until he was standing next to you, holding his hand out towards the ghost trap. “I’ll take that, Peter. Ray, come with me, I want to discuss the containment facility with you.”

“What about it?” Ray asked as he closed his locker. Egon brushed past you to walk down to the basement, Ray close behind.

Not wanting to be caught staring at Egon’s leaving form, you whipped back around to the car. It seemed that Winston and Ray weren’t the only ones who got slimed. Poor Ecto.

“I think I’m gonna clean the car.” You thought aloud. “You guys don’t have any more calls until tomorrow.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Y/n,” Winston said. 

“Well, someone’s gotta do it,” Peter interjected. “We gotta ride in style, after all.”

“Really, Winston, I don’t mind.” You insisted. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Suit yourself.” He said with a shrug.

Patting you on the shoulder, Winston went upstairs to take a shower. While Peter hung up his jumpsuit, you looked around in a storage closet for car washing supplies.

“Y/n?” You looked towards the sound of the voice, seeing Egon peeking out of the basement entrance.

“Yeah, Eegs?”

“You, uh-” He cleared his throat, cheeks going slightly pink, and you wondered why. “You can wear my jumpsuit, if you want. So your clothes don’t get dirty.”

You grinned, straightening up from your slightly bent position. Peter raised a brow at Egon, although you couldn’t see that because you were also looking at the tall man.

“Thanks, Egon!”

He nodded once before going back downstairs, Peter hot on his tail. 

“You sweet on her or something, Spengs?” He asked quietly, not wanting to gain your attention.

“Shut up, Venkman.”

***

Music blasted as you washed the soap suds of the Ecto-1. You were pretty sure everyone was out of the building, either getting lunch or just not wanting to be in the firehouse. You had taken Egon up on his offer, his jumpsuit fitting very baggy on you. You had to roll up the sleeves and pantlegs, but you didn’t mind. Especially when seeing the patch with his last name on your chest.

Over the music and your own voice singing along to Whitney Houston, you didn’t hear Egon walking down the stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he watched as you jumped around to the beat. 

“I need a man who’ll take the chance, on a love that burns hot enough to last.” You sprayed the last of the soap off the front of the car before turning the hose off. “So when the night falls, my lonely heart calls. Ohh- Oh!” You yelped in surprise as you turned around, seeing Egon, who was still looking at you. His eyes trailed up and down your form, but it was so quick that you didn’t notice. “Hey, Eegs! I thought you’d gone out with the others.” Even after turning down the radio to hear his response, you still danced a bit. Although, your movements were a bit more subdued.

“I was up in the lab, checking on my fungi.” 

“Oh! Was the music distracting you?” You asked, already sounding apologetic. “I can keep it down if you-”

“No!” Egon answered quickly, taking the both of you by surprise. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “No, the music’s fine. I wanted a snack and found that we were out of Twinkies, so I was going to get some.” 

You nodded in understanding, moving to put away the car cleaning supplies that you were no longer using. And then you noticed that Egon hadn’t made any move to leave. You looked over your shoulder, seeing that he was standing in the same spot with eyes darting around the room, and turned back around to face him. You tilted your head with a questioning look.

“Would you, ahem, would you like to come with me?” He seemed a bit shy to ask, and it made you smile brightly. “Wouldn’t want to leave you here all alone and all.”

“Sure!” You answered enthusiastically. “Lemme just put all this away.” 

Without asking, Egon helped you gather everything and put it in the storage closet. You unrolled the limbs of Egon’s uniform, and he couldn’t help but admire you in his attire, despite how much the fabric consumed you. It was hung back up in his locker with care before you grabbed your purse from your desk and skipped over to him.

“Ready?” You nodded, and the two of you walked out of the firehouse. Without thinking, you looped your arm through his. But before you could pull away and apologize for not asking, he was already pulling you along the sidewalk, the tiniest hint of a smile on his serious face.

[arjudy224]

The Intern (Day one)

Working for the Gotham Department of Environmental Protection is not for the weak of heart. Follow along for a day in the life of Gotham’s newest environmental intern.

What did he say in the interview? “We typically don’t take interns.” With each slippery stride through god knows what, I think I understand why. Who’s takes the intern on a tour of the sewer on their first day?

I don’t complain though; Dr. Harrison is not kind to complainers. If you can ignore the horrendous smell and the suits ability to become a sauna within a couple steps, it is really just like any other job. My boss calls over his shoulder.

“You brought that pepper spray right?”

I pause for a moment to adjust my suit.

“Yes sir.”

Why would they create a hazardous waste suit with such narrow eye holes? Fumbling with my mask, I stumble straight into a surprisingly solid member of my group.

“I’m sorry…” I apologize backing away.

Pulling my arms out of the external sleeves, I manage to wipe out the fogged up interior goggles. Once my field of vision clears, my heart drops.

The scales draw my attention first. In the dark, they shimmer and shine against the waste water. I’ve never seen anything like it. The hulking figure peers down at me with eyes that glow yellow in the dark.

When I was a kid, I used to love Animal planet. It didn’t matter how cruel the animal kingdom was; I was enthralled learning about it. Crocodiles have the strongest jaws in the animal kingdom. They can cut through bone… easily.

Trying to ignore the vivid image of a crocodile crushing a pigs skull on network television, I smile awkwardly underneath all my layers. He has a skin condition; this is a human man.

“I didn’t see you there. Thank you for steadying me.”

The prehistoric looking man regards me with curiosity. He is human…A human with razor sharp claws that have allegedly skewered other humans for dinner…Nobody’s perfect?

Before I can contemplate what my skull would sound like getting snapped in half, Dr. Harrison interrupts the silence.

“Waylon, meet our newest intern. You two will be running into each other quite a bit this summer.”

Hesitantly, I reach out my trembling hand.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Jones. I hope to see you around.”

The reptilian eyes regard me with suspicion. In a swift motion, Killer Croc’s scaled hand envelops mine in a slightly painful shake.

“The last one said the same thing before I had to pick them out of my teeth.”

Oh god. A loud burst of nervous laughter explodes from my chest.

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. I carry floss on me.”

Both men flash incredulous glances my way.

This is going to be a long summer.

The Intern: Gotham x reader

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

[hanibalistic]

ALIEN OUTREACH PROGRAM | KIM JONGSEOB. HAKU SHOTA.

genre | fluff / found family au, slice of life au 

synopsis | when a planet exploded, the government sent two of its surviving residents to live with you .  

word count | 11.5k+

warning | mention of violence / unwanted sexual advances (brief; side character)

note | wrote most of this early 2024 and stopped. decided to rush finish it.

The government sent you two aliens from the alien outreach program you were referred to join by a close friend. 

The program was recently created when a nameless planet that was initially suspected to be on its way to collide with the Earth ended up exploding instead. The news of the explosion was broadcast worldwide, but the fact that the surviving residents of the planet landed on Earth as a result of the explosion was kept secret to avoid social panic, hence why the outreach program operated on a 'referral only’ basis. 

Each applicant underwent a relatively easy screening process and three rounds of interviews before they were notified through an encrypted text message that they’d been cleared to foster.

You underwent the same process, and in retrospect, you figured the interviews were held for the faculty to access all aspects of your life, beginning from your social circle to the depths of your mental state.

At the end of your onboarding process, you were told that you would be fostering a pair of aliens—a pair of brothers, they suspected. Either way, you were told they were bonded. 

You hadn’t minded the responsibility. If anything, you figured the monthly financial compensation could significantly help your appalling rent situation. The cog in the wheel was that they were initially tested to be high-risk-level aliens.

The only reason you could think was behind that outrageous decision was not their trust in your ability to monitor them but rather their disinterest in your livelihood as a struggling new graduate.

You could always leave it to the government to treat poor people like guinea pigs. But, the more you looked at it, Soul and Jongseob didn't seem as dangerous as their profiles stated. 

Soul and Jongseob—they didn't come with those names, which hadn’t been a problem during the first few weeks of their stay when the three of you spent most of your time getting acquainted with each other. 

You weren’t sure how shaken up they were about their home being destroyed, so besides being cautious of their undisclosed alien abilities, you walked on eggshells around them in consideration for their emotional state. 

The two were docile, for the most part, and quiet. When they weren’t whispering among themselves, they were communicating telepathically. Figuratively or literally, you were uncertain. You only knew they were difficult to read without human features. You never knew what they wanted or how they felt about anything outside of observable behaviors, such as their obsession with the television, their likeness for sweets, and their unwillingness to shower. 

The program coordinator hasn't given them the green light to go out and explore Earth on their own yet, so before you could figure out how to ideally talk them up in the mandatory monthly progress reports, they've got no choice but to stay home and discover entertainment through unconventional means. 

It was the furniture at first. Charred spots on the couch left behind by the apartment’s last tenant, the hinges of the balcony curtain rod torn off, and the worst of it all: shattered pieces of a set of utensils that your deceased mom gave you as a congratulatory gift for moving out, thus taking a big step into adulthood.

That was the first time they’d seen you sob, your body curled up on the floor and your palm stained with blood slit out by the broken glass. They had been unfamiliar with human emotions at that point in their stay. Still, taking a frame out of television shows, they could understand, at the very least, that what you showed was sorrow and heartbreak.

They didn't understand the concept of a mother. After all, they were born through natural phenomena, such as the trickling of water or the imploding of ancient rocks. Your response to their playful mistake was illogical. However, still, it made them fidget and waver wildly to watch tears roll callously into your mouth.

People call it empathy, they thought. Empathy, or love—the inability to see another in pain, the desire to never hurt another. Most humans have it for everyone, but more strongly for those they prioritize. 

A few days later, a plate clumsily glued together by gray-colored blobs that looked suspiciously like alien skin greeted you on your nightstand. You never said anything about it, but you put it in your mother’s shrine in the apartment.

Little did you know that sometimes, in an attempt to model your actions, Jongseob and Soul would put pieces of candy next to the plate for her.

After the furniture, they tuned down their drive for curiosity. They played with less significant things, such as your freshly cleaned laundry.

At last, it came down to electronics—the television, the radio, and sometimes your laptop and gaming console. Jongseob geared more toward the console and television, and Soul liked anything that made funny noises. 

As they got comfortable around the apartment and started clashing with your lifestyle, it gradually became more annoying to address them with words like 'hey!' and ‘you!' when you needed to scold them about something they've done, so you decided individual names were necessary. 

Mercifully abandoning a random name generator online, you told the two aliens to choose how they wanted to be addressed. 

Soul had been very excited about picking a name for himself. His outrageous choices reflected his enthusiasm, ranging from food ingredients to fictional character names to literal home appliances.

You've had to—patiently and gently—explain to him for a month the reason why you wouldn't call him Megamind or the literal stove was because they weren't real names (and you didn't want to). 

Eventually, you two made a compromise. The initial choice was to have everyone call him by the famous RPG he never played—Dark Souls. He settled on being called Soul.

Jongseob was more direct but still indecisive. He mixed a few celebrity names he heard on TV into different pairs. He handed you a written list—surprisingly!—of names for you to choose.

You didn’t want the responsibility of selecting something as important as a name, so you told him you could put out a pointer finger, and whichever name you ended up pointing at after he moved the paper around would be his name. 

After hearing how mundane Jongseob's name sounded, Soul came to you one night and asked that you help him think of a name of a similar caliber. He had requested that you keep this between you both, as he didn't go to Jongseob about it out of embarrassment that his other half would accuse him of being a copycat. 

You attempted to deter Soul from such outrageous thoughts. Jongseob was the last person to make unnecessary accusations, after all. But Soul was determined to keep this a secret between you two, so you agreed.

It was proven difficult for him to make up something normal, as he tossed and turned for several nights only to end up knocking on your bedroom door, asking for a second opinion.

You had stayed up with him for a few nights, often laying half-asleep on the couch while he remained silent on the opposite end with pursed lips and intense eyes.

One particular night, though, you decided to turn on the television to keep yourself awake, and the channel was airing a rerun of an old, beloved cartoon.

“Oh gosh, I haven’t watched this in so long,” you exclaimed under your breath as you leaned back, the controller rolling off your thigh. “This was my childhood afterschool show.”

“Woah,” he scooted closer to you, “that’s cool.”

"It is," you muttered, wholly focused on the screen. When a particular ice-powered character appeared, you let out a soft swoon. "Ah, look at him! He's still as cool as ever."

“Who's that?” he whispered. 

“His name is Shota. He was my favorite character in the show,” you said, heaving a sigh as rather embarrassing memories flooded before your eyes. “I loved him so much.”

Soul turned to you. The lights flickered in your eyes, not telling him much of what was happening in the episode but enough to let him know that you were paying a lot of attention whenever the character was present.

He noticed now that you've leaned your head on his shoulder, and your eyelids were lowering by the second. The previous attention you spent on the TV screen was replaced quickly by sleepiness under the comfort of Soul's presence. 

“You did?”

"Yeah?" you hummed, his sudden question confusing your own emotions for a second. "I mean, yeah. He is really cool and–okay, technically, everyone in animation is good-looking, but he was my type."

"Oh." His voice trailed off into deep thought, but it didn't take him too long to perk up again and say, "I want to be called Shota."

You raised your brows and sat up, leaning back to watch him with amusement. “You like the name, huh?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You like Shota.”

There it was, then. Soul gained a new name that night—Shota. 

Being able to call them by name gave them a sense of identity, and you had a drastic development in your connection with them. You thought you’d always received them without judgment, and you did.

Still, once it registered in your normalcy that they’ve got a name, it was as if their existence became more tangible. However, as important as that, the first milestone of your relationship was when they finally took a human form.

Before realizing they could shapeshift, they’ve been stuck in their alien form, which you thought was similar to how movies and video games have always portrayed outer-space species.

You wouldn’t have minded if they stayed in that form until it was time for them to be recalled to the facility they came from, but it seemed they were the ones who got curious about the human body.

You’ve noticed for a while how they would shift parts of their figure according to what they see, sometimes after people on the TV and other times after you.

What you thought would be a slow process turned out to be done and over between you leaving the apartment in the early morning and returning from work in the late afternoon.

Surprisingly, seeing two poorly shaped human boys loitering around in your apartment instead of the usual irregularly shaped creatures was less bewildering than seeing your old sketchbooks scattered everywhere on the floor.

Those were your fallen dreams, a career not pursued in exchange for securing a stable future, which wasn’t all that stable now that you're going through it. 

You knew they were bored at home. Still, it was a surprise to see that they'd found the boxes of old things dusted away at the back of your closet—what were they doing rummaging through your clothes, anyway? You’ve got to have a strict talk about boundaries after this.

At least their attention was away from the fabrics in your closet as they pulled out your sketchbooks and decided to change themselves according to the most appealing visual. However, since your old character sketches were amateur and poorly drawn, their shifted bodies looked sloppy and humorously eerie. 

Soul wasn't entirely sure what was wrong about it, especially since you couldn’t stop laughing when you saw them, and Jongseob taught him that laughing meant joy.

When you picked up one of the books to flip through them, your smile dimmed, and your eyes focused in a way he had never seen before. Jongseob later told him it may be bitterness, but not the angered kind because your eyes were soft. 

Soul didn’t quite understand the distinction; your eyes were almost always soft.

That night was the first time in a long time you picked up a pen and drew something again so you could help them polish their appearances. Through that experience, you learned two things: your drawing skills have massively deteriorated, and aliens were indistinguishable from humans once they took a hyperspecific form, to a point where they bleed the same color. 

Both settled on having blond hair, one frizzier than the other. Looking from far away would force you to mistake them as twins, but this was leagues better than communicating with two gooey creatures without solid features or forms.

You stared at the pencil sketches on the pages and back up at them, finding it uncanny how accurate their shapeshifting abilities were. Then you turned to them with furrowed brows.

“Both your hair is a little long,” you muttered.

Tapping the pencil at your chin, you thought about making modifications to what you’ve drawn for them, but when you told yourself to flip the pencil around for the eraser, your hand was unwilling to move.

You have sat on the floor for hours, drawing and erasing, making changes and corrections that suit their liking and help them look natural. You weren’t sure if they got tired from using their powers, but you certainly became exhausted from gripping a pen for so long. You’ve been too used to typing on a keyboard.

“Wait here,” you said, putting the papers and pen on the side.

You returned with a few trinkets in your hand, which you dropped on the floor after you knelt down across from them. 

Scooting in front of Jongseob first, you hummed with disregard to his skeptical gaze as you played with the hair clips in your hand by smushing them together. 

When you reached a hand out to push his bangs back, he caught a glimpse of the darkened slit still healing on your palm. He ignored it. You pushed at the tips of his locks ghostly with your nails before pressing a palm to his forehead and swiping his bangs up, exposing his forehead.

The boy closed his eyes at the sudden impact, and when the chilly afternoon air hit his skin, he widened his eyes and pursed his lips into a grimace. 

Before they took a solid shape, your touch would go through their gooey form and feel indistinguishable from any objects that would poke through them.

This was the first time he’d felt the touch of your hand, and he thought it was as gentle as Soul must have thought your eyes were. Unlike Soul, though, he would never admit that he inwardly shivered in contentment when your palm subconsciously dragged over his head into a stroke. 

“This should keep the hair out of your eyes,” you said after clipping his bangs to each side of his face. You leaned back to take a better look at him and nodded in approval despite him looking as if he just snapped out of a trance. “You look great.”

“You drew me well,” he said. “Thank you.”

"You're so formal, Jongseob," you mused, placing your hand against his cheek before pinching it playfully. "But being polite is good. You are most welcome."

Your injured palm touched his skin, the calloused surface dragging a regrettable line over his conscience. He hoped it would heal faster; it was a marker of his mistake, a symbol of your pain.

But, still, you used the same hand to tread over him with kind steps, so most importantly, it was all a sign of your forgiveness. He turned his head away from your pinch, but he didn't let himself swat you away for embarrassing him.

You laughed at his reaction. The sound took root inside him and made a permanent space. 

“Now, Soul!” you exclaimed once you pulled away.

The boy remained still when you stood up and got behind him. After bouncing the hair tie against your wrist, you sat on the couch, and then you laid your hands over his head and carefully brushed his hair with your fingers.

You gathered just enough to fill your curled fist, your nails gingerly dragged over the side of his head to separate parts of his bangs, and then you tied it into a short ponytail. 

Once you were done, you attempted to stand up to move across him for a review of your handiwork, but Soul suddenly leaned back against your legs, the back of his head hitting your knees when he faced up to look at you.

His hair brushed against your skin like a choppy broom, and then you forgot about the sensation as you met his eyes with a raised brow. 

The corner of his lips quivered, and his eyes were round and wide with expectancy. When he realized you let him lay on your knees, his lips pursed into a grin, his knees pulling themselves closer to his chest as his shoulders shrunk with a barely audible laugh.

“What did you do to my hair?” he asked curiously. 

“I tied it into a ponytail,” you replied as you angled your torso to look at his face straight, “so they’re not in your face all the time.” 

He closed his eyes when you fixed his bangs with your fingertips. Once they were perfectly angled to each side of his temple, you ran your palm flatly down the side of his face, soothing his new hairstyle with a taste of approval.

Soul pressed his lips into a grin; his eyes opened but were barely visible, hidden behind crescent shapes. You bit back a smile; you just now noticed how his features turned out so dainty like a flower learning how to bloom in Spring. 

"Hey, look at you," you said in an airy whisper. "How pretty you are.”

He laughed, his voice a weirdly pitched wave released into the air, almost like he was yodeling. Jongseob huffed in disbelief at the unexpected sound; questions, and brotherly mockery trailing out of his mouth, one worse than the last. You turned to bicker with him about saying nicer things, and Soul couldn't sense anything other than your warm hands left sitting by his jaw. 

He watched you from your knees. Your chin moved with every word you said, your nails gently scratched his skin between sentences, your legs frozen on the spot to avoid discomforting him.

It was human nature. Everything.

The way your skin flopped, the way you subconsciously reached to touch, the way you put him first. Those traits were possessed by most human beings, but Soul reckoned he admired them more when they were yours. 

What was that called? Jongseob taught him so many things; he was always smarter. But Soul couldn't properly receive too much information at once, not at the pace Jongseob could retain them. Was this joy? No. His fingers were itching for you, which was not a criterion for joy. 

You looked down at him when you felt his hands grab your shoulders. "What's up, Soul?" 

He made unclear noises as he flipped his body over, his chest pressing against your knees. He got on his feet into a crouch and leaned up, his arms circling around your neck into a hug.

You fell back against the couch and froze to register what he did. Before you could figure out he tackled you in a hug, your arms had already gone around his shoulders to press him against you. 

“Hey,” you whispered. “What’s going on?”

Soul bit the inside of his cheek when he realized you allowed it. He could feel you so much more properly now, and he responded to the revelation by holding you tighter and burying his chin in his overlapped forearms.

His eyes squeezed to relish in—what was this feeling, again? Joy? He wasn't exactly smiling, though. The way his brows were pulled into a swirly furrow, and his lips were downturned would show that he was sad. But he wasn't. He was happy and tackled you because he wanted to hug you. 

"I really like you."

You blinked, your lips gradually pulling into a downward smile. "Where did you learn that from?"

"Hmm." His voice was muffled. He didn't want you to know he learned it from you. 

The two got the authorization to leave the apartment after you wrote in the monthly report that they've changed shapes and, more frequently than before, began to express their feelings.

However, they rarely took advantage of the newfound freedom, and you understood why. 

They have yet to learn how to get around the area using public transportation. If the metro lines were less complicated than what was currently set in place, they may have an easier time navigating it.

Alas, the metro system remained both a local and a tourist's nightmare. However, even if they knew how to take the bus or the train, they've yet to learn where to go because they've never been outside. 

And, last but not least, they didn't have the money to make going out enjoyable.

You have taken them out to different places after determining all the necessary expenses, such as the increased bills and grocery items. You would use whatever was left over from the program funds to take them to weekend hangouts. 

There was the outlet where you bought them new clothes and their designated utensil set because they apparently needed their own.

There was the arcade, where you had sworn they used alien means to get all the prizes they did, but you also wouldn't put it past Jongseob to be weirdly good at gauging the space of a claw machine.

Oh, and a science museum, which you didn't think Jongseob was too interested in, but he hadn't complained because Soul was having the time of his life at the exhibitions. 

You let them try alcohol by the river at night once. Turned out their bodies automatically eliminated all the intoxicating substances, so they were only tasting the bitterness without getting drunk.

That could be a blessing or a curse; without intoxication, you weren't sure what alcohol is good for.

You ended up dousing yourself with all leftover bottles of beer and entirely blanked out that night. You couldn't remember what happened, so the two made sure they told you the following day about how you were sobbing and throwing up. You cried for your mother, and you told them they were the closest people you've got. 

You had woken up with the two on your bed. Jongseob slept with a box of tissue near his hand, always prepared to jolt awake to catch your puke and wipe your mouth of snot. Soul was curled up next to you with puffy and swollen eyes.

Apparently, he wept alongside you because he thought you were in too much pain to even move from the floor, and he didn't know how to help. He had cried so much that he tired himself to sleep, but he kept close to you to make sure your heart was constantly beating.

You haven't drunk much since, knowing how much they hated your drunken state. If you were getting drunk, it was out of obligation, like when you were invited to a business meeting.

You remembered that night well. It was the night you discovered why Jongseob and Soul were considered high-risk. 

It wasn't uncommon for interns or someone of a lower rank in the company to be taken advantage of during business meetings.

When a topic could be adequately discussed and solved by presenting a supervisor with ample knowledge, yet the department chose to bring an extra, much younger employer as a companion, it was almost always a perverted decision.

You were no stranger to the problem. You have seen your colleagues be invited to join business meetings like those before, but this was the first time you were called to be in one. 

The social hierarchy and the risk of unemployment made it impossible for you to turn down shots pushed your way by the department head from the negotiating company, who your supervisor was trying to rope into a grand business deal.

After a few drinks, you have entirely given up on expecting decency from anyone at the table. At least your supervisor was having a great time. Your words slurring through your unstable body jolts made the negotiation easier, and you unknowingly helped your company seal a deal when you clumsily agreed to have the department head drive you home. 

He remarked about your tense knuckles on the drive home, acknowledging your skepticism but not challenging it. You watched the road like a hawk, or as much as you could, with your vision slightly blurred anyway because you wanted to ensure he wouldn't drive you elsewhere. He didn't.

After what felt like years, you arrived at the apartment building and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Thank you for driving me home," you said with a curt bow after you gathered your things from the floor. 

"You're welcome," he mused, watching you clumsily loop your forearm over the straps of your bag. He leaned over the passenger seat then, whiffs of alcohol unmistakable in the air. "Hey, I should walk you upstairs. I wanna make sure you get back safely."

"That's not necessary," you said after a low, thoughtful hum. You didn't look at him when you spoke, partly because you were having difficulty focusing on anything other than the acidic taste at the back of your mouth.

"I… I have someone at home. He's going to–um… he's going meet me by the elevator. He'll walk me up."

"Oh? I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"I don't–" you squeezed your eyes tightly and shook yourself awake–"I mean, yes. I do have a boyfriend. He's coming down to get me.”

The man stared at you silently for an uncomfortable, calculative second. Your head was heavy from his stare, mixed in with the alcohol trying to take over.

You unconsciously licked the corner of your lips when you tried to find something to fill the unease, only to realize that the only way to feel better was to leave his car. You reached for the door handle behind you blindly. Unfortunately, the search for it has given him the time to press the master lock button on his side of the door. 

“I should get going," you said after heaving a defeated sigh.

"You don't actually have a boyfriend, do you?" he muttered.

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't, but it was true that there were people at home waiting for your return, both harboring the potential to be mistaken as your boyfriend if seen by an unassuming person.

You were forbidden from coming clean about Soul and Jongseob's identity, but what other reason could there be for you to have two boys sitting in your apartment? You three were orphans, and they're your brothers! Or were you just letting two friends crash at yours? You weren't thinking fast enough to pull a story out of thin air.

"Look, I don't know what made you so scared. I'm not going to ask to go inside your apartment. Trust me. I'm just going to walk you upstairs and make sure you get inside."

"No." You shook your head. Even in mild drunkenness, you could sense that the man had no good intentions. "I can do that myself. Thank you."

You pressed the lock button and pulled the door handle. You hastily flung the car door open, finding it difficult to push it all the way.

Turning around, fully prepared to dash out the second your feet touched the floor, an impending doom dropped on your head when you heard a haphazard opening of a car door behind you.

You clutched your bag to your chest and slid off the passenger seat, borderline hopping out of the car. Your ankle bent, but you recovered reasonably quickly. The next step in your emergency plan was to run for it; you've got your keycard attached to your worker's badge. All you needed to do was open the door and slam it shut behind you. 

Spinning away from the car door blocking your path, as you hastily pushed it all the way open, you were immediately met with a playful scream and a pair of hands gripping your shoulders. You inhaled sharply and accidentally swallowed the knot of air. 

"You didn't have to make things so difficult,” he said as he shoved you back onto the passenger seat. "Why did you have to go and force me to act so violently? All you had to do was let me walk you home.” 

Gurgle of saliva rushed up your throat to drown out your cries for help. The back of your mouth soured with an acidic taste that smelt of the beer you were forced to drink; if only they could burn human skin, you would have spat them out.

The knot of air you just swallowed squeezed through your chest with difficulty, almost as if it wanted to make a home for itself in the middle of your body. It made you choked up. Breathing with your chest became a stagnant process. 

There was no security at your building, and you figured the other residents would ignore any noise, given this was no high-class estate and the walls were thin.

Screaming would only make the man angrier and possibly more excited. Instead of your voice, you should use your legs instead. There may not be any final blows, but at least there's a chance to delay what felt like the inevitable. 

You kicked your feet blindly, feeling them land on solid ground several times, but not enough to release yourself from his grasp. Eventually, he groaned out loud and dug his nails into your arm, bringing your torso up quickly just to slam you down.

Your back hit the center console, the bottom of your neck scratched past the gear stick, and your head hit a solid surface.

Zaps of painful numbness ran through your body; a consistent ringing traveled to your ears, but you couldn't express it. Tears dripped from your eyes when you started to desperately claw at the hand undoing your belt, but you still couldn't say anything.

You only stared at the lights above you. They were blinding, like the eyes of a God. He was observing your struggle to be free of being violated. 

The sound of a zipper reverberated in your head. You've never noticed how loud they were and wondered if you would always hear it after tonight.

Fingers hooked themselves at the waist of your pants, and the next second they were gone. A pained groan traveled through the air with a gentle swoosh of wind. You needed to find out which one came first.

Jongseob hasn't used his powers for a while and has been diligent about controlling them in emergencies where they were prone to slip through his grasp. It had been challenging to learn to live in a world where his powers were destructive only because of how delicate everything else was, but he have managed well so far.

Still, his body was not used to its sudden usage, evidently shown in the way his fingers twitched uncontrollably after he pulled the man off you. A sneer found its way to his lips; how sickening to think that his undoing could be at the hands of a predator.

Rushing over to the car door, he leaned over your body to carefully pull you up. You instinctively flinched at his touch and then calmed down the next second when you realized he was not aggressive.

He reached a hand behind your head, fingers moving about to look for any apparent injuries. When he concluded that there was none, he turned his attention to you. 

“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Jongseob."

You forced your stomach to stop shivering in more oxygen and turned your eyes to stare at his familiar face. Jongseob, with his blond hair curly as ever, stared back at you with soft concern.

You calmed down; it was an instinct learned from caring for them (or your apartment) when they first arrived to live with you. 

Reaching up to grasp his wrist, you stopped his hand and hoarsely asked, "Why are you down here?"

"I heard your tears fall," he said, his fingers leaning out to wipe the tears from your cheek despite your soft protest. 

"From all the way up?" 

"The air shifts when that happens. I'm sensitive to you–" he looked away sheepishly and quickly shrugged–"these things. I'm sensitive to these things in general."

Jongseob was vigilant. His home planet blew up, and he has a brother much clumsier than himself. His vigilance and maturity were set in place for both of them, especially as they were thrown into an unfamiliar place.

You understood. You’ve never spoken about it in great detail, only ever making small spaces to praise him for his emotional intelligence. 

There had been an irk in his intuition before he rushed downstairs. The television sounded of static, the uncomfortable stick of your couch, his inability to progress in the game he was playing—everything gradually added to the unknown irritation he felt beneath his skin until, finally, a shatter of glass.

It was a hallucination, but when he turned toward the kitchen, he realized the air was painted the same color as the first time you broke down in front of him. 

Something was wrong. He knew he would figure it out because he was sensitive to you. The sound of your emotions has long taken root and bloomed in Jongseob's consciousness, a garden of his own making, and now he could pinpoint you from a mere drop in the air.

You couldn't find flaws in his response. There never was any; the caliber of aliens remained unknown to you the past months. But he's here, and you felt safer than ever, so you let your guard down and breathed out a whimper when speaking his name.

It rolled off your tongue like a snowboarder outrunning an avalanche—suffocating, afraid, and desperate. Incoherent explanations followed after, an attempt to clear your name, to prove to someone that you didn’t cause this.

Jongseob's heart squirmed in discomfort at the sight.

He looked at his hand, fingers that learned dexterity, connected to his hands and arms that could do many things. He could press buttons on a gaming console, use chopsticks for food, and hold multiple recycle bags for groceries.

He remembered the day they changed into human beings, how the first thing Soul did after growing himself a pair of arms and a body that could feel was to hug you both.

You offered to hug him that night after Soul pulled away. He had refused it, and you joked about how he was too cool for a little hug. Perhaps he thought so subconsciously, but he always knew he wasn't big on physical affection. Its notion gave him goosebumps. The unapologetic, unconcealed display of affection freaked him out. 

He liked to be subtle and unnoticed, like tending to the garden in his mind where the most delicate and beautiful things bloomed in your stead, like keeping you constant in his mind, like remembering that there's love there. 

"Come here," he whispered, extending his arms to your back and bringing you to him. "It's okay. I believe you.”

You thought he smelled like jasmine or whatever petal scent there was. Jongseob shivered ticklishly when you buried your nose in his shoulder to sniff it. He didn't put together that no matter how much he hid it, the garden seeps out because the truth cannot be concealed nor omitted.

He wished he could hug you for the first time under better circumstances, but you and he knew he wouldn't have agreed to it if it wasn't an emergency. It was brief but much needed.

When you voluntarily removed yourself, he glanced down at your pants to find that your belt was undone, your button was gone from its spot, and your underwear peeked from the zipper forced open. His jaw locked, and his eyes hallowed out.

It checked out with your rambles. Everything you said makes sense. 

A sudden feeling penetrated his insides after the conclusion was made. He found it hard to breathe at the terrifying presence of a particular, bloodthirsty desperation. He suppressed an exhausted exhale and ignored the thirst for harm. 

“Let’s go home,” he muttered as he slowly helped you to your feet. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You listened to him, pushing yourself off the passenger's seat while he reached to the floor for your thrown bag. He wore it on one shoulder, fixing the strap before reaching for your hand.

After slamming the car door shut, he brought you with him over the front of the car. His footsteps were quiet, borderline silent, leaving only your shoes' clumsy scratches on the floor. You only felt faint traces of heat from the car's headlights as he covered most of it by standing on your side. 

You arched your neck up to look at his downturned lips, his hair covering his eyes even though you've repeatedly told him to keep them out. You would scold him again when you had time, knowing he'd wear the same indifference on his face.

It felt like nagging a child sometimes; you've heard adult men generally tend to behave the same way. 

“I was using the hair clips you got me. I took them off to come down here,” Jongseob said, not sparing you a glance. “You could have gotten me normal ones.” 

“The Powerpuff Girls are cute,” you said. “You’re exactly like Blossom.”

“Please don’t speak nonsense.” 

He squeezed your hand, making you chuckle. When you bumped your head to your side, you hit his shoulder. He didn't used to be so tall, and he didn't used to be so big. You suddenly felt small beside him, in a way that rained disaster, in an unexpectedly romantic way, and you were thinking about him as if he were human again.

"Shit, no way. You do have a boyfriend, then?”

Jongseob turned around, stepping forward to keep you behind him on the way. You peeked over his arm, a distasteful sneer twitching on your face.

You both faced the man just now getting on his feet. Jongseob inwardly hummed, acknowledging that his throw had likely done a number on the man's body. He hadn't meant to react so harshly, but he also didn't care that it ended up hurting someone a great deal.

“He looks a bit young, intern.” 

“I’m twenty.”

"Good grief, he can't even drink yet!" The man laughed like he was choking on the air. "Does he know what he's doing?"

Jongseob rolled his eyes.

He knew this type of person: the kind who’s all bark and no bite. At least in front of nonchalance, they have no bite in them. Their only perk was that they knew how to pick their battles.

The man clearly noticed early on that he was not superior in physical strength. Therefore, choosing a fistfight would be a solution out of his league. That left him with one thing: trash talk. A lot of it, from your taste in men to his made-up flaws. 

It was fine, though. Jongseob was a sensible person, and violence is never sensible. 

"Hey, you could have tried me out if he hadn't come here. I would have changed your stubborn mind."

Violence is almost never sensible. 

“Wait here," he muttered monotonously as he turned to you. He brought your hands up to your cheek and pressed his palm over them so you looked at him. “It'll look scary, but I promise nothing will happen to you."

“What?” you breathed out, your eyes trailing after his back. “Jongseob?”

It took a moment, but it was all you could see once you noticed it.

The green from the leaves, the brown from the tree trunks, the orange and white of apartment and street lights, the silver of the man’s car, the gray of concrete walls, the burgundy of the brick floor, the pink and yellow of flowers, the black of tires, the blue of the sky, the light of the stars and moon, the white of the man’s shirt, the milk of his skin—the colors were being drained from everything, making it look like a frame out of a film noir.

Your hands trembled as your eyes pinned themselves at the approaching sky. It couldn’t be the alcohol forcing an illusion before your eyes as you felt yourself remarkably awake and clear-minded from the adrenaline. The sky was approaching! It felt closer. You couldn’t be mistaken. After all, it wasn’t everything you got to see a colorless world, and you’ve barely recovered from panic. 

Lowering your head, you turned to the trees surrounding the apartment buildings and furrowed your brows. The leaves were falling one by one gradually, and scrapes of tree trunks were being peeled off its body. The tires of cars were deflating, the flowers were lowering, and the sound of once-stable structures cracking became more audible. Everything was falling apart; everything was dying. 

Everything but you, your bag, and your clothes. Nothing happened to you, just as Jongseob promised you. 

“Jongseob–“ 

You were abruptly cut off by the sound of a horrible coughing fit that bordered on a choke. Eyes widened, and your feet quickly brought you to stand behind the alien. He stared silently at the man who left nail marks on your shoulders, who was currently doubled over on the floor, heaving for oxygen.

The colors were drained from him entirely, and his skin began to melt from his head. Clumps and clumps of fat liquid dripped down his eyes in a honey-like texture and then down his mouth, filling it up to stop him from gasping for air.

A buzzing noise sounded from his completely enclosed body, like a train screeching to an emergency stop. No air went in or left his body. He was a box sealed shut and thrown in fire to be melted into its original form—a clump of cells. He was going to die.

Jongseob was going to kill him. As much as you felt the action was justified, a bigger picture was already painted that you must carefully analyze before prioritizing your vengeance. 

It would be easier to explain the death of one man rather than the death of a plot of land. The desiccating of your surroundings cannot be explained by anything other than the doing of a supernatural. In this case, it would be Jongseob, and the program coordinator would jump through no hurdles to figure that out. 

Suppose it got out that he killed someone. In that case, separation becomes inevitable, and you’ve gotten so used to having those two around that you couldn’t fathom living in a soundless apartment ever again.

The consequences of killing the man outweigh the disappointment of not. 

“Hey–no. Jongseob, no. Stop it. Stop it now,” you demanded as you rushed to stand before you. You grabbed his hand and pushed it down, squeezing it with all the strength you could muster. “You will not kill anyone tonight.” 

He peered down at you, no light flooding his eyes despite recognizing your face. “He was disrespectful to you.”

“He was, and that’s terrible,” you admitted. “But there are other ways to handle this. If everyone killed each other for being horrible, we’d not have the world we do today.”

He blinked, seemingly thinking through the points you presented. But then he shrugged. “I’m not everyone, am I?” 

“You–“ 

You poked your tongue to the inside of your cheek, not surprised by his defiance but very much annoyed. Between him and Soul, he was always the one who talked back more.

For a time, you chalked it up to him being innocently curious about the human world, but after a while, you realized he was just bratty. If you kept that personality trait in every monthly report, you were sure he would have been called back for a mental evaluation or something along those lines.

But being a tattle-tale was not necessary. You knew how to snap him out of it.

“I said–“ your words flew through gritted teeth, and you shot a hand up to pinch his ear so you could pull him to your face level–“we are not killing anyone tonight!”

He stumbled at the harsh yank, redness flaring up at the spot you were squeezing. His hand let go of the tension building up through using his power, immediately returning the colors back to their original place.

Helpless whines sounded from his mouth as he bent his waist to accommodate your halfhearted corporal punishment. Still, he did not attempt to push you away.

“Okay! Okay! Calm down!” he yelled.

“Calm down?”

“No–I mean, yes! Yes, calm down, but not like that!” he exclaimed. “Stop pulling my ear!” 

You squeezed your eyes in contemplation before letting go. Your short bicker gave the release of Jongseob’s power enough time to gather itself on the fallen man’s face and patch him together. He stood up and tripped on air but caught himself before his face could kiss the ground and bolted for his car.

Jongseob reflectively grabbed your arm and stepped closer to you, staring as the car engine started and the man drove away without another word.

His chest heaved up through a large inhale. He noticed the way his arm had been trembling since you forced him to stop using his power. He wasn’t afraid, only unfamiliar with something he used to hold so dear to himself.

His power has always been offensive, but not to the degree it showed on Earth. It wasn’t used to kill his peers, and it definitely was not used to pull the cosmos to him.  

That discrepancy shook him as much as when he thoughtlessly maxed out his strength after not using it for so long. The muscle strain reminded him of how careless he was and caught him off guard.

He didn't like it. He was supposed to be good at controlling his given ability. He was supposed to be good at controlling his actions. He was supposed to be sensible.

“Are you okay?

He slowly turned to you. Your face came into view under the flicking street light like the moon inched closer to Earth when he pulled it down to protect you. He couldn't tell if his eyes or heart saw you more because they both jolted in your presence.

Curling his fingers around the strap of your bag, he stepped forward to close the unnecessary gap between you both. He tried to peek over his frizzy bangs to no avail, so he ducked and lightly swayed his head to move them out of the way. He tilted his head lower to your level and looked through his lashes, his brows raised.

“Are you?” he asked.

You closed your parted lips and averted your eyes. The invisible outline of the man’s car remained vivid when you glanced at the empty spot. Once you turned back to Jongseob, knowing what he could do to people and how willing he was to do it, the illusion released its tight grasp on you.

You didn’t forget—you couldn’t forget, that even in such an ordinary world, even if all you’d ever do in life was work and play, even when it came to the least threatening harm, Jongseob would never have you anywhere near it.

“You saved me,” you said. “Thank you.”

“But are you okay?” 

You smiled as you reached up to rub his ear softly between your fingers. “I’m sorry for pinching your ear.”

“[Name],” he started, but when you began to frantically squeeze his earlobe, he groaned and pulled your hand away. “Okay! Okay! I won’t ask anymore!” 

He brushed his hands on his shirt when you finally let him go, a permanent scoff hanging on his cutely puckered lips. Rolling his eyes when he saw your smile, he huffed a sigh before adding, "When we go back, and Soul asks you about the marks on your shoulders, tell him something happened at work. I don't want him to freak out." 

Soul and his power were interlinked. They come hand in hand, particularly his own greatly conveniences Soul's. While he absorbs colors, Soul absorbs monochrome.

Once Jongseob finishes sucking up all the colors around him, he leaves behind a grayscale perfect for Soul to use. That's how they're linked with each other, like two halves of a whole. 

The one difference was that Soul had a problem being in control when his power was utilized, while Jongseob knew what he was doing. When Jongseob hurts someone, it is always because he wants to, and he could be easily stopped with persuasion. Soul was different.

Given that nature is that he turns into something that isn't himself, he would also not think and act like himself. Jongseob didn't want anything more to happen tonight.

“Oh,” you nodded, “I was going to lie anyway.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, then a beat later, almost inaudibly, “for everything, actually.”

He wanted to say everything he did was for you, to let you know that he will continue to do everything for you. But, despite all his talent in thought articulation, he was too timid and shy to express sentiment, so he kept his mouth shut.

Crossing his arms, he recalled the moment he noticed you in the passenger seat, with trembling limbs and an unopened mouth. He fixed his jaw and hid his hands from the colorful world, as he felt rather afraid of the truth—the existence of his devotion to you and the responsibility it spawns.

That kind of devotion causes a strain on both parties and cannot be undone. That kind of devotion, in his willingness to drag a carcass to your feet, is a self-inflicted curse. That kind of devotion, a synonym for love, an antonym of honor, is a burden. Jongseob trapped it behind his lips and prayed to God that he relearned how to restrain it in his hands by a mere cross of his arms.

Pray to God—he licked his lower lip as the lines of your face redraw themselves in his replaying memory—look at them and pray. 

You taught them to get groceries when you were away at work. 

They always did well with helping out around the house; you never knew or asked whether any alien abilities were included.

Jongseob was excellent at ensuring every surface was wiped clean. Soul always knew where everything was after he put them somewhere.

Grocery shopping was included among household responsibilities. Besides the constant sneaking of junk food, they ensured they got everything you requested. 

They have frequented the market so much that the elders who ran most stores could recognize their faces and orders. After giving it a few more weeks, Jongseob and Soul were, unfortunately and hilariously, roped into the pile of gossip that never ceases to circulate the shops. 

Apparently, they both live with you! But which one of them is your boyfriend? 

"What's a boyfriend?" Soul asked in response to the question. 

The shopping bag in his hand crinkled when he squeezed the handle. His round eyes followed the fruit stand owner as she moved around to get him what he needed: apples, oranges, bananas, and whatnot.

As she brushed past Soul to get to the box of apples, she spared him a glance and rolled her eyes, mistaking his genuine ignorance as him dodging the question. She picked up a few apples, examining each one with ease before reaching an empty hand out to Soul, beckoning for his shopping bag. 

"You know what a boyfriend is,” she said. “Why are you acting coy? Are you the boyfriend?” 

Soul pursed his lips together into a helpless frown. He didn't know what 'coy' meant either.

The grandma dumped the apples she chose in the bag and briefly looked up as she prepared to march toward the oranges. When she noticed the clueless expression on Soul's face, she paused with squinted eyes, and then an enthusiastic gasp jumped out of her mouth. 

"Oh my! The other blond boy is the boyfriend, then? But you're in love with them?" she assumed, her fingers waving and pointing accusingly at Soul. "Or is it Jongseob you're in love with? I always thought you two were brothers, but I guess I was wrong!"

"We're very close, so we're basically brothers," he clarified. "But we don't have–um. Our mom and dad don't exist."

She looked away from the box of orange, one of them still ripe in her hand. “For how long?” 

“Since we’re born.”

"Oh, poor dear." She walked away from the box of oranges to give Soul a pat on the shoulder. She stopped at the front of the display and began sifting through the boxes and randomly grabbing more than he had asked for. "Dead parents and a failed romance. Living with the couple, no less!"

Soul has not a lick of an idea what she was talking about. He would repeat his question about what a boyfriend was, but the old lady's eager rambles made it impossible for him to fit his voice in the air, so he focused on listening.

Beginning with her stories about her old romance and her detailed recollection of her past loves, he realized she, surprisingly, has a lot of wisdom to offer. 

Here was what Soul gathered from the nosy grandma about a boyfriend: a boyfriend is and does many things.

A boyfriend waits for you to get off school or work, wants to spend a lot of time with you, never keeps secrets from you, thinks about you all the time, hangs out with you when he has free time, takes care of you when you are sick, loves to hug and touch you, never yells at you, and puts you above himself.

Usually, he lets Jongseob do the listening and summarizing, so he was very proud of himself when he independently came to this grand conclusion: "[Name], I am your boyfriend."

"Oh my god–" Jongseob looked away from the TV at Soul, who randomly announced the statement by the kitchen door as you cut up some apples. He slapped a hand to his forehead. "Soul, I already told you we're not their boyfriend!"

After pushing all the apple slices onto a plate, you dropped the knife in the sink. Swiftly opening a drawer to pick out a small plastic tube, you slammed it shut with a swing of your hips and turned around to lean against the cabinet.

You shook the tube, the toothpicks inside making a sandy noise with each shake, and you looked out the kitchen door behind Soul's shoulder at Jongseob, who still had his head in his hands. But the peek of his snaggletooth told you he was failing to suppress a smile. 

"Who told you that, Soul?” you asked. 

"The grandma at the fruit stall told me about her old boyfriends," Soul answered. 

“Really? All of a sudden?” you mused. “What started that conversation?”

Soul followed you out of the kitchen after you stuck three toothpicks on three random apple slices and slammed the tube on the countertop. He blindly turned the lights off and closed the door on the way, hurrying up to sit on the floor by your feet as you placed the plate of apples on the coffee table.

Jongseob scooted closer to the edge of the couch and reached over for a slice, popping it in his mouth and starting to answer before he finished chewing.

"They were asking which of us is your boyfriend at the market today," Jongseob said. 

“Which one? Not even if one of you were?” you snorted. 

“They’re very determined that one of us is dating you.”

“Oh, I know what dating means!” Soul perked up. “I learned it in a drama.”

You looked down in disbelief and nudged him with your feet. “You learned dating but not what boyfriend means?”

Jongseob let out a giggle. He slid off his seat and brought his knees to his chest to fit in the space between the couch and the table. You brought your legs up when he moved closer to the middle to be next to Soul.

Out of habitual playfulness, you reached down to do a series of aggressive actions, from ruffling his hair to squeezing his cheeks. Jongseob protested, leaning away from your attacking hands as his arms flew up to swat you away like a fly.

“You never do this to Soul!” he exclaimed. 

“Well, yeah,” you responded mindlessly as you let him go. “He’s nice. He just lets me.” 

Soul grinned from ear to ear when you touched his face. Your touch was soft, like it always was, shifting from his jaw to his cheeks to his hair. He never got enough of the sensation of human touch, no matter how trivial.

Looping an arm around an old man at a crosswalk, picking up a kindergartener after they tripped from running around, Jongseob’s hands going through his hair to tie a ponytail for him, your fingers dabbing gently on his face with skincare products—it’s warm, fleetingly so, and human, which lasts.

Jongseob feigned a puking noise after watching you mess around with Soul’s facial features for a few seconds. He got up from the floor and headed to the kitchen to find a drink.

You ignored his distaste, drowning Soul with your immediate attention. He grinned at you, his side bang falling to the back of his ears. What a sight of sore eyes, with his eyes so round and wide, his smile so genuine and willing. He looked at you like you were the only person he wanted to see and spoke like it was his first time using his voice. You cooed to yourself, to the void: look how pretty he is!

“Hello,” you whispered with your palms on his face, gently pushing his cheeks together to bring him to you, “Shota.”

“Hello,” he returned in a volume that mirrored yours, “I bought the fruit myself today.”

“Yeah, I know,” you beamed.

“[Name],” he reached up for your face to urge you close so nobody else would hear, “am I really not your boyfriend?”

You laughed from your throat, but the noise huffed out through your nose rather than your pursed lips. Shota squinted his eyes at the warm air and frowned. You kept laughing at the topic, both you and Jongseob, but he was hung up about it.

The old lady at the fruit store mentioned a list of criteria for being a boyfriend, and he believed he checked off everything on the list!

He spends his entire day waiting for you to come home from work, and after you do, he’d spend the rest of the day with you. Jongseob does the same, but Shota has never kept any secrets from you, mainly because he’s got none, but that still counts toward a check off the box!

He cared for you when you got drunk, even though Jongseob did most of the cleaning and handled your personal hygiene. However, Shota lets you hug him, so he has the upper hand that round!

“It’s complicated,” you said. “You’ve watched dramas, right? Have you noticed that although two characters love each other, they’re not considered together?” 

“No,” he shook his head, “they’re together to me.”

“Well–“ you rolled your eyes up–“yeah, okay. I suppose that’s fair.”

Looking back down at him, you rubbed his cheeks with your thumb and shook your head in disagreement. “It’s still more complicated than you think.”

Shota’s bottom lip couldn’t help but jut out when he gradually pulled the corner of his lips into an upsetting frown.

The idea plagued his mind since he was first introduced to it at the market, and too much time and effort was put into giddying himself over this. The disappointment of his fantasy—you agreeing that he is your boyfriend—falling off was immeasurable.

“What are you two whispering about?” Jongseob interrupted once he returned. He looked between you and Soul, and then he frowned. “Are you still on the boyfriend thing?”

“Yeah,” Soul dragged out with a brief wave of his hand. “You won’t let me be your boyfriend because we’re supposed to be like brothers, and now [Name] won’t let me be their boyfriend because it’s too complicated!”

“You told him it’s too complicated?” Jongseob questioned, putting his elbow on the edge of the couch when he turned around to raise a brow at you. 

Your eye twitched at his judgemental tone, and you almost lunged to tackle him to the floor. “It is complicated!”

Jongseob pulled a face.

One of the things that inconvenienced his technical way of processing information was relationship problems, particularly the fact that everyone around him loved to create issues that shouldn’t be there.

He understood that certain situations reveal emotions that could be difficult to ignore, but he didn’t see a reason for ignorance when one could face them straightforwardly.

People tip-toe across the winded roads too much for the sake of empathy despite it not being due, and then responses like ‘it’s too complicated’ spawn when it’s fundamentally incorrect to say so.

“How?” he questioned. “Do you like Soul?”

“I like the both of you,” you said.

“I know.” He nodded. “But do you like him?” 

 You smirked awkwardly. “No.”

“Then it’s not complicated,” Jongseob said with a clap. He turned to Soul, whose eyes had been darting between you two during your brief conversation, and he shrugged. “You can’t be [Name]’s boyfriend because they’re not in love with you. That’s it.”

“Woah! Why did you suddenly switch the wording?” 

“Why not? It doesn’t make a difference,” he said. “Are you in love with Soul?”

“No.”

“I’m in love with you, though.”

You shook your head and patted Soul’s shoulder. “No, you’re not.”

“Ahm, we don’t–haha, we don’t know about that,” Jongseob mused between forced chuckles as he nodded at the floor.

His eyes widened briefly as a calculated thought about Soul’s untainted feelings for you flickered through his mind. When he looked up and saw your deadpan, he pulled his lips into a thin line, stretching it into an ugly smile that made his upcoming words sound flat and borderline incoherent.

“Do you remember what happened a few months ago because of the evaluation?”

It was a month after Jongseob saved you at the bottom of the apartment estate. You had decided to omit that detail from the monthly report; you told yourself it wasn’t necessary because it wasn’t an extraordinary development about Jongseob but rather an incident that happened to you.

However, deep down, you knew you kept it a secret because you were afraid the program coordinator would find issues with what happened and separate you two.

A few weeks after you turned in the monthly evaluation, a detailed post about a freak accident where a boy who choked a man through telekinesis was posted on one of the most popular social media forums.

Nobody believed in the post; most comments redirected the author to a sub-forum where people post fantasy stories they’ve written, but it was how your program coordinator found out what happened. Within five days of that post, you received an email about a temporary separation.

They gave you a week to pack their things and prepare them for leaving your care.

Jongseob hadn’t said anything when you sat them down to tell them that they would be relocated to another home indefinitely. You didn’t think Soul really understood what happened until the time of departure. Either that, or he hadn’t felt the effect of separation until the moment it was happening, as it took multiple staff members to successfully release his grip from your arm. 

But what you hadn’t shown them were the scars on your forearm, all of them scratched into a bloody storm by the unassuming Shota, who, in a state of panic, had unknowingly sucked up the monochromes around him and begun the initial phase of transformation. 

His sharp, blade-like nails dug into your forearm through your sweater, forcefully grounding himself by your side when he was asked to get inside the van. But you didn’t say anything other than words of reassurance. With a hand on the side of his head, all you had told him was that you’d see him again soon.

His nails dragged several lines down your skin when he was pulled off of you. You didn’t react to it, only pressing a palm to the wounds and shoving the pain to the back of your head.

If you let it be known that he hurt you, there’s no way they’d be allowed back in your house. You thought he knew, though. You believed Shota knew what he did because he stopped struggling and went to sit next to Jongseob in the van after making eye contact with you.

You three weren’t kept apart for too long, surprisingly. The worst they did was give you a slap on the wrist and a warning to not hide information from them again. 

“It’s a normal reaction to being taken from his home,” you said. “I think he missed the normalcy more than he missed me.”

“You’re wrong.” Jongseob crawled over to Soul and beckoned for his attention with a finger snap. “Do you remember when we left home for a few weeks? Why did you throw a tantrum when they came to get us?”

“Huh?” Soul faintly puckered his lips in thought. Once recognition hit, he opened his mouth in realization and nodded. “Ah! That time! I–“ he tilted his head with soft inhales–“did I throw a tantrum?”

“You did,” Jongseob reached up to grab your arm and gestured to the scars, “there’s literally proof.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” Soul argued. “I was distraught, I didn’t want to leave [Name].”

“Case in point. See?” Jongseob dropped your arm on the couch with a triumphant shrug. “I told you.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” you said. “Families do that with each other, too.”

“Is that what we are?” Jongseob asked, raising his brows. “We’re a family now?”

“Not legally. I would have to adopt you two,” you said. “But then you would be my son, which is weird.” 

“We could be your brothers.”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Soul chimed in. When you chuckled through a tight-lipped frown, he sighed. “Okay, brother is fine.”

“Good,” Jongseob hummed dismissively before returning his attention to you. “Is there a way for us to legally become siblings, though?” 

It wasn’t something you thought about. The significant details of the outreach program were not known to its participants. They let you know before you signed the contract that it was a program to help assimilate aliens to the human world, and you didn’t doubt that to be the case.

However, calculating the money the government was spending on the participants just for them to foster aliens—it didn’t make sense.

The foster system for human children was severely underfunded, yet the one for space creatures wasn’t. If you had to guess, it was because there’s a catch to alien assimilation, especially when they’re bonded with a person from Earth. 

At the end of the day, you’ve no idea if Jongseob and Soul would be allowed to stay with you for a long time. 

“I don’t think we can,” you replied, leaning forward and rolling your eyes. “But who knows? Maybe they’re secretly writing a new constitution for alien residents on Earth, but we definitely won’t legally become a family anytime soon. It’s okay, though. We can do it in theory!”

“What does that even mean?” Jongseob snickered. “In theory?” 

“I’ll show you at some point,” you said sheepishly. “I just have to give someone a heads-up first.”

The mausoleum was quiet. You didn’t think you’d ever seen it crowded before. 

Carefully putting the flower into the compartment, your eyes brushed past your mother’s picture, and you relaxed. 

“Hey, Mom. It’s been a while.”

You didn’t make a habit of visiting frequently, so whenever you did, you’ve got a lot of say. Your busy work life, social life, and almost nonexistent love life. The good and the bad. The embarrassing and the ugly. The fact that there were few people around made it easier to ramble to a picture, and sometimes, you wondered if the ones in her neighbor compartments were listening too. 

You didn’t speak in detail about the alien outreach program you joined, partly because it was still confidential to the general public, but you told her about the ‘twins.’ 

“I’ll bring them over when I get the chance,” you said. “I’ll see you later then.”

Reaching out for the compartment door, you prepared to close it when you suddenly jumped in realization. 

“I almost forgot,” you laughed. “This is for you.”

Letting go of the door handle, you reached for your bag and pulled something out. You waved it about and gently blew on it before stacking it neatly next to the flower you bought. 

It was a polaroid of you three.

[loudlittleecho]

DC Batman Prompt: Please (Dis)Incorporate

Bruce was prepping for a gala later in the evening. Tim and Stephanie would be on patrol tonight, while Dick, Duke, and Damian had to make appearances along with Bruce. 

The day had felt off. Bruce didn’t like it. He had gone over all of his procedures. Nothing about this day stood out special. 

He was walking downstairs when he froze. He noticed a man standing at the end of the staircase, looking up at him expectantly. 

The man looked completely unfamiliar, and yet deeply familiar at the same time. 

The man smirked up to him, in an expression almost reminiscent of Jason.

“Hello Bruce.”

The voice, also; unfamiliar and yet one Bruce recognized.

“Hello, I apologize, I didn’t realize I had a guest.” Bruce replied pleasantly, wondering how the man had gotten in. 

The man’s eyes crinkled; it reminded him of Dick’s when he knew something Bruce didn’t. 

“I let myself in; don’t worry, it’s just us- for now. Alfred has been called out.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“No, no,” the man continued gesturing for Bruce to continue down the stairs. “I wouldn’t hurt Alfred. Caring-” The man’s body -glitched- “permissive” -glitch- “militaristic” -glitch- “butler of Bruce Wayne, Batman.”

The man was either a time traveler, a multiverse traveler, or a mixture of the two based on his stuttered body trying to find the correct adjective to identify Alfred. 

“What do you want, then.” Bruce had reached the man. The man was both taller… shorter… the same height as him. 

The man sighed, his right hand gesturing vagueling, similar to one of Stephanie’s.

“Come with me.”

He turned from Bruce, walking toward the living room often used for family night. 

Bruce tried to place his posture; he seemed to share Damian’s purposeful gate. 

Luckily Damian wasn’t at the mansion; he had requested getting ready with Dick, to be sure “Grayson arrived on time for this one.”

When Bruce reached the doorway he noticed the room had been rearranged. A swivel chair in the center of the room; the television, couches, carpet, bookcase, everything, all removed. Except for the chair. 

The man glanced at the chair. Bruce recognized the man wanted him to sit. When Bruce didn’t, the man sighed, quickly moved the fingers of his right hand, and snapped. 

Bruce found himself sitting in the chair. 

“Who are you.”

The man laughed sharp and quick. This one Bruce couldn’t place. 

“You don’t recognize me? You should.” His voice clipped with a bit of static- similar to how Barbaras did sometimes when on the comms as Oracle. 

The man glanced around the room, and looked back at him, expression calculating. Like Tim’s when he had pieced together a case.

“Family second, work first. Tonight, that is going to change.”

With that, he snapped again. Bruce tried to rush up, but found he was stuck to the chair. 

On silver disks around the room his children appeared.

Dick, with a suit jacket half on. Jason, in mid stretch. Tim, holding an energy drink. Damian holding his sketch pad. Cass, pajamas. Duke, still in uniform, hands partially outstretched, as though in a conversation. 

Instantly were on high alert. Attempting to move- 

“Not yet.”

Their bodies froze, though their facial expressions were unaffected.

“And no powers for you.” 

Bruce glanced as the shadowed corners lightened. 

The man glanced at them, then back to Bruce. Bruce noticed the mans appearance had shifted-The man stretched, and as he did he became a woman with black/red/blond/brown hair. Constantly blending under the light as the different shades. 

“We’re missing some. . .”

Bruce noticed the spacing in which his children were placed. To the right, Cass, Damian, and Duke stood a couple feet apart from one another, while to the left to near center Dick, Jason, and Tim had spaces between themselves. Between Tim and Cass a large space was apparent.

The woman snapped again.

To Jason’s left, Barbara appeared, outreaching with a book in one hand, and a small stack in her lap. To Cass’ left Steph appeared, paused in brushing her teeth. With a wave of the woman's hand, the books and toothbrush disappeared.

Instantly the spaces between his family were filled with seven others he didn't recognize.

Between Dick and Babs was a young woman around their age, with black hair and hazel eyes. Between Jason and Tim was a young woman with short reddish blonde hair and green eyes wearing glasses. Between Tim and Stephanie were two people. Two almost adult teens, a girl with half her dark hair shaved, and a boy with black hair, blue eyes. Between Damian and Duke floated a. . . Starro. And after Duke stood two people. A teen girl around Dukes age, blonde and blue eyed, and a girl around Damian’s age with brown hair and eyes. 

The woman laughed mirthlessly as the new ones also attempted to get out, and their subsequent frozen natures.

“No spores for you little Jarro.”

Bruce again attempted to leave the chair; he was unable. 

“Let’s name and label them, shall we?”

The woman pointed down the line.

"Richard “Dick” Grayson, the first Robin. Helena Wayne, daughter of Bruce Wayne. Barbara “Babs” Gordon, the best Batgirl, the Oracle. Jason Peter Todd, the dead Robin. Carrie Kellie, the forgotten Robin. Timothy “Tim” Drake Wayne, the detective Robin. Harper Row, the badass. Terry McGinnis, the future Bats, manufactured son of Batman. Stephanie Brown, the fired Robin, the purple one. Cassandra “Cass” Cain Wayne, the weapon. Damian Al Ghul Wayne, Stabby Robin, son of Batman. Jarro the Starro, the weird Robin. Duke Thomas, the daytime Vigilante. Claire Clover, the traumatized girl. Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi, the supernatural Robin, the time traveler."

She bounced on her feet.

The chair Bruce was in turned slightly to face each person that was named. 

Bruce tried to memorize the faces of the ones he didn’t recognize. Helena. Carrie. Harper. Terry. Jarro? Claire. Mia. 

“Look at them. Every child you have helped hone into a vigilante. Almost all of them would have donned a mask without you guiding them.” The disk under Jason’s and Jarro's dimmed. 

“Many of them have also died working under you.” The disks under Dick, Barbara, Tim, Terry, Stephanie, and Damian's dimmed. Jason’s and Jarro's dimmed further. 

"We all wind up as this." She motioned to herself. Her form shifted again as shadows under her grew.

“But the mission comes first.” The voice held a bitter edge. “Family comes second. Even if I am your child” -glitch- “partner” -glitch- “mentee” -glitch- “responsibility” -glitch- “sorrow.” 

She turned toward Bruce. Now her face held a green and brown eye, mismatched eyebrows. A scar of a J on her cheek. Her form shifted again, no longer specifically masculine or feminine.

"It's already started you know. The incorporating. The ones you don't recognize? They've been dropped into this universe at least for the last week. Some have done better than others.

I came here to bring the rest of us into the same universe.” Their voice cold and dispirited. “Less pain.” 

Suddenly their body spasmed. Their features painfully shifting from Helena-to Damien-to Terry.

“Time for me to go.” Their face shifted into a blend of Dick and Tim. The blue eyes pierced into Bruce’s own. The anger, the condescension had gone for just a moment. The voice whispered as a small childs. Hopeful. In pain.  “Fix this. Please.”

Their body spasmed again and they took something out of their pocket- Bruce couldn’t get a good look at it- and their body seemed to fade into dust.

Instantly the force holding Bruce was gone. The disks vanished, and the others could move again as well.

Dick was the first to say anything. 

“I’ll let them know that the Waynes will be absent at the gala tonight.”

[ragnarokhound]

Trick or treat!! 🎃🍫🍬🍭

Happy Halloween! Spooky season naturally got me thinking about ghosts... which got me thinking about ghost-type pokemon... :^)

When Tim got into this line of work, he'd said to himself it would only be temporary. Something to do while he was figuring it all out. Dropping out of your gym challenge is supposed to be temporary, but sometimes you get so distracted fixing an infamous glitch in the Burnside PC branch that you're scouted at seventeen. What was he supposed to do? Turn down the opportunity of a lifetime just to drag his Alakazam into more battles it hates? He knows he could have gone further, but Tim isn't the most motivational trainer on a good day. It would have been miserable for everyone involved. These days, Alakazam prefers meditating in an easy chair. Which works out, because these days Tim is practically chained to his office desk chair. He still doesn't know why he can't work from home (or from anywhere) because his work is digital, but apparently making yourself irreplaceable is a double edged sword; you must also be available for people to find you so they can talk to you. Tim has had so many conversations that could have been emails. (Babs makes fun of him for this constantly.) Over a decade after the fact, Tim still wonders what his life would be like if he'd pushed through. If he'd said thanks, but no thanks, and gone for his last few badges. Instead, the closest he gets to training these days is the Sinistea he picked up on a fanciful whim, thinking he could make time for it. He's watched his friends' advancing careers from the other end of a television screen, catching Kon's gym battles between code launches and admin meetings. Sometimes he'll see Jason. Not that he's looking for Jason specifically. It's purely professional interest. Crime Alley's gym challenge used to be notorious. Always cast as the villain with a rep for fronting most of the gang activity in the region, it only started to turn around after Jason took over. He'd scowl if you suggest it, but Jason's work with ghost-type pokemon is unparalleled. His work in general is unparalleled. Better programs, better outreach. Tim sees the numbers. Tim's the one who crunches, analyzes, and predicts the numbers. He knows that ghost-, dark-, and poison-type catch and retention rates have spiked in the last five years. And those numbers correlate suspiciously to the bump in trainers completing their gym challenge, trainers whose town of origin is-- wanna take a guess? So, yeah. Sometimes Tim will see Jason on the news, or catch highlight footage of his latest E4 sub-in. His Zoroark is really something else. It is purely professional. Tim was a trainer too, once upon a time. He can appreciate skill and talent in action, and he can maybe wish that he had the time to see it in person more often without it being a huge deal. It doesn't have to be a whole thing. This is what he tells himself on one of his rare days off, minding his own business at a public training ground at the park-- when who does he see but Jason fucking Todd. In the flesh. He can be casual about this. Really, he can. He knows when Jason spots him, because Tim is staring like a moron, and he watches Jason's expression morph from straight-faced, public disinterest to smirking recognition to-- Something he doesn't catch, because that's when Sinistea gets fed up with being ignored, and blasts him in the face with scalding hot water. Under his own loud, pained cursing and Sinistea's whistled scolding, he thinks he hears Jason laugh at him in surprise. Tim's face is hot and red, and he knows it's only mostly to blame on his half-trained ghost pokemon. Oh god, why is Jason even here? He's the only person on this whole fucking continent who might feasibly be busier than Tim. Why is this happening to him? He should have stayed at the office.

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

[batsplat]

if you were to direct a motogp movie (or make a one season of television) what season or rivalry would you make it about? and more interesting what artistic liberties would you take? it doesn’t have to be a straight up biopic bc imo those are often boring, instead it could be something like velvet goldmine (1998) aka fictional characters whose real life counterparts are pretty obvious, veering in like rpf territory. anyways👀

did you know. one time this guy put a curse on this other guy. and he never won a race again

anyway, look, I do feel like by this point that's the BORING answer from me, but obviously it's where my mind first went. I'm not sure I'd actually want it out there in film form because by now it's badly enough remembered that it's like, my cute little niche story, and I think there's something fun about the Wider World even within the motogp fandom not exactly getting how bonkers the whole thing was. (I know other humans have canonically watched motogp 2004 but I swear even journalists have forgotten some key key details and it's kinda annoying but also fun.) bold words from someone who's been blogging about it!! weird gatekeep-y instinct. but basically my job here is done as far as outreach is concerned - I wrote a very long post, now I get asks about it twice a week that allow me to think about it some more with the four other people who care, perfect balance. that rivalry doesn't need to go mainstream!! the whole point of it is that it's kinda cruel but narratively pleasing that it's gone under the radar, because it's another sign valentino won. but obviously, I cannot literally make a film about this, so the hypothetical repercussions I think maybe we can put aside for a moment here

okay I came back to this bit of the post after I increasingly got into of the spirit of coming up with dumb ideas, but it did make me flesh out what I'd even WANT from something like that. I'm with you anon, a lot of biopics are boring!! if you want to just know what happened, please just literally go and 'watch the races' and 'read books' like what are we actually getting here. you kinda want to give it a purpose for existing, right, a way of portraying real/mildly fictionalised events in a manner that is also taking some kind of stance on the material AND is doing stuff you can't do 'in real life'. thing is, look, you could make 2006 into a film, and I'm sure it'd be perfectly nice because it's fundamentally a solid underdog story (well, inherently winning a title with repsol honda is NOT being an underdog but you can write it that way), but also what are you doing beyond just telling people what happened? I feel like that generally about single seasons, they're not really doing anything for me. I was also turning around the biaggi/valentino rivalry in my head in part because that's the one valentino gave as his answer for 'rivalry he would turn into a film' (marc big wet eyes sitting right next to him), but like. a film about that rivalry from valentino's pov is fundamentally not something I'm interested in. you have all these isolated very memorable moments that make it work as a rivalry, like you can absolutely spin them into a dramatic yarn that goes through the genesis of their conflict to middle finger gate to punching gate to assen + donington + sachsenring + phillip island 2001 and it's basically *insert rousing music* successful coming of age. at most you can lean into the fact valentino became successful at being a dick. like idk it's fine but also what's the point? valentino is challenged in a sports context by biaggi, he's challenged because he realises his words have consequence and the press actually reports the words he says to journalists (the horror), but he is fundamentally not challenged on a personal level. that's the entire point, right? it's the ultimate comfort zone rivalry - biaggi is a dick who it is quite easy to hate and also reacts poorly to valentino's initial provocation. the animosity escalates and it is inherently fun to beat him. valentino is mean to him, but it's not like he even really crosses any lines to beat him. like you can make it into a film, and if you twisted the material a little bit you could make it satisfying, but I don't want to!

now the way the writing process of this post worked was that I was going to breeze through a bunch of non-sete/valentino rivalries and explain why I think some of them don't work for our purposes here, but then I ended up writing myself into changing my mind. so my take on the biaggi rivalry is that actually, you CAN make it work but it has to be from biaggi's perspective. basically, I think you've got to amadeus it (a web weave I have been thinking of making at some point btw). so,,, it's a meditation on talent and how unfair it all is, maybe minus the bit where salieri poisons amadeus (I know that doesn't happen in the film) or dresses up as amadeus' father to, y'know, make him write a requiem on his death bed. and it's not amadeus in that HERE, the clown prince gets a happy ending! but it's more like, in thematic terms, I think you have to zero in on this bit. biaggi didn't have parents who shoved him on a bike when he was three years old, he didn't have parents who were invested in his motorcycling career (or even necessarily particularly invested in him), he started the sport late and discovered that, yes, he did have a prodigious amount of skill in it - but one that he started honing far later than valentino did. he approached his career with a sort of grim resolve, surly and irascible and not interested in making friends with any of his competitors but very, very good. he goes away from the race track and dates all these models, he irritates fellow riders, he's not part of the gang and he's happy about it. he's very successful! four 250cc titles, wins his first ever race in 500cc at a time when doohan was very much winning everything. he's also just like,,,, an interesting and spiky enough character it's not hard to make him come alive

but then of course you have this gradual emergence of the amadeus character, the one who challenges his established position in the court of,, well... motorcycle racing, and also as the guy italians rooted for! and valentino's obviously, y'know, in so many ways the exact opposite from biaggi, and he's super young and cheerful and lively and is doing all his silly celebrations and is being a bit camp and goofy and treats motorcycle racing as a party (you really want to lean into the culture clash here, like in amadeus it's because you have stuffy austrian court vibes but here it's because everyone is having their bones broken every two minutes and just how... kinda grim a lot of motorcycle racing was). and he's also this innocent! yes, he insults biaggi, and yes, in retrospect we know valentino is kinda evil, but at the time he was a kid with a big mouth who was a little taken aback by how that biaggi feud sort of escalated beyond what he'd actually intended it to do! and biaggi just, hates him. and I think, sorry to the real man max biaggi here, but you've got to play with how once they're actually competing with each other, it's miserable how there's just this unbreachable gulf in talent. like, whatever biaggi does he cannot win! he isn't going to defeat valentino over the course of a full season! which is depressing and horrible and CRUEL, because there's this inevitability to the whole thing... and also! because valentino doesn't DESERVE it. and you don't have to go full salieri pleading with god to explain how god could give this CLOWN all this talent, but it's kinda the same vibe! how is it valentino, who is constantly just having a laff and canonically maybe wasn't the biggest gym-goer in the paddock and is just generally seen as, y'know, a bit of a dandy, this foppish clown who everyone loves and who doesn't have to work hard to be good - how is he the one who is winning so much!! it's miserable and unjust... and I think how you portray this is that you really emphasise the kinda, repetitive nature of the defeat. like, I think you probably want to make this into a non-linear narrative where all this biaggi backstory is communicated somehow but you don't just start it when he was born or whatever - you start it in 2001 when they're competing for a title and already hate each other. and then you heavy on the time loop vibes. the whole cinematic language and all that other shit should emphasise how all these weekends are structured in exactly the same way and if you're losing to this one guy, all these different weekends can start feeling the same. it bleeds into each other, it feels inescapable, you're trapped in this narrative you can't change... worst of all, you even return to the same places again and again - like play with that! biaggi keeps coming back to where they had the fist fight, to where valentino first insulted him all those years back. you play up the disorientation and the misery of it all, plus biaggi canonically gives us all this kinda messy freudian shit to play with like how he was dating 'valentina' and his relationship with her was falling apart because of how miserable valentino was making him. it's all there!!

ANYWAYS the way you conclude this story is!! welkom 2004!! so again we can artistic license this a little bit and, uh, ignore sete (though I do also think it's fun if you lean into biaggi being displaced as a rival and staring at them being friendly and happy with each other from the outside) - but the key bit is that valentino is finally making the big error. biaggi wasn't winning titles on a yamaha, since he left yamaha has gotten worse, now valentino is making this big mistake out of his own hubris. language of cinema that shit and make everything brighter and more hopeful.... the time loop is finally over, biaggi has escaped, this year will be different!!!! everyone in his circle agrees, valentino is fucked. step off the plane at welkom (pre season testing didn't happen in this universe) and it's literal dawn of a new day... staring out at the sun and finally, biaggi can move on, can live a new and different life. anyway. obviously we all know what's coming next - you have this big dramatic climactic race where biaggi throws himself at valentino again and again and again and he comes so close to winning it... but he doesn't. and you have valentino living his best life, being delighted, but the film is focusing on how like,,, we're bleaching the joy back out of biaggi's life, how actually he's returning to what he already knew. and it ends on the podium, with the camera focusing on biaggi on that fucking second step or zooming in or whatever (idk how cinema works) and it just finishes on this shot of biaggi dead-eyed in a bleak world, trapped again for eternity aka until the end of the 2005 season. done!! I'm not sure this is quite what valentino had in mind, but. well. that's how I'd do it

this is from the pushkin play from 1832 not the 1984 film but like. low key pushkin already kinda nailed the essence of sports rivalries in the 1830s and we just have to acknowledge that sometimes

right. so the casey rivalry is where I'm going to go completely off the wall. skip this bit to get to the slightly saner stuff. this is also one I fully admit to sometimes playing around with in my mind anyway, but. uh. I'm gonna be taking this one in just. well. places. I do have a vision here but I also don't quite know how to explain it in a way that doesn't make me sound like I've lost my mind, but well if you're still reading this then that's on you. so lemme get this out of the way: the classic sports biopic formula would work well with casey. if I had to point to a single rider I would sports biopic-ify, it's casey. so you have all this kinda,, obvious adversity that's easy to get across, and it's a narrative you can follow chronologically without too much trouble. you've got all the childhood stuff, the australian racing club not letting him join them, the move to britain, the rising through the ranks, it's also this very biopic-friendly 'nobody ever believed in him apart from like three people' stuff. and the premier class is also narratively satisfying, from the rocky rookie season to the kinda shock success to then all the lows of 2008 and 2009 and the physical ailments and the anxiety and then the switch to honda and the title and then him deciding to retire... that's all good stuff! you can absolutely biopic-ify it! gun to my head and sure, I can walk you through exactly what bits of his life I'd focus on and put in what order and so on, and I think ultimately you could make a very good sports biopic from that

[some mild gore to follow in this next section]

but also. thing is. that's fine. it's just not where I want to go here, because again I feel like at that point you can also pick up his autobiography and just read it - because what you're basically doing here is just filming that. and I get how this stuff works, you're bringing the story to a wider audience, you can show stuff in a different way in that medium etc etc, and that's all great but also I don't care about bringing stuff to a wider audience. I care about doing fun stuff in my brain. so what I'd actually do here is just, basically, go in the exact opposite direction and ditch all the realism. genuinely, ditch the live action stuff, we're going animated - what I'm interested in here is stuff where we need to be able to fully suspend our disbelief and lean into some surreal shit. I'm not going to bury the lede here: my idea is that you take that thing where casey said he hated how ducati was ruining the bike by letting valentino's yellow encroach on it and, basically,, just go all in on that bit. like come on, that is so singularly visually evocative, it truly captures a lot of what's going on thematically in that rivalry. (see also x and x for the most relevant casey posts.) casey sees valentino as the malevolent force, this infection! he associates him strongly with a specific colour, one that can be sickly or unnatural or just... evil. malignant, malicious, malevolent, all the m words. to casey, valentino is a personification of everything that is wrong with the sport. valentino is literally the walking manifestation for so many of his issues, from the dangerous riding to the lack of respect to the lying to the cult of personality to the obsession with image and the media to the backroom games to the politics to the injustice of how different riders are treated differently, like!! he's literally all of that! this is a topic for another post, but this plays out in a lot of kinda, weird and funky ways where it's a two way street and sometimes when casey talks about motogp you go 'actually I think that's just valentino?' (btw he also does this about 'europe' right I don't think those are europeans you hate casey that's literally just valentino) and sometimes when he talks about valentino it's kinda? this feels like it's about a little more than the bloke himself? and basically, right, I think you need to take this to its natural conclusion where casey used to admire him and look up to him and want to emulate him on track and then gets disillusioned when valentino's worshippers turn against casey and casey is the one to bring valentino down to earth and... listen, I think you need to play around with valentino being a literal god. and I think you need to have casey stab him to cover up the yellow on the ducati with blood

okay. look. the idea here, right, is that we're basically making the subtext text, and just digging into that process of 'bringing valentino back to earth', of taking on a god and having the audacity to succeed, and also treating valentino as this sort of. infection in his own mind. the bike is literally being infected!! casey may have left the ducati but he STILL has some fidelity and love for this project, those were his people he worked with, and now valentino is coming in and just twisting everything around himself!! but also I think how this functions is that, okay, so you have all this normal stuff that's the actual 'plot' in the 'real world', but the ISSUE with the real world is that there's a lot of stuff that just. isn't possible there. like the thing casey wants in that rivalry but is never going to have is... a captive audience. a big problem casey has in that rivalry is that he doesn't get the chance to actually say a lot of stuff to valentino. he starts using the media more and more and plays the game on valentino's level, but there's still this disconnect where mr straight talking is the valentino rival who valentino never really blanks or freezes out like... there's a disconnect! there's valentino the person, who casey never quite figures out how to just straight up hate, and then there's valentino the character, the racer, the rider, the god who casey DESPISES. but when they're doing small talk at pressers and podiums, casey doesn't get to talk to that version of valentino! he just talks to valentino the person, who obviously isn't literally a different person but is also not going to explain to casey where he's coming from, is he, and also isn't someone who casey can explain to where HE is coming from. and that gulf... it does bother casey. I don't think he can quite verbalise why either, but there's just... this creeping tension. I think it'd be easier for casey if valentino really were more of a caricature, just kinda a dick in all walks of life. and there's just these canonical hints of that... the way casey talks about how he's sure valentino as a guy is fine, but he never knew valentino like that, the whole 'I'd like to go with valentino for dinner to tell him where I was coming from in that rivalry' thing, like!! it's there

so basically EYE think what you should be doing is using the wonders of storytelling to actually. embrace that element. and just leave realism behind now and again. valentino is a god, he is literally worshipped, he's part of this pantheon that casey is trekking to reach. casey is brave enough to take him on in combat, he is the first one who is truly able to draw blood. he sees how valentino isn't just a god of joy or battles or speed or the SUN or any of that other stuff - he's a disease, an illness, a god who is also a false prophet... the worship never quite goes away, because who ever truly gets rid of their valentino rossi complex, but casey eventually is given the chance to face a chained valentino and kinda,,, ritualistically publicly humiliate him using the ducati as both this sick thing that has to be 'cured' and this symbol of valentino's failure. I'm sorry, visual language goes brr here, like chain him up, do weirdly eroticised torture idc!! (psst psst valentino's fucked up shoulder also extremely goes brr here, casey low key a teensy bit weird about valentino's injuries? his thing after the 2010 leg break where he goes 'why's everyone making such a big deal about this other people break their limbs too' and then after 2011 jerez immediately asking whether valentino's shoulder is okay in just a very obviously passive aggressive way. literally he opens with that, valentino isn't using it as an excuse or anything, for some reason it's already on casey's mind and I would politely contest it was out of genuine concern for valentino's wellbeing!! it's just kinda? I'm so compelled by it? I suppose it is kinda about how valentino's suffering gets taken more seriously than his own? how those absences are received differently by the motogp world? idk I find this fun because casey does know this is one thing valentino can't really be blamed for himself, so it just slips out a bit? but yeah, casey + valentino's injuries, nobody's talking about it but I sure will, let casey get weird and mean and a teensy bit sadistic about valentino's injuries in an artistic manner.) crucially I like animation as a medium here because I think it's easier to lean into surrealism when you don't have to hand hold the audience so much through the suspension of realism, also there's just some imagery you can do in cooler ways through animation where in live action it may just look. weird. (I think you can also do one of those things where you have a live action film with only those specific bits animated but also... why? it just feels like in live action you need more 'justifications' for things, like am I saying casey is having some weird hallucinations and is losing his mind? no I just want to have weird vision sequences ffs.) the colour stuff!! valentino/casey is big on the colour coding as a rivalry, to the extent casey is even, y'know, drawing attention to it in the literal text!! yellow and red are banger colours, valentino is big on imagery himself with all his sun + moon motifs, it's kind of all there to make the easy next step to kinda zany surreal imagery. ritualistic stabbing works better in animation, you can kinda get the blood to like. drip down and overwhelm the yellow illness that's slithered out across the bike

and. AND of course what this entire set up allows you to do is.... give them an opportunity to talk. they can't talk in real life! casey CAN'T give him his real thoughts on anything, and fundamentally valentino can't either. they're opponents. they're strangers who chat sometimes. it's not just that they aren't friends, it's that fundamentally they cannot be friends - because their ability to do their actual jobs depends on a certain level of professional distance. valentino of course does have a decent read on casey, and vice versa, because when you're figuring out how to defeat someone then (if you're valentino) you're looking to play the rider too. valentino's entire approach depends on focusing in on his rivals and attempting to throw them off, to make them unravel. he's watching casey closely!! the entire journey of casey's first three seasons in the premier class essentially becomes like, this god of their world focusing in on him. figuring him out. trying to gnaw away at him. obviously, animation also allows you to go big on the panopticon-y imagery which is kinda fundamental to their rivalry, because of their fundamentally oppositional stances to 'performing' for the ever present cameras where there IS a little bit of common ground in they have both struggled with it. but valentino isn't going to ever say that to casey! casey isn't going to open up to valentino! so if you give them,, you know, a different arena to express themselves, where casey actually has this external figure to talk to (as he's like, cutting him open I guess) whereas valentino actually is put in a position where he's allowed to respond, where he can taunt casey a little bit, where he can interrogate casey's approach and also the similarities between the two of them and how casey has been forced to become a little more like valentino to challenge him... because the thing is, right, valentino is so big on message discipline with his rivals and has completely stopped talking about that rivalry post mid 2013 that, first of all, you have this complete imbalance in who's been telling this story for the past decade, but second of all you kinda don't have a sense of what valentino would respond? idk!! I think this is mainly fun as a thought exercise for me specifically but also I do think it's kinda, digging into some of the bits that make this narratively work as a rivalry, how valentino in this rivalry is actually just kinda... removed. like he's not really emotional about it!! at most he's a bit bitchy, but even that just feels about The Game. it's the most extreme in this regard followed by jorge - but with valentino's other feuds you kinda... see a bit more an unguarded moment, see something a little more real there. the casey rivalry feels so uncomfortable precisely because valentino is a little... inhuman in this one. I mean, if you want to have valentino as some kind of cross between a deity and a monster in any of his feuds, this is the one. casey's just an obstacle to him. idk don't you think casey kinda wants to chain valentino down and stab him and make him see casey a little more... well, I think he should want it and I think it'd be fun to see and get them to talk to each other. ugh and also all the implications of making the faith vs non-believer elements more literal... casey the heretic!!!

there's some obvious stuff here you'd have to figure out, like 'how do you make this work as a narrative even to people who aren't familiar with casey stoner at all' and 'who the fuck do you think the target audience is here' and 'you do know this is not the kind of thing that would ever be made, right, go back to the casey stoner sports biopic like a sane person' but!! I do think it's material you can make work if you're just,,, efficient and smart in how you're actually telling the 'real life' version of the rivalry. also in my head this is. idk. an animated limited series not a film, which then brings in other stuff like 'episodic structure' because I'm fundamentally opposed to tv shows that think they're films. and look, I'm not going to write an entire film script treatment here, I just think a good writer can figure this stuff out. blood on the ducati is the framing device for everything else, simple. lots of animated floating eyes I reckon, first casey is watching valentino and then valentino is watching casey and the whole world is watching them... and it does bleed into real life just a little, where you're wondering whether casey is actually imagining/dreaming this stuff or valentino is or if they both know it somehow... you can get away with more ambiguity in animation. anyway, if you do want more thoughts on this one specifically for whatever reason, let me know because this one I do actually have more on

also laguna 2008 is a bit tortoise and the hare coded if you really think about it

[end of gore]

so. on to jorge. hm. the thing about jorge is that he was kinda writing a coming of age film in his own head, so like - yes, that's what you do go for? you can play it straight and follow how jorge has cast his rivals, or you can pin the whole narrative on the fact that jorge has cast them - the kinda artificiality of the narrative, the way jorge is this storyteller who isn't being recognised as much as he thinks he should be, isnt adequately appreciated. the way there's this three way discourse between what jorge thinks the story is and what the public thinks the story is and actual. you know. reality. I think this is a bit more light-hearted, like you know how the best stories about teenagers take their emotions seriously but also let them be kinda silly? because young people are silly! jorge was silly! he's got a lot of CHARM because he's so cocky and naive and full on and intense and awkward and kinda off-putting and tactless and a bit all over the place and so painfully, painfully young, like he's a good protagonist because that's a KID. but also, obviously there's also a lot of extremely not light-hearted bits of his story - everything about his father, his manager... idk this one's another one where, I don't just want to make it a generic sports biopic, and I'm trying to figure out the clear narrative arc here? I mean, you can point to the end of 2010 and really lean into him choosing victory on-track over popularity off it. the problem with 2010 is that it does not work as a dramatic season, yeah sure with the magic of biopics you can hack at it to shit but also. idk. what are we getting out of it. I think for narrative purposes you want to maybe narrow in, and end it at the end of 2008, with the switching of the numbers this kind of moment of emancipation? but also! this feels like we're straying a bit too far away from the fun sports elements and I don't want to REALLY suggest all the ways in which you could mine jorge's personal trauma in a jokey tumblr post, so I'm gonna move on from this one

the problem is 2015 just straight up doesn't work as a jorge-centric narrative, except in a very kinda comic way that leans into how absurd his role in that season was. 2012 as a season is a bit... y'know, it's fine. okay it's mostly terrible, but that's fine too. but it doesn't have a great narrative hook. which kinda leads you to the problem that I do think the valentino rivalry is more... juicy from jorge's pov, because for valentino, jorge is just kinda? an obstacle? idk he's more normal about it, it's just his job to destroy the guy, you know how it is. but also 2009 does work better narratively from valentino's pov, like it's the build up to catalunya specifically you can dramaticise... idk though, I do love catalunya but my heart isn't really in this exercise because I think valentino isn't really being... challenged here? it's a title fight where he's fundamentally using a set of tools he's already perfected, to beat a guy he doesn't really give a shit about. when the italian press is down on him pre catalunya, it doesn't spark any genuine self-doubt - it's just a handy source of extra motivation. there's no epic highs or lows that season, not real ones. and yes I know I was talking about making valentino who gets stabbed repeatedly to cover up an infection a moment ago, but that reflected real EMOTIONAL truths!! I'm committed to thematic fidelity more than I am to literal fidelity

genuinely I think the best way to tackle jorge is with the jorge/dani parallel journeys... what, film? tv show? maybe show actually - you don't have one coherent narrative Statement per se but you're constantly charting those journeys in reference to each other, really rooting it in their respective points of views, no neutral detached cinematic language like I want everything to be very much written to be from their eyes!! going from one to the other and back again. and you're charting these different journeys, right, and how they both captured different flavours of like... emotional successes and failures. I think it's actually about failure, yeah, about having to accept there's something you can't have and might never be able to get - whether that's universal love or a premier class title or whatever - but Actually, that might not be the end of the world. and during this process, they go from being enemies to tentative friends!! guys who realise they can maybe actually understand each other better than they thought!! this real moment of interpersonal connection. you have all these media narratives and the managers and so on and the fact they're competitors as these built in reasons why they've just been pitted against each other from the start... but y'know, again, it is also just a bit about maturing, about being able to set that aside, about making your peace with defeat and failure as an element of growing up. you can't win everything, maybe there's something you really really really want and you're just not going to get it, but at the end of the day it's kinda... yeah. self-acceptance. idk this is the nice one

so with marc you can go several different ways here I guess, and again he's also perfectly decent sports biopic material, probably second to casey in that category like yeah sure do the comeback story. but also, we do already have a very good self-produced documentary about what he thinks the narratives of his career are? idk this is also just a personal taste thing, I'll leave him to doing all the injury stuff himself, I don't have much to add there. we'll get to the obvious one in a second, but I was trying to figure out if there were other places I massively felt like you need the cinematic touch. and, again, the 2013 season is obviously very exciting!! but also, you have it covered in.,,,, multiple documentaries, I don't feel I have a take their either? his rivalries with dani and jorge aren't really substantive enough to sustain a bit of cinema. dovi... I mean, what are you saying there? what's the arc? I feel like if I tackled dovi, I'd go somewhere else and really go all in with the ducati stuff, and make it a bit more... you know, stark, stripped back, basically just the emotional component of how much he gave to that project and how he managed to beat away one rival after the next and how it all ended up falling apart in a kind of anti-climactic way? he's also good sports biopic material, but in a way I think the marc rivalry is the bit of his story I have the least to say on. so eg, 2017 is a dramatic season, but he's also kinda fine after it? he always knew it was a long shot, he tried his best and he got really close and then he lost. you can't amadeus it because dovi isn't (fictional) salieri. basically, I think what I'm saying here is that dovi is too well-adjusted to feature in this post. though I'd totally watch a film about his 250cc seasons, like it's a bit annoying because HE is the underdog who loses both title fights to jorge, but it'd still be kinda fun idk. I wouldn't really know what to do with the material but if someone made the film I'd absolutely watch it

right then. the thing about sepang 2015 is... yeah, sure, of course you can do it, it already exists as a narrative but... yeah, what are you adding!! idk I always think when you're adapting something, you kinda need to have a reason for it? I mean, what are you doing that's not already there in the footage? idk maybe this is just a sign of having been a fan of this sport for one too many years but to me the idea of sepang 2015 can get a bit boring (or maybe just repetitive) where I need a new TAKE on it to really get into the idea of fictionalising it. like where's the auteur's touch y'know, what can I still add to this!! but it also needs to WORK for someone who is new to the story, which kinda just makes you want to tell the story straight.... y'know the story is strong enough and COMPLICATED enough to stand on its own and it IS good but I don't really have anything interesting to say beyond 'yeah sure that'e be neat'. I can't tell you why, but I also don't think the casey approach quite works here? the idea of providing a framing device with which valentino and marc can actually talk to each other... eh. don't like that. hm. okay wait actually I just turned it around in my head for... a while and I think I've got an idea to make the worst motorcycle racing film of all time. so, my central stupid film-making gimmick here is just. centring the fact we're completely reliant on a few guys and what they're telling us in making up our minds, and our removal from that story and the imperfection of their perceptions and so on. so I think you kinda make a point of... not actually showing the motorcycle racing? like, you always show it by showing other people watching it, you're showing the tv screen rather than the actual racing. even in the cinematic medium, you're centring the theatrical aspects, where you drill it down to just a few characters. valentino. marc. uccio. marc's fuck ass manager. maybe a crew chief or two. keep it limited though, all the others are kept at a distance - you're constantly focusing in on the same few characters. and very early on you basically just like... get them to fourth wall break by telling you, the viewer, with their actual words how racing works for them, what meaning they take out of it - and again it's this remove because we're never allowed to actually feel the racing for ourselves (no helmet cams), and it sets up that as the tragedy unfolds, again and again we're just hearing from them what happened. it's all zoomed in on how claustrophobic the entire situation is, like doing the race direction room after the sepang 2015 is perfect for that kind of thing, and crucially they're only ever addressing the audience because they can't address each other. but fourth wall breaks also obviously draw attention to artificiality! I realise they are very much like, lame gimmick central, but also are these men not inherently about lame gimmicks... idk it's basically the same story but at least it feels like a kinda interesting way of telling it. kinda trite, but cinema allows you to get to the point and let valentino actually play with the camera... so literally take it into his own hands and lead it around and tell the story from his point of view. and you can play with how they do both change in what stories they think they're telling, how they're constantly revising their own stories, how their stories completely clash with each other... like. make them literal narrators. that's my pitch

so. one interesting pattern that has come up with my approaches to these rivalries is that with the exception maybe of the 2015 stuff, I feel like I'm more naturally inclined to treat valentino as a narrative device and centre his rivals. a big part of this is that valentino is a fantastic narrative device. he's kinda. this looming presence in every narrative in this sport where you can just sort of use him as a sort of way to poke away at all these other riders. the monster everyone loves who you are trapped with. BOO!! he's gonna eat you! which is fun! but ALSO, crucially, several of these rivalries aren't that emotionally challenging for him!! again, with casey right, he wants to beat him, but he's not having a crisis of faith over losing to casey. he thinks casey is annoying, he wants to beat him because he wants to win. valentino is casey's foil, but casey is not valentino's. valentino makes for an excellent personal antagonist to casey, but the reverse just isn't true. casey isn't forcing valentino to reexamine his approach except 'ramping up the levels of being a dick on-track' - like, yes, that's a serious competitive challenge, but also valentino is very comfortable in his own skin in that rivalry. sure, you could have valentino have some kind of massive revelation about the casey rivalry, but like. he doesn't in canon. he changes his behaviour towards casey in pretty predictable ways depending on what the relationship demands from his perspective at any given time. there's nothing more there

now, obviously you know where I'm going here. there IS a rivalry where you can make the argument he changes as a result of it, there IS a rivalry that tips him over the line and makes him to do stuff he hadn't done before that, there IS a rivalry that happens to coincide with a period of his competitive life that challenges him both personally and professionally. now, look, I have already talked about the sete rivalry. you know what I think about this rivalry - and if you don't, I really already have told the story here and here and here and here and also here. I think this works perfectly well as a narrative in its own right, and it's one you can tell from either perspective... but you kinda need both. I think again you probably naturally lean towards starting it from sete's perspective and that first proper meeting (I mean, idk if it is their first actual meeting, but it's the logical obvious place you start this story) with sete giving valentino advice during his first 500cc test and valentino just, y'know, ignoring him and being a cocky shit and then crashing. so you get to see sete being kinda exasperated by the whole thing. also, obviously ibiza is like, a key framing device here, like it's the most obvious in-your-face way of tracking their relationship with each other. I don't actually know how often they partied there together, but it must have been at least twice and if the commentators are to be believed it must have included 2003. artistic license and you can add one or two more times, but mainly you want to focus in on 2003 onwards right. so you've got this 2002 one where it's, y'know, high point of their friendship and in the name of narrative efficiency, you establish here that sete is looking to make the honda switch. the emphasis is on how valentino has been winning everything but on the flip side you're getting the first insight into his discontent. and there's a bit of a vibe of, what could you possibly have to complain about? like you are winning so much? so it's late one night where they've had this slightly unguarded alcohol-fuelled moment of genuine vulnerability but in the end it's actually characterised by how... unsubstantial the link between them is, because they wouldn't talk about this kind of thing with each other and they might both be similar in some ways but also don't gettttttt each other. it means you can return there as a location in 2003, where you've just had sachsenring and valentino's dramatic loss but they're still partying together and it's like. obviously In The Air that not everything is quite right... their relationship is already gradually altered and twisted because you're introducing this element of actual stakes and competition (obviously in 2004 they do NOT spend that time together, as far as we know anyway, and you can show them being very much not together at ibiza as a very obvious Oooh Things Will Fall Apart and maybe already haveeee)

and I do think basically I've already said what I think the themes here are,,,, several times by this point, so I'm not going to belabour the point. I think all of this fundamentally works as a narrative with like, minimal massaging and rearranging of the elements for dramatic effect. it's all there already, everything from sete's arc with the [insert non-tasteless way of covering a real life tragedy that fundamentally alters the course of sete's career] and how that leads to sete becoming the challenger and how he does want to win and his eventual downfall. with valentino, you have the element of liberation and self-discovery and... well, growing into your own but also kinda having the narrative drawing attention to how 'growing into your own' can involve becoming a fully realised character who is essentially quite cruel? you have this kind of... build up, right, towards this moment of revelation, where you lay bare who these two people actually ARE at sepang 2004, and then again at jerez 2005. valentino has gone his own way, he has freed himself from the chains of honda, he has embraced individualism and the chance to define himself and his own legacy and stand on his own two feet and not rely on the strongest bike or all this stuff within honda where they chose him as their flag bearer, for better or for worse... like he comes to his own here! he takes the step from 'great rider' to 'legend' because he gets to this dramatic moment of stepping into the unknown, he takes this massive risk that could have cost him so much, and it ends up elevating him. but it also puts him under duress, and in that moment he reveals himself - whatever sete did or did not do at qatar 2004, EVEN IF sete did all that shit, what you are left with is valentino vowing to ruin this man. valentino uses sete to make himself 'better', to fuel himself as a competitor. valentino turns sete into a tool in his own story. and again, thematically you've got all this stuff about how sete was managing the image of the rivalry and how valentino took advantage of that - how sete needed it to remain respectful and valentino was completely willing to abandon that. like, you have two protagonists who really are similar in quite a few ways, who think they have this shared understanding with each other, but when it comes down to it? they end up being super painfully different

now I can go on about this and how to play it straight, basically, you can just do that rivalry and I think it'd be cool and fun and very easy to arrange in a good narrative way. BUT I've kind of already. done that. like I don't want to suggest a film that is basically a nicer version of my tumblr posts. so I want to take this in a slightly different direction, and I think what we need to consider with this rivalry is this: what if you made the curse literal? basically, what's always kinda charmed me about this rivalry is that the curse should not work and all the misfortune that befalls sete after that is so comical that it's kinda... what do you do with that? and the answer is you just lean all the way in. my pitch is this: what if valentino sells his soul to the devil?

so, you know faust, right, and you know the bit at the start of goethe's faust where god and mephistopheles are basically making a wager over how corruptible this one human is. and faust is like... he's kinda disillusioned, he feels that everything he's dedicated his life to in academia is fundamentally hollow, gets very close to committing suicide. and faust has gone a bit new age-y, gotten into all this mystical shit and he's got this pentagram that ends up preventing mephistopheles from leaving his presence in their first meeting... and basically what the devil can give him is like, the chance to attain some true pleasure, and for that faust is willing to bet everything - so if faust can just have that, then maybe eternal damnation is worth it. and look, I'm not going to summarise the entire plot of faust here and it does go off the wall a bit with all the gretchen stuff, but the point is you have this version of the devil who is fundamentally a cynic and is attempting to win an argument with god by making this human succumb to his own nihilism. and what faust basically does is like, abandon his normal life where he's trying to live by normal virtues and goes off on this journey with the devil. and there's this little moment where mephistopheles,,, pretends to be faust and takes on the role of an academic adviser (you know how it is) and seduces this random student away from the word of god and sends him down a wretched path, which ends with this bit:

like, a big part of faust's tragedy is supposed to be about... well, hubris, of the relationship of god to man, of no longer being afraid of the devil... and obviously, this is all framed very much in terms of religion, but at the end of the day it's also about, you know, having purpose - faust is living a life that no longer has any meaning to him, all of his knowledge and studies now no longer fill the void inside himself. his nihilism opens the door for mephistopheles, and is what makes him willing to accept the devil's terms. now, and I am so very sorry to goethe here, I think we have some material we can use here to explore the valentino/sete rivalry. obviously, you can't do a one-to-one, you need to get rid of some of like, the depression and all that - there were times when valentino was feeling 'a bit low' in 2003, but not 'faust thinking everything he'd done in his entire life was pointless' low, yeah? also, unless you want to do a real long view here and even then it can't really be justified, there obviously isn't really a 'tragedy' here from valentino's perspective. like, he wins! this isn't valentino's tragedy, it's sete's! I was being a bit facetious when I said he was 'selling his soul to the devil', and you can kinda parse mephistopheles' motivations in different ways depending on what flavour and what interpretation of him you're dealing with here. you don't 'damn' valentino, you essentially just turn him into a tool of the devil!

so, this is how this works out in my head: the devil works more broadly as the manifestation of competitive impulses, the kind of 'how far would you go to win' question as a bloke who shows up and literally talks to the characters about it (magic of cinema). he's also engaging with valentino feeling like his victories no longer having meaning, with being disconnected from honda and from the entire culture there and just feeling like he's going through the motions. there's this element of like... opening the door to what is essentially a journey of self-actualisation, bringing him closer to being a 'god' but also allowing him to fully come into his own and become himself. to win on his own terms. I reckon ibiza is my preferred narrative device where the devil talks both to sete and valentino there (separately), first literally as a mysterious stranger and then... maybe not? he's talking to them at times of their lives when they're not at ibiza and it's not happening there in the physical world and they both end up kinda having to confront they're dealing with some potentially malevolent supernatural entity. but the important elements of the devil is that a) he's not going to do anything the humans don't actually ask for themselves, and b) everyone knows he's following his own agenda and you should be careful of the requests you make of him. so it's kinda like... essentially, the backdrop of this rivalry unfolding is they're constantly being challenged to decide what lines they're willing to cross. which culminates at qatar... and maybe you do have sete making like. a teensy mistake. a teensy error in judgement, one that is both real and deliberate but he could not have known would get that reaction and instantly regrets. and valentino, who is I think inherently sceptical of the devil coming to offer to help him and maybe does crank out the pentagrams (remember, the whole point of faust is that he was too arrogant to be scared of the devil, or one of the points anyway), in a moment of fury does decide - no, actually. I will take that step. I will curse sete. now the thing is, dramatically this is a teensy bit tricky because when you're talking about being damned by the devil, usually the consequences are a bit more severe than 'not winning a motorcycle race again' (yes, you can get into how sete did also seem genuinely cursed after that, cf his ambulance/bus crash situation, but again we are flirting with being in poor taste in this tumblr post). but the thing is, right, you have to lean into the silliness here! qatar 2004 is inherently silly, a CURSE is inherently silly, like real life is already silly here! you have to engage with the people where they are, and for these athletes all this shit is so heightened that the emotions are full on. like, valentino would've sold that guy to the devil! and to him not winning another race is basically the worst thing that can happen

so, obviously, you get to do the actual curse stuff. curses are inherently campy fun, the devil doing curses is campy fun, getting valentino rossi to crank out the pentagrams is inherently campy fun. you get to play around with this, right, like you know that bit in the brno 2005 race commentary where the commentators are talking about how valentino might as well have a little radio to talk into sete's helmet to remind him of how sete had fucked up at the sachsenring. OBVIOUSLY obviously obviously it is just so... idk scrunchy and fun to have this idea of valentino becoming a malevolent enough force to literally do that.... like damn the commentators did kinda eat with that?? ughhhhhh do you ever think about sete leading the qatar 2005 race for most of the way???? like that's SO fucked up because you literally have articles from about the race going 'hey maybe sete can break his curse' and then the commentators are talking about curses having one year expiration dates but obviously they!! do not!!!!! there's one race where sete goes off track and the commentators are talking about how valentino will surely have smiled into his helmet like that's so fucked!! it's so fucked!! but idk I think basically you have all this creeping curse-y stuff and devil stuff and then you get this twist and then it just becomes misery zone for sete until you sort of. compress the timeline and have him retire without getting into what happened at the end of 2006. and valentino just relishing in all his very worst emotions. and you've got sete who was the better man after jerez 2005, who took the high ground again and again and again and it did NOTHING for him.... and then he's cursed and his career is finished and the devil has had his fun getting mixed in with mid noughties motogp. and now obviously this is inherently kinda dumb and corny and silly but it's the devil!! mephistopheles to me is allowed to get up to dumb shit sometimes, let him have some fun!! idk I like curses being literal idc

I think the obvious critique here is 'this doesn't really feel like it gets the message of faust'. which, yes, is true - and obviously the way narratives are structured, a satisfying resolution isn't 'well selling your soul kinda slaps, actually'. and my statement to respond to this argument is as follows:

this is essentially canonically what happened. valentino DID do something kinda evil and it DID work out 100% for him and it DID kinda slap. at least when you add in the devil, you're making explicit the bit where it is a little bit bad. also, is sports not inherently about selling your soul for success... the story of valentino and sete is essentially about how we are twisted by competition, how pretending that we don't wish ill to our opponents is inherently dishonest. it is about lifting a facade for something that is already inherently there in the souls of men. this is obviously inherently a deeply cynical stance, but this is also a deeply cynical story beyond all the fun battles and camp dramatics. the devil is a cynic and he is basically the point of view character of goethe's faust - he's the one who is positioned closest to the audience. sports is all about living out some of humanity's worst instincts in a relatively low stakes setting, which means we get a free pass to have fun with a deeply cynical story that goes 'maybe selling your soul to the devil is fine, actually'

do I stand by this stance? not really, but the whole fun of storytelling is that sometimes you can just be kinda mean. I think goethe would get it... you can tell which character he enjoyed writing the most

the OTHER way you can do this is centre everything around qatar 2004 as like,,, the mystery box element...... okay look I have now made two posts that go WAY too deep on the 'what really happened' element but I do loveeeeee the whole thing like I would just make a film about that very end of the season and we show it from all these different angles as different characters narrate what happened... like fuck all the riders I want to hear from whichever mechanic used the scooter... the gresini mechanic who gave evidence to race direction.... various honda higher ups the crew chiefs like this is jb vs juan martinez it's war!!! obviously you still have the same emotional/thematic hooks as the general rivalry does but idk I would have a LOT of fun figuring out how to structure that, I loveeee mysteries... maybe I'd write it as a mockumentary yeah..... this one's just fun

anyway. a lot of stuff going on in this post, huh! you can probably tell I didn't edit this much. my classic tell when I edit my tumblr posts is I remember how 'paragraphs' work. unfortunately all I have energy for are like. a bunch of rants about things in my brain. I think when tumblr tells you that you've reached the maximum number of characters per paragraph and you need to figure out where to put a break, it's probably a bad thing? on the whole, my stance is I don't have anything AGAINST mildly fictionalised versions, but for me I'm always more of a.... well I want to take advantage of the full specificity of the events as they happened or just come up with a completely original story. kind of person. I know this ask probably wasn't looking for my 'what if you bled out valentino as he's strung up above a red motorcycle' vision but yeah. with a lot of biopics I'm always a bit 'well you could just read about this couldn't you' like I need stuff to take some kind of a stance on the material it's using... all my stuff takes a stance. that's all I've got. obviously all these stances mean that basically none of these things could ever be made. and I know what I said above but if they called me up to write the casey stoner biopic script treatment, I would also do that. if you've actually read to this point, give me a shout - you're a real one and I love you

[fans4wga]

Interview with Chris Keyser, co-chair of the WGA’s negotiating committee, on 100 days of the strike

'Chris Keyser, the co-chair of the Writers Guild of America’s negotiating committee, doesn’t see the 100-day marker of the ongoing strike as a moment to celebrate. In fact, Keyser has a few choice words for the Hollywood studios and streamers who comprise the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers, calling the anniversary of the work stoppage “shameful” and “a day of infamy.”

In an interview posting Friday as part of The Hollywood Reporter’s TV’s Top 5 podcast, Keyser talks about the stalled state of negotiations with the AMPTP, why companies boasting about cash savings during the work stoppage is a “smokescreen” and his thoughts on what it will take to get both sides back to the negotiating table.

Below is an edited and condensed version of the TV’s Top 5 interview with hosts Lesley Goldberg and Daniel Fienberg. You can listen to the full conversation when episode 226 posts on Friday morning. (Subscribe here.)

Walk us through what happened with the Aug. 4 talks where both sides reunited to see if there was a path forward to resume negotiations.

Keyser: It didn’t go perfectly well, obviously. The conversation turned on Carol [Lombardini, president of the AMPTP] saying, “We’re going to talk about some things” and Ellen [Stutzman, chief negotiator of the WGA] saying, “You’re going to need to talk about everything.” And Carol saying, “I need to get back to you and talk to my member companies.” We’re waiting to hear. So, a stutter step but not really worth worrying too much about in the long run.  [After the meeting THR reached out to the AMPTP, which did not comment.]

How was the temperature of the room when you walked in versus when you walked out?

Keyser: Things are cordial with the AMPTP. People are not yelling at each other. Everything is very professional; coldly professional, probably. The coldness is metaphorical. But no one needs to worry about that. The WGA is not particularly interested in playing games. Talking is the only way forward. There’s a sense somehow that you label something 100 days like it’s some kind of celebration. It’s an anniversary of shame for the AMPTP, let’s be clear about that. There was that early comment in the press about trying to starve us, and then they walked that back. But of course they are. We can make a TV show in 100 days; they can’t seem to get back into the negotiating room and have one substantive conversation. It’s a day of infamy for the AMPTP. It’s shameful. Either they cannot get it together or they intentionally are not getting it together. Or the AMPTP is doing precisely what they claimed they wouldn’t do, which was to try to create a situation in which people who are hungry and desperate no longer have the will to fight for their own survival. That’s not going to work.

Do you have an idea of when talks are going to resume?

Keyser: I don’t know. It’s impossible to get inside their heads. They could be negotiating among themselves about what they’re willing to offer. They could be delaying for the sake of delaying. At some point, I almost don’t believe that anymore. There’s a difference between the companies and the AMPTP itself. There were reports that said Carol didn’t want to meet last Friday. I don’t know if that’s true or not. You can never quite tell [what’s going on] behind that curtain. All the chatter you’ve been hearing from the companies — all of the reports of outreach — that’s because the companies have come to understand that this is no longer a tenable strategy and Wall Street’s repeating it: “We don’t understand what the companies are doing.” “This no longer makes sense.” “They can’t work without product.” It’s an inevitability that companies that make TV and film have to go back to making TV and film — with an asterisk that who knows what Amazon and Apple are up to because they could never make another program and it wouldn’t affect their bottom line. That’s part of the problem with the industry: It has players in it for whom the thing that we all love and value is an asterisk.

One of the things that you’ve been talking about is the possibility that the individual members of the AMPTP do not necessarily have the same agenda and that at some point they could splinter. As we are at 100 days, from your perspective, does that seem more or less likely?

Keyser: It’s hard not to look at the situation and see the differing interests of the companies and the ways in which this strike affects them differently means that at some point, they may need to assert their own interests rather than the interest of the group. I’m not surprised that no one has broken off yet because the AMPTP process has been highly effective for them in putting downward pressure on labor. So, in some sense, I think it needs another step for that to happen. I can easily imagine that Carol would say, “You have to give me a chance to go back in and negotiate.” She’s going to have her chance. It does not entirely make sense for Warner [Bros. Discovery] to tie its future to Apple’s point of view about the industry if Apple is intransigent. Apple [for example] would be fine, and Warner would disappear.

There was a sense of optimism, going into Friday’s meeting, from guild membership that seems to now have evaporated. How important is it for both sides to be at the table talking?

Keyser: There’s always optimism because you can’t be in a struggle for 100 days and not say, “There’s a tiny light at the end of the tunnel.” I just don’t know how long the tunnel is. We put out an email to the membership the Thursday before reminding them that of the AMPTP “playbook.” I use that term meaningfully because they do tend to go back to the same strategy over and over again — not to come right back in and say, “OK, what do you need? Let’s make a really good deal” — but to see how little they can give us. In 2007-08, they did it and talks led to breaking off. Even if we get back into a room, I don’t put it past them to continue to say, “We’ll give you a little bit.”

The AMPTP’s line is the DGA pattern and then a few other things. That’s the same way they negotiated a non-conflict negotiation. That’s what they did in 2020, during COVID. But they’ve got two guilds — 170,000 people — out on strike. You can’t just use the same line over and over again and expect it to apply to every single situation. At some point, that becomes useless obstinacy. We’re going to talk at some point because the companies can’t afford not to.

When you hear concretely that the DGA deal is going to be what they’re offering, how do you respond?

Keyser: The DGA deal was never going to be a meaningful pattern for us. There are pieces of this — like success-based residuals — that the DGA felt like it didn’t need and we feel that we do. The DGA doesn’t get to make our deal. The DGA made the deal that it needed to make. But the companies can’t use that deal as our settlement, because 170,000 people are on strike telling them that that’s not going to be sufficient and it doesn’t allow us to survive in this industry.

Companies are caught between a Wall Street regime that requires certain things of them that are hard in the middle of transition — free cash flow and growth — and the ability to deal with the fact that practices that they have adopted over the last decade have driven their workforce closer to being unable to survive. They have to figure out a way to compensate their workforce fairly, even as they have that sound in their ears saying, “Wall Street wants profitability,” “Wall Street doesn’t want to spend money.” They’re going to have to get through that, because not having us working only hurts them in the long run. It only diminishes their power in the business. It’s disruptive. They don’t even have to listen to me; they can listen to all of these Wall Street analysts.

The 2007-08 strike lasted 100 days, with negotiations resuming after 21 days. What is your expectation for how long the writers strike will go on?

Keyser: There’s no way for me to know that. Once they get into a room and they’re open to having real conversations, you do go very fast. Real negotiations don’t take very long. It’s really a question of how long it’s going to take the companies to say, “We understand that we have no choice but to sit down and have a real conversation.” I can’t determine that. When the broadcast season begins to evaporate, when Sony moves all of its movies from 2023 to 2024, when you look ahead to next year and you say, “What is Warner going to program on HBO once they get through this?” How do they manage that, month after month after month? They’re going to make a deal with us. That deal is going to be some version of what we’re looking for. If they keep us longer, that price doesn’t go down. All that’s going on now is they’re compounding their losses.

Taylor Sheridan is one of the most successful working TV writers in this moment. He told THR in a cover story this summer that he didn’t support the minimum room size, which is one of the WGA’s core issues. Others have echoed those sentiments, including John Ridley. What do you make of their comments?

Keyser: I’m not going to emphasize any one of our areas of negotiation because we had five or so, broadly speaking, areas that we need to make progress on and to make sure that writing is sustainable. One of them is the dismantling of the writers room process, and part of the solution to that is to make sure that writers are hired. We’re committed to that. We have 11,500 members. I don’t worry if somebody disagrees. Taylor Sheridan makes a lot of TV shows, and he’s good at doing that. But he’s still just one voice. And John Ridley can do the same. That’s fine. I think they’re wrong. I don’t negotiate with Taylor Sheridan. He doesn’t determine our bargaining. Whatever he wants to say, he can say.

What concessions might the WGA make in order to get back to the table?

Keyser: It’s a valid question, but it’s not a question you could possibly expect a negotiator to have with you. We have said to the companies that the solutions to these problems that we face can be negotiable. If they have an idea of what formula they want to apply to success-based residuals, they should feel free to suggest one. What we want to negotiate is the solutions, not the existence of the problems themselves. We’re not going to walk out of this negotiation with a company saying, “There are like five different ways for you to die, you can be saved three of those ways and then we’ll kill you the other two.” That’s not going to happen. All of [the issues] have to be dealt with; they can be dealt with in other ways that we have proposed or there may be variations inside that, although I don’t want to promise that every one of them is infinitely flexible. For example, we’ve got to be really careful about the language on AI to make sure that AI does not have the power to replace writers.

Has the WGA considered asking fans — or even members — to boycott streamers?

Keyser: We’re not in the business of running nationwide boycotts. But if fans feel like doing that, fans should take that on. I think the fans, without coordination, will begin to do that. All of these companies know that churn is a big problem and as their original offerings become sparser and sparser, people are going to say, “Why am I spending all this money?”

SAG-AFTRA has drawn the ire from both performers and writers for its willingness to grant waivers during its strike. I’m hearing that the WGA would oppose waivers. But if someone came to the WGA and agreed to such things as room minimums, health insurance for any length of a mini-room, and as well as acceptable AI language, would the WGA grant that network or studio or streamer a waiver?

Keyser: We’re not granting waivers. We will if a meaningful player comes and wants to make a full deal with us. That changes the complexion of this negotiation. We’re open to making that deal. But we’re not granting waivers. We did that in 2007-08 and it wasn’t advantageous; it led to complications. That is not a commentary on SAG and I’m not going to comment on their official policy.

Warner Bros. Discovery and Paramount revealed in earnings reports that they’re saving money by being media companies that aren’t actually producing media right now. Why do you think that’s a message that they’re putting out?

Keyser: It’s a smokescreen; it has nothing to do with the way things are going to work going forward. I think we really need to be concerned as a country about when Amazon and Apple have their quarterly earnings calls and don’t even mention entertainment because the results don’t matter. So, if the argument is, “We can take control over and decimate the entertainment business because it’s irrelevant to us,” that’s a real problem for writers, actors and directors, but also a problem for the public. Having said that, Warner, Disney, Sony, Comcast, Paramount and Netflix need to create product. And a pile of money on their shelves without anything for people to watch next year is only going to come back to haunt them. And they know. But I don’t think any Wall Street analyst is fooled by the short-term vision that says, “Look at us, we didn’t spend anything, we didn’t make anything. We’re rich.”

We’ve heard of back-channeling going on, and there’s been a lot written about who could be the white knight — the Lew Wasserman of this era — with suggestions ranging from everyone from Peter Chernin to Ari Emanuel to Nancy Tellem and Mark Pedowitz, as well as political folks like Gavin Newsom or Karen Bass. Who has the potential to do so and who do you trust?

Keyser: We don’t need a mediator. That’s an old wives’ tale that you need somebody to come in and have a conversation. We’re perfectly OK. Talking about whether the companies need a mediator internally is an entirely different question. I appreciate everyone who wants to help. But what’s necessary here is for the companies to get it together and be ready to talk about the issues on the table. They know where to reach us.

What is your message on day 100 of the strike to the AMPTP and to writers?

Keyser: My message to the companies is we are your allies. We are your asset, we are the way in which you create value. And we are here and ready to have a conversation about how that’s going to happen where we share enough of that value that’s fair and allows us to survive in the business as we have over the past half century. It’s good for you, and it’s good for us. So, we need to get past the rhetoric, and we need to get into a room and talk.

As writers, the real job now is to fight through the fear and the uncertainty and the tendency to think, “How can we end this without getting exactly what we need?” Hold firm and remember why we got here in the first place. With SAG by our side, we’re more powerful than ever. There will be no path forward for writers or for actors who do not say, “Enough.” There is no mercy here; there is only a revolution that comes out of our power. And that’s what we intend to achieve.'

[desswright29]

Shame Pt.1

Hello all! I am very new to all of this, but this story came to my head while listening to this song and I was like well hell why not give it a try! Thought I’d give you guys a taste and you let me know if you want more! If you do this Series will be a definite roller coaster. Hope you want to know more about my girls and the story of how they got here!

Prologue

Shuri stood frozen in the middle of the New York State Capital building. A burning sensation starting in her chest, quickly spreading throughout her entire body. Okoye to her left, hand settled firmly in the center of her back as Nakia stood to her right firmly grasping her bicep, both with the intention of keeping their Queen stable on her feet as they all looked up at the screens with a mixture of emotions. 

 They’d come to The States to start plans on the new outreach program for the state of New York. As they walked into the building there was an obvious distraction that peaked Shuri’s interest to say the least. People were gathered in groups watching their phones or headed towards somewhere where there was a television. As she walked through the building she noticed sympathetic glances thrown her way. 

“What in Bast’s name is every one looking at?” Okoye says on high alert. “Something does appear off.” Nakia chimes in. “Ikumkani wam if you feel uncomfortable at any moment we will retreat.” “I am fine Okoye. I don’t believe their to be any threat. Let us follow the crowd” Shuri continues her confident strut following behind the crowd ignoring the weird looks she’s receiving. Nakia and Okoye shoot eachother a look as they follow ready and willing to protect the Queen and Black Panther at all cost.

     As they came up on the crowd in the center of the building they were all looking up at the screen with fond looks of adoration. Smiles, tears, hushed conversation. “She’s beautiful.” “She deserves this after what happened.””I’m so very happy for her.”

   All three women looked up at the screen in confusion to see…. A wedding. “All the commotion over a wedding? Must be royalty.”

The bride walked down the aisle in one of the most beautiful gowns Shuri had ever seen veil covering her face, as her groom sang to her a song he wrote for her special for this occasion. It was beautiful. 

   But something felt familiar about this bride. A strange feeling tugged at Shuri’s chest her breathing picking up. The bride walked up to her groom. As he finished up the song he took his mic free hand and gently removed the veil from his brides face to reveal a beautiful beaming bride. With beautiful brown glowing skin that she used to refer to jokingly as”Pecan butter tan”. It was always the perfect description to Shuri because when it all boiled down to it Shuri always thought she looked edible, smooth and buttery. With her perfectly beautiful smile that lifted the apples of her cheeks adorably. 

“Y/N” Shuri let out breathlessly.

Okoye and Nakia immediately held Shuri stable. However, pointless because Shuri couldn’t move if she wanted to. Frozen. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. As Shuri watched the love of her life … Marrying someone? Some.. Man?

She felt her breathing become shallow. Immediately becoming over stimulated. Feeling  Claustrophobic, everything was too much. She started to hyperventilate. She took off not caring who she knocked over to find a place of solitude. This couldn’t be happening. 

‘I know it was a while ago but I’m better now! I’m better for her! I have to have another chance! Please Bast, No this isn’t real’ so many thoughts ran through her head as she found a sign for a restroom she ran in lucky it’s empty locking the door behind her. 

   Shuri felt the familiar pain in her belly as she crossed her arms across her center in agony. She slid down the wall to the floor groaning as tears flowed freely from her eyes. Choking on a sob trying to breathe.

 “Shuri! Open the door!” Okoye whisper yelled 

“Shuri you need someone with you when you get like this. You haven’t had one in a while let us be here for you!” Nakia spoke up.

  It’s all background noise to her. 

“I can’t break. I can’t break. I can’t break” she chanted over and over to herself. 

She’d really fucked up that bad? It’s really over? ‘I was getting better… baby I was gonna be better for you. Please.’

[katherinakaina]

I'm curious - if Daniil is Film and Artemiy is Theatre, what media do you think Clara might be? Assuming the Film and Theatre won't be reused/reunited in her route.

I was thinking about radio - at first because of sarafan radio, then because of illegal radio stations in USSR where the forbidden bands and bards could be heard, among other things. Bard connection could be especially interesting, because of Clara ending being connected to both the tradition (town) and the "future" (polyhedron), and how the minstrels and troubadours go way back to middle ages and further and yet found a new life in the bards?

And of course the jester connection, the trickster connection. Also the association with travelling and beggars and travelling performers. So I think radio kinda fits? Sorry for a long rant, I hope you don't mind))

I think you should’ve made it your own post, anon. This is an interesting idea. I vote on radio too. Even though television fits Clara even better it’s a bit too modern for Pathologic.

Radio fits because it’s a medium for broadcasting, reaching as big an audience as can be reached. Unlike film or theater that make a bigger impact but have more limited outreach. All of it is about (among other things) spreading of ideas which is viral in nature. A bit of information jumps from human to human in the same way a virus does, mutates and adapts along the way. The term ‘meme’ (derived from gene) comes from this analogy.

The entire game is about the clash of ideas, which worldview prevails, which set of beliefs comes out on top. The Plague is an active participant in this clash, therefore all the talk about it having its own agency, having a voice and so on. It is fitting for Clara to be both the Plague and a Saint. Religion, or a strong moral ideology, is a nice counterweight to something as powerful as an ideology of Destruction (Plague can be a metaphor for fascism, which is a death cult).

Internet would be an even better metaphor for Clara, seeing how it facilitates both the rise of fascism and, well, wokeism. But radio works well enough.

[little-ajax-56793]

Look guys. This sucks but we need to remember that there are still things we can do. Outreach and helping people sure I guess but mainly bullying JD Vance. That man is so fucking bullyable and I know we can get him to start crying on national television if we all band together and refuse to shut the fuck up. JD Vance is a little pissboy who is sexually attracted to Donald Trump. JD Vance is weird as shit. JD Vance fucks couches on the reg.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[MEI is a Washington DC-based think-tank that receives funding from the UAE, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and other sources]

Northwestern Iran’s West Azerbaijan province, a crucial economic and business corridor between Iran and Turkey, has transformed into a challenging but tempting front for Ankara’s periodic efforts to exploit its points of leverage against Tehran. This region has a mixed population of mainly Sunni Kurds and Shi’a Azerbaijani-Turks; but for decades, the latter ethnic group has dominated the former, facilitated by Tehran’s endorsement of a “divide and rule” policy over this area. By some estimates, Azerbaijani-Turks constitute more than 20 million, or approximately 24% of the total population of Iran.[...]However, [...] Azerbaijani-Turks have been one of the pillars of the Iranian administration for centuries; and in more recent times, members of this community have wielded significant power serving in Iran’s military and the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC).

What is today West Azerbaijan was a birthplace of Kurdish nationalism, the site of the establishment of the first modern Kurdish political party, and where, in 1946, the Soviets helped set up a short-lived Kurdish authority (the Republic of Kurdistan). And yet modern-day Kurds who live here face discrimination on two levels: from the central government in Tehran and from local Azerbaijani-Turkish authorities. As one particularly salient example, when it comes to parliamentary races, many Kurdish candidates approved by Tehran to run for elections are subsequently rejected by the local authorities in West Azerbaijan who are, in some cases, operating independently of Tehran’s reach. Tensions between the province’s main two ethnic groups, thus, stand at an alarming level, particularly in comparison to other areas of the country.[...]

The complex and strained nature of inter-ethnic dynamics in West Azerbaijan province, combined with the close ethnic affinity of Turks and Azerbaijanis, has made the Azerbaijani-Turkish community an important target of outreach for Turkey, despite their religious differences, much to Iran’s concern. The widespread use of satellite dishes and access to Turkish channels since the 1990s have significantly contributed to amplifying Turkey’s soft power among Iranian Azerbaijani-Turks: Many households in northwestern Iran, particularly Azerbaijani-Turks, regularly tune in to Turkish television stations. Moreover, Turkey has been providing growing training and support, with a focus on cultural revival, to Azerbaijani-Turkish activists and journalists in West Azerbaijan through the Turkish consulate in Urmia city. This exposure and public diplomacy fosters awareness of Turkic solidarity as well as contributes to improved proficiency in the Turkish language, leading to an observed increase in Turkish influence since the early 2000s. As a result of this policy, the local Azerbaijani authorities in West Azerbaijan have added Azerbaijani-language toponyms to Farsi street names in the capital city of this province, Urmia. Additionally, the local Azerbaijani authorities push the usage of the Azerbaijani language over Farsi in official meetings, causing tension with Kurds.[...]

Accompanying this Turkish-encouraged and (partially) -facilitated cultural revival is a radicalization of Azerbaijani-Turkish nationalism in this province, which has extended beyond opposition to Kurds to encompass Persians as well. In recent years, during most soccer matches in Azerbaijani-speaking Iranian cities, fans have been seen carrying flags of the Republics of Azerbaijan and Turkey to the stadiums chanting, “Persians, Kurds, and Armenians are Turkish enemies,” which has been echoed in Turkish media.[...]

Against this background, the Kurdish-populated region, which was divided between Iran and Turkey due to wars between the Ottoman and Safavid empires, poses a challenge for Turkey in implementing its Turkic world plan and establishing direct contact with Azerbaijanis in Iran. Most border cities and villages on both sides of Iran and Turkey — much like villages on both sides of Turkey’s borders with Iraq and Syria — have a majority-Kurdish population. And importantly, the Kurds of Iran’s border areas adjacent to Turkey speak the same Kurdish Kurmanji dialect as Turkey’s Kurds, whereas Iranian Kurds who live farther away from the border use the Sorani dialect. Turkey claims members and supporters of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK), which has fought an armed insurgency against the Turkish government for the past 40 years, are present in the border cities of Iran’s Kurdistan region and exploit these cross-border kinship and ethno-cultural ties. In 2020, Turkish Interior Minister Süleyman Soylu’ asserted that 100 PKK fighters were present in the northwestern Iranian city of Maku, and warned that if Iran did not remove them, Turkey would act, implicitly calling to mind Turkey’s interventions against Kurdish militant forces in northern Syria.[...]

In July 2022, clashes erupted between Kurdish and Azerbaijani smugglers in Maku. Following the escalation, a group of Azerbaijani-Turks attacked a Kurdish summer-time tent camp in the Avajik Mako area, wielding sticks, clubs, and other weapons, leading to the destruction of the nomadic Kurdish herders’ tents by setting them on fire. Tragically, Azerbaijani attackers killed a 43-year-old Kurd, and in retaliation, the Kurds killed two Azerbaijani-Turks. Subsequently, more than 120 Kurdish nomad families and their 20,000 cattle were evicted or forcibly relocated by local — ethnically Azerbaijani-Turkish — authorities without compensation or explanation. Further enflaming the situation, the incident was reported in Turkey’s Yeni Safak newspaper as supposedly having been sparked by a PKK attack on ethnic Turks in Iran, with accusations that the Iranian government was collaborating with the Kurdish group to ethnically cleanse the area.[...]

Azerbaijani-Turks still dominate most of the high-ranking administrative positions there. Among the four deputy governors — collectively responsible for political, security, and economic affairs, construction, as well as human resources — all are Azerbaijani-Turks. Similarly, out of the 17 administrative offices in the province, 14 are led by Azerbaijani-Turks, with the remaining two held by Kurds and one by a Persian.

Also notably, Iran’s former president, Hassan Rouhani, in his visit to East Azerbaijan in 2019, referred to West Azerbaijan as “Urmia” — the Kurds’ preferred name for this province. [...]

Turkey’s support for Azerbaijanis in Iran within the context of the development of the Turkic world has appeared in the rhetoric of Turkish leaders in recent years. In late 2020, while taking part in a military parade in Baku to commemorate Azerbaijan’s victory over Armenia in their 44-day war over the Karabakh enclave, President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan recited a short poem that symbolically called on all Turks to “liberate” Iran’s West Azerbaijan. The Iranians’ firestorm reaction to that poem prompted the two countries to summon each other’s envoys in Ankara and Tehran. The Turkish foreign minister at the time, Mevlüt Çavuşoğlu, asserted that Erdoğan had been unaware of the sensitivities around the poem [sic] and condemned what he called Tehran’s offensive response.[...]

Shukriya Bradost is a doctoral researcher at Virginia Tech, where she focuses on Middle East security. She has published op-eds and provided commentaries about Middle Eastern geopolitical developments in various global media outlets, including Al Jazeera, Jerusalem Post, Observer, and Iran International.

27 Feb 24

[growingnerves]

Trying to find a nice way to put this… what Norman said on that podcast was not okay. Insulting fans and admitting to being responsible for writers losing their jobs with such nonchalance, is downright disrespectful- although I’m thankful the truth didn’t stay buried. It’s careless behavior and it doesn’t reflect well on AMC considering this is a repeated offense.

Not everyone involved in television has to be an excellent public speaker but there should be someone at the helm who understands how to conduct themselves in interviews. Every show needs a spokesperson to be a direct link to the audience: for promoting the show, and making the fans feel included as well as appreciated. As a fan I’ve never wanted creatives to bend to the whim of every loudmouth on social media. Shallow fan service has never benefited any show. However, fair criticism and honest feedback should be welcome. Serving the self-interest of a man with an ego the size of the Eiffel Tower won’t do the show any favors either. AMC, like any other network, presumably wants someone as the face of their series who reflects positively on their brand. I’m hoping we will see some significant changes going forward to win back the trust of the fans. And I believe Melissa McBride’s input is essential to do so.

Viewers are considering ethics when it comes to their TV watching habits now more than ever. We are becoming aware of the optics of the media we consume. We can examine what we know of the practices at individual studios and networks in an effort to support shows that most closely align with our own values. We don’t need to compromise our high standards when there are endless other options. To stay in line with the audience, TV has to evolve alongside us. If AMC can’t keep up with the demand for a diverse cast and writer’s room, I’m not subscribing and I suspect other viewers will gravitate elsewhere too, as they have been.

Women’s voices are valuable even if historically they’ve been taken for granted. Women tend to have a wider outreach in their storytelling than the repetitive POV that is often seen from male showrunners. Men have not been faced with the same obstacles. They haven’t had to contort themselves into a million different shapes to be taken seriously.

Men’s voices were the only ones heard for a long time in film and television. Male protagonists were given autonomy and multifaceted stories, while women’s representation was not prioritized. Women only existed in relation to their male counterparts- and the damsel in distress just isn’t that interesting to watch. Because of this, women have projected themselves into the considerably more compelling male characters, delving into the minutiae to find some semblance of relatability in typically masculine portrayals. This has been a challenge to other marginalized groups on an even larger scale. How long have POC been sorely underrepresented, having to find ways to see themselves in white stories? And the LGBTQ+ community has been limited to watching primarily straight cis romances. The representation we do get is often times minimized to tokenism. The absence of diversity impacts everyone who doesn’t fit the same generic prototype. There are countless experiences and lifestyles that take on a wide range of forms which have not yet been in the spotlight. We don’t need another lone ranger on a motorcycle. Another mysterious brooding male antihero, yawwwwn.

Marginalized individuals have been prompted to work a creative muscle that the everyday man has not- to both suspend our disbelief and also dig into the details to uncover the inherit humanity in stories where we don’t necessarily identify with the protagonist.

These are the voices who are going to be the best conduits for fresh stories because they’ve already had to do the work to investigate human complexity to find themselves on screen, within characters who don’t necessarily look or act like they do. Not only can they build on already existing material but they can introduce original concepts. Television has been oversaturated with the straight white man running his mouth unchecked for too long. We don’t have to settle for that anymore when we can switch over to another show, one that better represents us.

[butmakeitgayblog]

I watched last night's FTWD and the amount of times they name dropped Alicia's name was ridiculous . ADC's shoulders must be so sore carrying two crappy shows after she leaves. She'll prob be back for the finale as well as some sort of masochistic act to these shows.

Listen after seeing her ass show up as special Alien Space Daddy Lexa after like what? 6 years? Of being off the shit show nothing would surpise me at this point. She will throw bones to these bitches writing terrible television because 1. She knows she'll collect all the checks

And 2. She's fully aware that everywhere she goes she's a fan favorite. It's like her booking agent knows she does community outreach programs for these crusty ass shows after she leaves them.

That being said if I'm speaking my truth, which I always try to do, except when I'm lying for fun, ummm I don't think she should do it? They disrespected her and the work she put into that show for years. Passing her over to become the lead of the show to shoehorn in Borgan and basically relegating her to 3rd string backup ensamble was a slap in the face considering she was the only character left from the beginning. They knew she carried that show for years after they killed off Madison and still did all that. So it very well could be that they just use her name to garner buzz for fans to keep tuning in, we've seen that shit before 🙄

[natlacentral]

DANIEL DAE KIM: BEACON OF FIRE

Daniel Dae Kim, a paragon of versatility in the entertainment industry, continues to enchant audiences with his rich and compelling character portrayals. Esteemed for his significant roles in landmark television series such as Lost and Hawaii Five-0, Kim has also made waves with his reflective insights on the finale of the Good Doctor, where he served not only as an actor but as an executive producer. As speculation mounts about his character's return in the show's concluding season, Kim's artistic reach extends further with his riveting performance as fire lord Ozai in the much-anticipated live-action adaptation of Netflix’s Avatar: The Last Airbender. In addition to his work on screen, Daniel Dae Kim's return to Broadway in the production of Yellow Face by David Henry Hwang is a venture into the comedic genre, offering a fresh perspective on relevant cultural themes with a timeless appeal. 

In the heart of Hollywood's ever-changing landscape, Daniel Dae Kim stands out not just as an actor and producer but as a visionary leader dedicated to reshaping the narrative around Asian American stories and beyond. Founding 3AD, a production company that underscores his commitment to amplifying diverse narratives within the industry, Kim ignited a movement towards inclusivity and representation, drawing inspiration from the overlooked and undervalued voices at the proverbial high school party of life. His mission, grounded in the belief that entertainment should both captivate and challenge, has already borne fruit with successes like the Good Doctor. Yet, Kim emphasizes, 3AD's scope transcends any single community, aiming instead to spotlight a mosaic of untold stories, thereby enriching our collective cultural tapestry.

Kim's commitment to portraying multifaceted characters that challenge stercotypes and his explorations beyond acting into producing reflect a continuous pursuit of artistic growth and contribution to the cultural dialogue. Beyond his on-sereen prowess, Kim's advocacy for greater diversity and inclusion in Hollywood has made him a pivotal figure in the push for a more equitable entertainment landscape.

With a career that spans critical acclaim and a fervent dedication to cultural change, Daniel Dac Kim remains a beacon of inspiration and a force for progress in the ever-evolving world of entertainment. Read on and get inspired by this slice of Daniel Dae Kim's thoughts on his life as a father, an actor, a producer, and more.

How's the Sunrise House Event at Sundance? How did it go?

They were really fantastic. We had some really informative panels with some industry leaders from every sector. We had a great fireside chat with Steve Yeun. And we had another one with Lucy Liu and that seemed good. 

The Fireside Chats seemed to go really well. The feedback was really good. We threw some banging parties. And so you know, it was a little bit of substance and a little bit of fun.

 

And it's really great and inspiring that you guys are doing this, because I'm seeing a lot more mainstream visibility, especially in Sundance as well for AAPI.

Yes. 

It's really cool. 

What's funny is that AAPI filmmakers have been on it for a while at Sundance, they just have never had a home, you know, somewhere where they can be celebrated and their achievements can be spotlighted. And also, I think there's just a broader movement toward multiculturalism. And that's an emphasis of our house as well. It's not just for the AAPI community, we took specific efforts to do outreach to other communities of color and I think that's really important.

 

That's amazing. Especially how you guys are extending your arms to the communities, building and growing it.

That's what it's about, that's what it's about. We had a dinner one night where we invited all the other major communities of color, and we broke bread together, we talked and hopefully, that's just the beginning of broader initiatives among our houses. 

How did you approach the complex character of Fire Lord Ozai?

As a dad. You know, I have two kids and just thinking about the ways that he's actually in his own way trying to guide his children to their best future is what I kind of keyed into. We may make mistakes as fathers, some intentional, some unintentional, but it doesn't mean... I don't think Ozai doesn't love his children. I think he does, but his love comes out in ways very different from the way I express it.

 

The intention is there. It's just expressed in its own ways.

Yes. And, they can be damaging. They are damaging- physically, in the case of Zuko, but we damage our children without knowing it. We've been damaged by our parents without them knowing it. It's part of the cycle of life and that's kind of how I found Ozai's humanity.

Now, speaking of Zuko and Iroh, and Ozai's family dynamics. How were you all able to explore this complex family relationship on screen?

One of the ways that we did it was to just get to know one another. I've known Paul Sun-Hyung Lee for a while, and I'm a big fan of his work. And so there was a natural bond between us right from the start, and I really enjoyed seeing Lizzie's work as Azula, and watching Dallas' work as Zuko was fantastic, and just seeing what they brought to the table allowed me to kind of see who my children were. Because we were coming together as actors, and we were seeing what each actor brought to the table. But I was able to use that to inform my relationship with the children. What are they good at? What do they need help with? Where do we want to guide their future? Where do I want to guide their strengths and their weaknesses? So things like that, and a little off-camera bonding was really important.

You played pivotal roles that defied stereotypes. How important is it for you to portray complex characters that go beyond just one archetype?

It's just interesting as an actor, you know. I never want to be doing one thing forever, I've been in situations where I played a character for six years, seven years, but, in the case of Lost, I'm so grateful that there was so much growth in that character. So it never became boring. But if I'm lucky enough to have the opportunity to work a lot, I want to use those opportunities to explore things I'm interested in as an artist. And part of that is just kind of finding a variety of kinds of people to play with.

And you've produced, you've acted, and you've explored all these other avenues in terms of creating art. What other things do you want to explore in the near future, aside from those realms?

Producing has been really interesting, the process of creation of television and film and theater has been something that has intrigued me for a while. Yes, I think, to have a holistic view of how one makes entertainment and how it affects us as a society and vice versa, I think it's a really interesting question. How entertainment reflects the cultures of our time and at the same time, pushes it in one direction or another.

What's the most valuable piece of advice you received from someone either in the industry or out of the industry that you always still carry with you?

That there's no room in show business for you, you have to make room. I keep that in mind because it encourages me to think that nothing is a given, nothing should be taken for granted and anything that I'm looking to do will probably require work because no one is asking me to do it.

What's the one thing people will  remember you after the credits roll? What do you want to be remembered as?

First and foremost, a good actor, because that's my life's passion, and I would say, second of all, someone who tried to use his platform to bring us together as a society.

What kind of book will Daniel Dae Kim be?

Well, I will tell you that I'm working on a project right now based on a book by Chang-Rae Lee, his first major novel - Native Speaker that came out in the 80s. And I have a real connection to that novel, because Chang-Rae and I are of the same generation as Korean Americans, and a lot of the issues he wrestles with in that book are issues that I've wrestled with my whole life. It's a beautifully written book. His prose is so eloquent and poetic. And it was the first time I'd ever read a book that kind of felt like he was talking to me.

[gothhabiba]

The discovery that general paresis was caused by a bacterial microorganism and could be cured with penicillin reinforced the view that biological causes and cures might be discovered for other mental disorders. The rapid and enthusiastic adoption of electroconvulsive therapy (ECT), lobotomy, and insulin coma therapy in the 1930s and 1940s encouraged hopes that mental disorders could be cured with somatic therapies. Psychiatry's psychopharmacological revolution began in the 1950s, a decade that witnessed the serendipitous discovery of compounds that reduced the symptoms of psychosis, depression, mania, anxiety, and hyperactivity. Chemical imbalance theories of mental disorder soon followed (e.g., Schilkraudt, 1965; van Rossum, 1967), providing the scientific basis for psychiatric medications as possessing magic bullet qualities by targeting the presumed pathophysiology of mental disorder. Despite these promising developments, psychiatry found itself under attack from both internal and external forces. The field remained divided between biological psychiatrists and Freudians who rejected the biomedical model. Critics such as R. D. Laing (1960) and Thomas Szasz (1961) incited an “anti-psychiatry” movement that publicly threatened the profession's credibility. Oscar-winning film One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Douglas & Zaentz, 1975) reinforced perceptions of psychiatric treatments as barbaric and ineffective.

In response to these threats to its status as a legitimate branch of scientific medicine, organized psychiatry embraced the biomedical model. [...] The publication of the DSM-III in 1980 was heralded by the APA as a monumental scientific achievement, although in truth the DSM-III's primary advancement was not enhanced validity but improved interrater reliability. Psychiatrist Gerald Klerman [...] remarked that the DSM-III “represents a reaffirmation on the part of American psychiatry to its medical identity and its commitment to scientific medicine” (p. 539, 1984). Shortly after publication of the DSM-III, the APA launched a marketing campaign to promote the biomedical model in the popular press (Whitaker, 2010a). Psychiatry benefitted from the perception that, like other medical disciplines, it too had its own valid diseases and effective disease-specific remedies. The APA established a division of publications and marketing, as well as its own press, and trained a nationwide roster of experts who could promote the biomedical model in the popular media (Sabshin, 1981, 1988). The APA held media conferences, placed public service spots on television and spokespersons on prominent television shows, and bestowed awards to journalists who penned favorable stories. Popular press articles began to describe a scientific revolution in psychiatry that held the promise of curing mental disorder. [...]

United by their mutual interests in promotion of the biomedical model and pharmacological treatment, psychiatry joined forces with the pharmaceutical industry. A policy change by the APA in 1980 allowed drug companies to sponsor “scientific” talks, for a fee, at its annual conference (Whitaker, 2010a). Within the span of several years, the organization's revenues had doubled, and the APA began working together with drug companies on medical education, media outreach, congressional lobbying, and other endeavors. Under the direction of biological psychiatrists from the APA, the NIMH took up the biomedical model mantle and began systematically directing grant funding toward biomedical research while withdrawing support for alternative approaches like Loren Mosher's promising community-based, primarily psychosocial treatment program for schizophrenia (Bola & Mosher, 2003). The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), a powerful patient advocacy group dedicated to reducing mental health stigma by blaming mental disorder on brain disease instead of poor parenting, forged close ties with the APA, NIMH, and the drug industry. Connected by their complementary motives for promoting the biomedical model, the APA, NIMH, NAMI, and the pharmaceutical industry helped solidify the “biologically-based brain disease” concept of mental disorder in American culture. Whitaker (2010a) described the situation thus:

In short, a powerful quartet of voices came together during the 1980s eager to inform the public that mental disorders were brain diseases. Pharmaceutical companies provided the financial muscle. The APA and psychiatrists at top medical schools conferred intellectual legitimacy upon the enterprise. The NIMH put the government's stamp of approval on the story. NAMI provided moral authority. This was a coalition that could convince American society of almost anything… (p. 280).

–Brett J. Deacon, "The biomedical model of mental disorder: A critical analysis of its validity, utility, and effects on psychotherapy research." Clinical Psychology Review 33 (2013), 846–861. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cpr.2012.09.007