Anonymous asked:
"How to scare the [swear] out of people"
:book wrote by DT
Still laughing at Brian May offhandedly writing the greatest understatement in the history of academia in his astrophysics doctoral dissertation:
Ah, yes - “various pressures.” Like being one of the greatest guitarists ever and playing/writing/singing for the most legendary rock band of all time.
Those various pressures.
“Yeah, the human body is like… 70% water. Did… Did you not know that…?”
Hydrox looked at the hero, and saw real confusion in his eyes
. He had lured her into the desert to weaken her but now faced with facts that most people know he was lost.
He probably expected death but instead she floated up into the water vapor in the air and left him.
There was another dam being built and she needed to protect the forest around it.
She was the most powerful villian on the planet.
She was hated but all she did was chose the planet over profit.
You are a werewolf and everyone in the village knows. When its nearing the full moon they all help you baricade yourself in your home since you are the only wheat farmer in town. Everything was fine until some self righteous lord takes over and demands not only your land but your home as well.
Gert is in tears when the eviction notice arrives, when the landlord comes and has his men tumble the house, digging up the foundations so he can’t even shelter there overnight. It’s Kerr, the journeyman blacksmith, the towns only smith since the old one died two winters ago of the ague, who comes with a solution.
Kerr of the bright eyes and the swift smiles, the one who checks the hinges and the locks and the iron banding in the heavy door to Gert’s house, carefully, without fail, every day for a week before the three days of wolf’s time.
“My sis got a job in the big house,” he says, voice light, but with a rasping edge from long hours at the forge, “Says all the servants are taking the night off, tonight. Next night too.”
He leaves Gert with a wink and a cantering heart.
That night is bloody.
After that, the other lords start saying the village is haunted, but the priest who comes with holy water and crucifixes sees only tight lipped peasants, not a ghost in sight. The mumblings quiet down, but when the next heavy handed lord settles in, his body is found just like the first, after the full moon, clawed to shreds. No one wants to take over anymore.
And Gert, Gert spends his days in his wheat fields, and his nights in the tiny room above the forge. The old women pinch his cheeks and tease him, the old men clap him on the back, young women and not a small few men sigh and tell him how jealous they are. Sometimes the others start talking about fixing Gert’s house back up, sometimes they move a few stones even, but Gert declines their help.
All he needs is bright eyes and swift smiles.
as a younger woman, growing into her consciousness, realizing abortion was necessary for women's health and not evil, I did have hang-ups about feeling "good" about it, seemed we had to have a reverence for the unfortunate reality of it, that it "made sense" people feel weird about it.
what took me to the point of realizing actually, abortion is great and we should all love it and champion it, is realizing there is no reason not to treat it as an amoral choice. No morality need be attached to the decision. We don't have to understand the internal lives of every woman who gets an abortion. I understand why pro-choice rhetoric leans on stories to pull on our heartstrings, make us aware of the tragedy of difficult choices and horrible illnesses and mothers struggling to take care of their children, the idea that "every abortion is a moral abortion", but I think it can do a disservice to abortion to lean too heavy on this rhetoric.
Abortion is medically necessary because women shouldn't be forced to experience pregnancy, that's it. Men cause pregnancy, but women experience it. It's long, it takes resources from the body, it's often painful, puts women at risk of huge complications, medical misogyny can make pregnancy care and labor care excruciating, and at the end of it a new infant human is brought into the world that needs to be taken care of immediately with intense effort, and then the care never stops. Why should women have to do that just because a man decided to ejaculate inside of her? I don't care where she came from, I don't care what she knows, I don't care what she believes, I don't care how she spends her time. Frankly, it's not my business. She's making a medical decision, she's making a life decision. She doesn't have to articulate any "correct" opinions on the matter to anyone.
Might as well ask the morality of getting an MRI scan or setting a bone. Imagine if men could ejaculate cancer in us, we'd be asking if it's morally incorrect for women to seek out medical care to combat it.
Do Not Let HR do this to you. It is not illegal to talk about wages in the work place. I did and got a 12% raise!
True info. Now let me add something: The power of documentation. (I was a long time steward in a nurses union.)
Remember: The "'E" in email stands for evidence.
That cuts both ways. Be careful what you put into an email. It never really goes away and can be used against you.
But can also be a powerful tool for workplace fairness.
Case 1: Your supervisor asks you to do something you know is either illegal or against company policy. A verbal request. If things go wrong, you can count on them denying that they ever told you to do that. You go back to your desk, or wherever and you send them an email: "I just want to make sure that I understood correctly that you want me to do xxxxx" Quite often, once they see it in writing, they will change their mind about having you do it. If not, you have documentation.
Case 2: You have a schedule you like, you've had that schedule for a while, it works for you. Your supervisor comes to you and says "We're really short-handed now and I need you to change your schedule just for a month until we can get someone else hired. It's just temporary and you can have your old schedule back after a month." A month goes by and they forget entirely that they made that promise to you. So, once again, when they make the initial request, you send them an email "I'm happy to help out temporarily, but just want to make sure I understand correctly that I will get my old schedule back after a month as you promised." Documentation.
[Image ID: Text reading: In the middle of a busy clinic at our practice, I got pulled in by my manager to speak to HR, who must have made a special trip because she lives several states away, and told I was being 'investigated' for discussing wages with my other employees. She told me it was against company policy to discuss wages.
Me; That's illegal.
Them: (start italics) three slow, long seconds of staring at me blankly (end italics) Uh...
Me: That's an illegal policy to have. The right to discuss wages is a right protected by the National Labor Relations board. I used to be in a union. I know this.
HR: Oh, this is news to me! I have been working HR for 18 years and I never knew that. Haha. Well try not do do it anyway, it makes people upset, haha.
Me: people are entitled to their opinions about what their work is worth. Bye.
I then left, and sent her several texts and emails saying I would like a copy of their company policy to see where this wage discussion policy was kept. She quickly called me back in to her office.
HR: You know what, there is no policy like that in the handbook! I double check. Sorry about the confusion, my apologies.
Me: You still haven't given me the paper saying that we had this discussion. I am going to need some protection against retaliation.
HR: Oh haha yes here you go.
I just received a paper with legal letterhead and an apology saying there was no verbal warning or write up. Don't even take their shit you guys. Keep talking about wages. Know your worth. /End ID]
At one of my old (shit) jobs my boss would continually come have these verbal discussions with me and would never put anything in writing I took to summarizing every discussion we had in email. Like “just to confirm that you asked me to do X by Y date and you understand that means I won’t be able to complete the previous task you gave me until Z date - 2 weeks later than originally scheduled - because you want me to prioritize this new project.
The woman would then storm back into my office screaming at me for putting the discussion in writing and arguing about pushing back the other project or whatever. At which point I would summarize that conversation in email as well. Which would bring her storming back in, rinse and repeat ad nauseum.
Anyway I cannot imagine how badly that job would have gone if I hadn’t put all her wildly unreasonable demands in writing. Bitch still hated me but she could never hang me for “missing deadlines” because I always had in writing that she’d pushed the project back because she wanted something else done first.
Paper your asses babes. Do not let them get away with shit. If they won’t put what they’re asking you to do in writing then write it up yourself and email it to them.
Keeping in mind that what is illegal in one country (I’m guessing the US) is not illegal everywhere.
I went to look it up and it only became a thing in Australia in December 2022 so if you have a contract from before then it may very well be legal.
Your “spouse” of 20 years has just confessed to having an affair, but they don’t know your secret catchphrase. You suspect whoever or whatever is in front of you is not your spouse.
“Ing”. Her little personal “word”. It was such a stupid, silly thing she’d come up with back in high school, years before she’d ever met him. But she’d told him about it and they’d since joked about it more often than she could possibly remember.
They knew each other inside and out by now, their reactions and thought patterns. So it wasn’t the affair that made her doubt the man standing before, looking and speaking exactly as Will might have done, were he capable of such a thing as he was saying. It was the look of confusion at that simple casual utterance of her word as she didn’t know what else to say to such information.
Will would have nodded, muttered a “yeah” and then they likely would have sat silently while they figured what to say next. She knew this because of every family death, sick or injured child, and all the difficulties as she’d sorted out past traumas. And now their passions were flourishing, their daughters were approaching adulthood, happy and healthy. And their sex life never had slowed down much from the early days aside from keeping it discreet from the girls. He always looked happy to see her, never seemed distant, took no issue with the changes of her body. She couldn’t think of any suspicious time away, any woman who seemed too close to him.
Was this denial? Was it like that “condition”–excuse, she felt–that some men got where they thought their partner had been replaced and ended up killing her? Tended to happen when the female partner surpassed the male in success, which is why she thought it was just another excuse men had for killing women. And yet here she was, doubting what her own eyes saw when she didn’t like words she was hearing.
“Anne?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Um, who was it?”
He paused a second before responding. Will would have done that. Maybe she really was losing her mind. “Kayla.”
Maybe not. “I thought you didn’t like her.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why?” Will wouldn’t sleep with a woman he didn’t like.
“I guess…I missed the newness between us. When you used to be surprised every time I’d come up with something.”
Anger flashed hot behind her eyes and if she wasn’t in doubt of this man she’d likely have hot angry tears streaming down her cheeks, but her tear ducts held. That felt good for once. “It was your idea to stop certain things, and you know why I was surprised!” And the sex ultimately hadn’t been less exciting as she’d feared. She’d never been bored with him, not once, and neither had he as far as she’d known.
“I know,” he said. “And it’s not that I don’t like what we have between us, or that it isn’t fun anymore. It’s…we’re entering a new stage of our lives where we’re the old married couple and then maybe one of gets cancer or dementia and that’s it.” He sighed. “I’m not ready for it.”
“You’re older than me.”
“And closer to being an old man, yes.”
“Well, this is a hell of a time to figure that out.”
“I know, Anne.”
“Ing,” she said again, and again that look of confusion. He looked like Will, he spoke like Will, and yet… “When?” she asked.
“First time was last year, when you went to Prince Edward County.”
With her aunts, she remembered. What she also remembered was how excited he’d been to have her in bed with him the evening she returned, as he had after any time apart.
“So…what? You’ve just been waiting for every time I’m away with friends or family a handful of times between then and now? I assume it’s been during the day when the kids are occupied.”
“I’m sure you remember all the times we stole away.”
If she believed this was the real Will she might have slapped him. Instead, she asked, “So what do you want then? Separation? Divorce? Live as roommates?”
“I don’t know, Anne. I got as far as you deserved to know. I haven’t been able to wrap my head around after.”
“Well, then…I think we should take some time apart and think about what we do want.”
He nodded. The nod that should have come at the first “ing”. Will would be the first to turn, yes, he’d be the one to volunteer to stay elsewhere. And yet.
“Will?” she asked.
“Yes?” He looked back from behind his shoulder, the kind of hopeful look at the chance of reconciliation after every disagreement, minor or major. The last time they’d gone to bed angry with each other had been the year before they’d married. Twenty-one years ago.
“Why don’t you remember ‘ing’?”
Something flashed in his eyes. Only for a microsecond but the back of her neck prickled as a cold chill ran down her spine. He blinked and frowned. “From that show?”
She jolted. “What show?”
“I don’t know, one of the ones you insisted on showing me.”
This wasn’t Will. “It’s not from a show.”
“A book, then.”
She felt her eyes narrowing.
“Anne, I don’t remember all of your little references!”
“We joked about it two weeks ago.” Had had a laughing fit over it, in fact. There was no way Will wouldn’t remember that.
That flash in the eyes again. “Forgive me if I have bigger things I’m worried about.”
She had bigger things she was worried about too. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Where…is…my…husband?”
He scoffed and shook his head. “I should have known something like this might happen.”
“Something like what?”
“Well, this wouldn’t be the first time your mental health has taken a dive after a bad experience, would it?”
She knew that tone. He used it with a particular kind of men he found repulsive. Never with her, not at his angriest had he ever been condescending or mocking, and would never have used her trauma responses against her.
“Get out of my house,” she growled. She intended to follow him, of course, see if he led her to the real Will.
“Oh, but it’s actually 90% my house, isn’t?” he said, coming toward her and she actually felt afraid this thing pretending to be her husband might harm her.
Still, she stood her ground as he came close and she lunged forward, standing on her toes to meet his eye. “You don’t know me or my husband,” she snarled.
His hand closed around her neck, just firmly enough to let her know what he could do. And something Will wouldn’t have. She remembered well the time, when they were still just friends, Will had begged her to let him take her to the hospital after he’d pulled that man off her. His former girlfriend had been murdered by her ex through strangling. He would never touch her neck in a threatening manner. This thing didn’t care that she knew now. It was trying to intimidate her. Her hands were free, knives in her pockets. This creature would already be dead if she hadn’t considered it might be possession or mind control. She couldn’t kill it unless she was sure Will wasn’t in there.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did, matching his piercing stare with her own. He released her and said, “Maybe I need to make some calls.”
Yes, she knew how it would sound to a psychologist and her family, but she was fairly sure Liss and Jen would support her even if they didn’t believe this was an impostor. But she would still need to pretend for everyone else.
“You know, I think I have a migraine coming on,” she said. “Puts me in that weird dreamlike state, you know.”
And with that, the thing reverted to pretending to be Will, eyes softening as his would have. “I’ll get you an ice pack. Just rest up until it passes. I’ll take care of the garden. We’ll have a proper talk when you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, thinking she would have to check her phone and laptop to make sure spyware hadn’t been installed so that she could talk to Liss and Jen. She didn’t have to pretend to struggle much going up the stairs. Her head really was swimming.
At the very least she should get someone to take the girls for a while. Cheating was a good enough excuse for that; she didn’t think it would make Not-Will suspicious. However in the event that things went south she was going to need to come up with a way to tell the girls to be wary of their “father” without telling them what she believed. She felt they were likely safer not knowing in case the creature decided to get rid of everyone who did know.
She also needed to look up any other cases of impostors and try to determine the real stories from the fake or delusional ones–the irony wasn’t lost on her. And she needed to figure what the nature of the impostor was. Alien? Fairy? Demonic possession? She needed to speak to Kayla as well, though she had no idea how that would go. But for now she needed that thing downstairs to believe she was grieving over infidelity so she could get her kids to safety and find out where her husband was.
She woke that morning, hoping it really had been a dream, one she’d tell him and that he’d sympathize with her over while they talked about imagine-ifs and what they’d do to find each other. And then it might just be a little joke for a while. But he wasn’t in bed next to her where he would be under normal circumstances. Not that he didn’t occasionally wake earlier than her, but he did so with a kiss and a whisper of what he what he was going to do if not stay in bed: make breakfast, work in the garage, leave for a work emergency. Much the same as she did with him.
She tentatively came downstairs and it was obvious he’d slept on the couch, something Will would have done in this case. Not exactly unique to Will, though, she thought. And then it her. How much of how he acted and what he said was simply observed and when had that observation begun? He didn’t know about ing, but he did know about her spiral into depression after–but everyone who knew them knew them from that time knew about that. That was in court records. What could she ask him about their early relationship or perhaps even later that had only been between them–and without making him suspicious; she wouldn’t forget last night’s reaction. But before she could do that she needed a recording device.
From the smell wafting from the kitchen it was obvious breakfast was being made. Della and Addie were at the table, Addie quietly teasing Della about something that the latter was quietly telling her to “shut up” over. The sunlight streaming in from the solarium windows cast halos around them as it caught the frizz they’d inherited from her. After all the pain of her youth, she’d built as perfect a life as anyone could ask for. It had been a long time since she’d felt her life was marked for strife and violence, but now…Just don’t let anything happen to my girls.
Upon noticing her, Della asked, “Hi Mom, you okay? Dad said you had a migraine.” She looked and sounded skeptical. Smart as a whip, always had been.
“Yeah,” Anne told her. “You know, they happen.”
“Did you talk all weird like that one time at Gramma’s?” Addie asked. She had an endless fascination with the strange and morbid.
Della elbowed her.
“Uh, I might have said some strange things.” She glanced at “Will” from the corner of her eye, but he wasn’t watching them. Likely listening, though, she thought.
She sat down as Not-Will brought plates of bacon and scrambled eggs. Convenient choice, since the real Will would have known how each of them liked fried eggs. They ate largely in silence, Della frowning Will’s frown and looking to and from each of them.
Anne finished quickly and said, “Hey, I thought you girls could stay with Gran and Gramp for a little while.” Will’s parents. “Will” couldn’t think she meant to run with them and therefore had no reason to object.
In fact, he said, “That’s a great idea.”
The girls were a year and a half apart, but damned if they weren’t like twins sometimes. They frowned and spoke in unison: “Why?”
Not-Will looked at her, and she looked back momentarily, playing the part. “Your father and I have to talk about some things, and it’s just better that we’re alone while we figure it out.”
“Are you getting a divorce?” Addie asked.
“Will” said, “No, we’re not getting a divorce” at the same as she said, “We haven’t made any decisions yet.”
What an odd thing for him to say, she thought. He didn’t make promises he knew he couldn’t guarantee. But this brought up another question: what was this thing’s goal?
Della didn’t say anything at all but looked troubled.
“So Gramma and Gramp’s,” Not-Will said. “You okay with that?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Della said, and Addie shrugged.
“Okay,” Anne said. “So each of you pack a suitcase of clothes and anything you want to have access to while you’re there.”
“Well, let me call them first,” Not-Will said. “Make sure it’s okay with them.”
“Right, yeah, call them,” she said. “And if they can’t, then Gramma?”
The girls looked at each other. No, that wouldn’t be ideal but they’d be safe enough.
“That’s a little far,” Not-Will said. That wouldn’t have been his main concern.
She shrugged. “It’s summer. A week in Quebec might be interesting.”
He inclined his head in something of an agreement. “I’ll call my parents first.”
“Yeah.”
He left the room to do so and she stifled a sigh of relief. Della leaned forward and whispered, “Mom, what’s really going on?”
Addie strained forward in curiosity.
“Later,” Anne said quietly. “It’s not a good time now.”
“Did Dad do something bad?”
“What did he do?!” Addie asked a little above a whisper.
“I will tell only what you need to know for now. I can’t tell you anymore than that.”
“Mom, we’re not little kids, we know some parents cheat or commit fraud or whatever.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. I will let you know if I think you need to know. For now, please leave it.”
Della rolled her eyes and headed to the living room. Addie followed, glancing back as if she’d catch a stray morsel of juicy information.
But this told her something: that they were also suspicious of whatever it was. If they hadn’t been, one would have followed him to ask. It’s not just me, she thought, though she wondered what he’d said or did to tip them off. Maybe it was only her own reactions. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d become suspicious of a man after she’d recoiled. She remember the bus driver. But still, Will was their father and they loved him deeply. As much as they also loved her, she didn’t think they’d immediately turn against him with such little information as they had unless they also felt off.
Get the girls to Will’s parents or else on a train to Gatineau. Go to Jen’s, cellphone off, figure out if any spyware on her devices and remove them if so, call up Liss, tell them both everything, and then figure out what to about it. Hell, maybe this Will was a robot. She hadn’t considered that initially, but it was no less crazy than the other “possibilities”. “My husband’s been replaced by/being mind-controlled by an alien.” “My husband’s been replaced by a fairy.” “My husband’s been possessed by a literal demon.” “My husband’s been replaced by a robot.” “My husband’s being mind-controlled by the government/by a foreign government.” “My husband’s had a traumatic brain injury that otherwise has left him completely unscathed but he’s not acting like himself.” “My husband has been replaced by his long-lost evil twin.” Yeah, that all sounded completely insane.
God, where was he? The real one? Was he even alive? She stopped that train of thought. She needed to keep it together, first for her daughters, and then for the real Will if he was out there somewhere. She knew if he was, he was fighting his hardest to get back to them. Did he know an impostor was in his place? She could only imagine what he must be going through. Let me get our girls to safety. And then I’m coming for you, wherever you are.
The girls were troubled, but they’d be okay. Will’s parents, unlike her own, were stable, normal people. And despite the lurid details of her life she’d had to speak in court all those years ago, they’d always been kind to her. The girls would have been safe enough with her own mother, but…well, there was a reason she’d left as a teen. She hugged each of the girls and breathed a sigh that wasn’t quite relief. Will’s mother, Lianne, stood beside her.
“Is he on any medication?” she asked.
“Um, no,” Anne said.
The older woman paused for a moment and then said, “I can’t put my finger on it. He’s not on any kind of mind-altering substance?”
“You guys think I’m crazy,” Anne said with a sheepish smile when they the pause got to be too long.
“No,” they said in unison.
“Actually, I’m trying to think of which one’s more likely,” said Liss.
“I’m trying to think where he stashed your husband,” said Jen.
“Stashed,” Liss repeated, laughing.
Jen put her hands out. “Well, he’s obviously got him somewhere.”
“If it’s not mind-control or possession,” Anne said. “And if it’s not really him after all.”
“You could also talk to the people he works with,” Jen suggested. “Since whatever happened apparently happened at work.
Anne tried to shake an image of Will being snatched up by “The Thing” in the garage or in his office from her mind. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know them that well, I don’t know what he’s told them, but–oh shit! I forgot to tell her about the spyware. It’s only on my phone, right?”
“Hi!” she greeted when Will’s father, Michael, wearing an apron, opened the door. “Sorry to come unannounced.”
“Not at all,” he said and welcomed her in.
Addie was sitting on the couch watching a medical show when she noticed her and called loudly, “Dell! Mom’s here!”
Silver (Anne’s dog) and Cerberus (Addie’s dog) happily submitted to the pats of Jen and Mel while the cats Tushi (Will’s) and Nightnight (Della’s) explored their new domain. “Sorry if they jumpscare you,” Anne said of the cats, both black.
With the animals now safe, she went back out to the car. Michael asked, “Is there anywhere else I can take you?”
Anne sighed. “Well…I wonder if you know a good lawyer.”
None of their mutual friends were out that night, and normally she’d send a text asking if they were coming later. But it was just as well tonight. She did have to work the next day and didn’t intend to stay out longer than necessary. She kept her drinks light as she did the circuit of the usual set of bars, and an hour in and feeling a light buzz she was ready to give up at the next 30 minute mark. She didn’t have to wait until then, however, as the woman walked in laughing with some friends. Anne waited until they were settled and then tentatively set herself up beside her.
Exhausted and overheated, Anne made it back to her in-laws’ house with a fistful of garlic mustard–a terribly invasive plant to North America with one virtue: it was a fine edible plant.
She suggested Signoli’s to Cheryl. That would get two things out of the way and meant less travelling for her on a work day. She arrived early and took the opportunity to ask if Will had turned up on Friday.
The three of them stood outside his apartment building in a town about an hour away, acting casual and waiting for a resident to go inside. Anne knew from experience that people just tended to assume you lived there or had been invited, even though it was recommended you didn’t.
sorry to like. care. on main but the whole thing with tiktok trying to steal and repackage and commercialize goncharov is kind of a perfect metaphor for mainstream media turning things done in earnest for enjoyment’s sake into shitty inauthentic backwash for money and attention. anyway tiktok shouldve been the app to die stop monetizing everything
Thank you to everyone who has commissioned me thus far! For this wave I am closing slots until I finish up the current queue, as my goal was to have commissions permanently open but focusing on different waves. Thank you for all of the support and patience!! 🙏❤️
Anonymous asked:
Given all the recent circumstances you've shared here it's totally fine and valid that you take your time with coming up with writing something. So here is another request: please take all the time you need and if it takes longer then it takes longer. No hurt feelings and no harm done. I feel much happier knowing you're not too hard on yourself while writing/being creative! I know you wouldn't forget something but sometimes life happens and makes things more difficult.
anon with the recent idea
Wahh you are so sweet thank you ♥ I'll definitely do my best to fulfil this new request of yours 🥺
Reblog and put in the tags which Pokemon type(s) you main.
A really quick aggie doodle of Ingo and Emmet camping and enjoying some fireside smores! And it's totally not a way for me to camp out in the corner of the canvas noo, why would you think that?
🚆 Attention passengers! Destination UNOWN: A Submas AU Zine, is now open! 🚆
First 50 Orders* unlocks a Fabric Patch!
*Available for Multi Train & Subway Boss bundles only.
ORDERS CLOSE SEPTEMBER 9TH, 2023.
🚆 Thank you very much for your patience! ALL ABOOOOAAAARD!! 🚆
Great. You have tainted my fics with food related scenes. 1 fic will soon have Emmet cook on zoom with an Unovan Gym leader who likes to cook (feel free to guess, it's not the one you're thinking of) and I'm currently writing Ingo and Emmet vibing over pancakes and hash browns. What are you doing to me?!
JK, I do love you fics and ficlets and meal time is so good bonding time. We need more bonding over meals instead of just bonding over food.
Perfect, my ‘yipee! happy meal time’ propaganda is working, just according to keikaku (translator’s note: keikaku means plan).
In all seriousness that sounds like such fun scenes to include! A little down time in a story is always appreciated by the reader to catch their breath in-between important events 😌
I live within bus distance of the Universal picket line for the writer’s strike, so I like to go down there when I can to march with em in solidarity. They are all extremely cool people, and since many of them are older than me, I have been treated to a lot of free advice on Adult Life from more experienced adults. 10/10.
It’s also extremely funny to hear them talk shit about studios/executives that they’ve had to put up with, because they’re no longer required to pretend Oh, They’re All Such Lovely People, We’re So Lucky To Work For Them.
- “Dick Wolf insists on having an a personal office at every studio where his shows are worked on. He never goes to half of them, and when he does, he’s not usually there long. It’s just supposed to be left empty for him in case he MIGHT show up.”
“I took a bunch of coffee creamers from there just before we called the strike.”
“Honestly, that sounds fair?”
“I like to think of it as payment for all the extra work I had to do for free.”
- “Never work for Netflix if you can avoid it.”
“Oh my God, RIGHT? It’s a nightmare!”
“That is the most exploited I’ve ever been, and I’ve been doing this for a while so that says a LOT.”
- “Do they ever acknowledge how many laws the cops break during a single episode of any of those SVU spinoffs?”
“We’re not even allowed to use the phrase ‘Bad apples’ because it makes them uncomfortable.”
- “Humor does not exist in the Dick Wolf-verse, so we’re only allowed to include one joke per episode. Sometimes I like to play a little game where I see if I can get away with sneaking in a second.”
“Has that ever worked?”
“I think once we got in a subtle pun.”