#I love that I’ve been seeing more Atlantic articles on here

[sumiblue]

(pictured: HE <3)

I bought a little aloe plant today.

Every place we lived in when I was growing up had aloe plants, so it seemed a natural and easy choice for my first houseplant in my first flat. The plant display in the Co-Op is right next to the door, so I picked it up, chunky green arms trailing over the pot, and placed it in my basket, carrying it with me while I got my other lumpy, hefty items. Do you see what Problems May Arise from this course of action. Me too, but I did it anyway because I was simply too nervous to do the unthinkable; shattering checkout line normalcy to go, “Oh, one moment” and dashing to get it then. My timidness cost my juicy friend a couple of his limbs, but he’s home now, on my rather bare bookshelf, green and alive. I love him to bits (...of aloe in my shopping bag) and he’s only been here for 10 hours. I keep going over to his corner, introducing him to his new environment and telling him how lovely he his. So far it had been amusing to verbally greet my living room furniture every morning, but it’s a different delight to now natter on about any and everything to this living being who might be hearing me. It scratches that itch to use one’s voice for connection. I have to keep reminding myself, though, that he’s not a new interlocutor, and my search for fulfilling connections should continue.

Loneliness, like aloe plants, has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, though living on my own for the past 3 months has definitely given it a different texture. Not worse, not better, just different. It’s probably due to an amalgamation of a few things. Moving across the Atlantic. The accumulated lessons learned and experiences from 30 years of being alive. Probably not the multi-year worldwide health emergency though...Oh wait.

I imagine most of us have seen article after article about how extended self-isolation during the pandemic has shone a light on how lonely a lot of us are, if it hadn’t caused it in itself. My mum shared an article with me this week, which talks about the fact that, for the very lonely, the solution may not be finding company with other people.

Loneliness isn't just about not being around people. It's been said numerous times that the pandemic and lockdown gave many of us the chance to really examine our relationships. We were forced to be still and listen to ourselves for once, and became more aware of what we were (or weren't) getting out of the socializing we habitually engaged in. I think, in many cases, we realized that while we had company, we weren’t experiencing connection. We started to crave it deeply, and were stymied in our attempts to fill that void because oops, outside could kill you. However, going out to find connections isn’t the solution for everyone, like the article says. Maybe in your stillness you discovered that spending time alone was precisely what you needed, and you started learning how to connect with your Self. Filling your own void. Self-love is healthy! We each have to figure out what fills that gap for our individual puzzles, whether it's solitude, company, a different type of company, etc.

I wonder also if this massive awareness of our own loneliness is sometimes misconstrued with the feeling of grief. Change leads to loss, and if we’ve experienced changing perceptions of our relationships, our selves and our social fulfilment needs, we’re bound to be thrown into a turbulent twisting uncomfortable storm of emotions. And here we’re back to sitting in self reflection innit, asking ourselves, is the name for this storm loneliness? Grief? Both? I don’t think they’re entirely separate, but it may help to identify where you are so you can figure out where to go.

Personally, I do think that my puzzle piece is painted with other people, particularly with shiny deeper connections. Having been isolated for a few years, I’ve found I do need that external input from even light interaction to remember that I am not uniquely horrible but am in fact, in a human general sense, pretty okay! I feel it in the shared frustration with the pensioners at the bus stop because the big blue bastard (affectionate) is 20 minutes late again. I feel it when the cashier wags their finger at me and says “Silly little girl, you must have confused this Appleton’s Rum for apple juice. ID please and thank you.”* In these brief little moments, I get reminded that people Exist. We just Are. We are all complicated and flawed and still wonderful. Not gonna lie though, finding and making those rare closer connections would be fucking fantastic. People around whom I can feel like I’m not the Only One. Unmask with me baybee.

But as a very temporary stop-gap measure, my darling precious aloe boy suits me fine.

*An exaggeration but it fuckin’ felt like this

[erin-bo-berin]

Couple of things in response to your anon queries over the last few days:

- Joe’s playing a prominent recurring character in Fargo. He’s Gator Tillman, the son of the main character, corrupt sheriff Roy Tillman (John Hamm). You’ll be getting more than one episode, don’t worry about that! Also - and I’m sorry if you already know this, but just to clarify- it’s not set in 2019, not the old west. I think people got the cowboy idea because Noah Hawley wrote an (excellent) article for The Atlantic called “It’s High Noon in America,” which was both a political commentary, and a reflection on how entertainment contributes to issues like distrust of authority by creating heroes who go against the system etc. In it, he shared a sample of S5 dialogue between Roy and Gator, which mentioned “high noon”:

Gator: “I swear to God, him versus me, man to man, and I'd wipe the floor with him.”

Roy: “What, like high noon? That only happens in the movies, son. In real life they slit your throat waiting for the light to change.”

I mean, Joe might still be playing a cowboy-ish type character if he works on a ranch I suppose? But as far as I know, there’s nothing to suggest that’s the case.

- Joe is well positioned to have a great career after ST ends. I’m a bit puzzled as to why anyone’s concerned for him to be honest! Free Guy was very well received and many reviews specifically mentioned Joe’s charm and his lovely chemistry with Jodie. One critic even said - and I quote - “Joe Keery proves he’s going to be just fine when Stranger Things ends.” Add to that, although Spree was controversial, it was still received more positive reviews than less glowing ones (thanks, tomatometer), and even negative reviews of the film praised Joe’s performance.

So that’s recent history. Looking at his current work, he has two films in the can, is currently filming Fargo, then starts Cold Storage, and then in 2024 goes back to filming ST. The guy is as busy as an actor could hope for. Going forward, even if none of the films make an impact (and that’s a big ‘if’, because I suspect Cold Storage at least is going to do very well), Fargo will raise his profile even higher than it already is.

Oh, and then there’s his music. We all know he’s genuinely talented in that regard, and so do the critics. But he’s deliberately flown under the radar with it, and so many people are missing out. Djo doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page for crying out loud. Maya Hawke, who has less than a third of the Spotify listeners Djo has, has a wiki page for each album! No hate for Maya - her stuff’s not my thing but it’s cool. I just think Joe’s music manager (who’s different to his acting one) is sleeping on that front.

Sorry for the Joe Keery essay. I’m just a huge supporter because he’s so talented, and is also genuinely lovely. People who’ve worked with him want to do it again, in large part because of his personality. We know the combination of those traits is what changed the trajectory of his character in ST, which was a remarkable thing in of itself. David Harbour, Brett Gelman, and Kevin Pollack have all pointed out how unusual it was, and praised both Joe and the Duffer Bros for it. It’s kind of refreshing to see someone in Hollywood getting rewarded for being a decent person, in addition to having acting abilities.

Joe deserves every success. Long may it continue!

Oh wow thanks for all the info! I’ve never seen Fargo but man I will happily watch it to see him in it.

I’m so excited for him in Cold Storage. I ended up reading the book after someone on here told me it was actually a book first and Joe is just gonna nail the character. Teacake is such a loveable dork lol

I agree though! He’s been doing so good even without ST fame. He’s gotten some big projects coming up and a handful at that. Also his music to keep him busy too and it really is such a shame that his music is so underrated because his music really is so good 🥺

[just-stopandthinkaminute]

7 October 2022

wDear Diary,

I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s going wrong -- and things are really going wrong. 

I am not being able to perform at work, I am now even being pulled up by my managers. I can’t get myself to work better, thought. 

I’ve the heaviest I’ve been in almost 9 years. I can’t get myself to go to the gym.

I’m obsessively thinking about a boy. I essentially get incredibly uneasy when he isn’t speaking to me -- texting me or calling me. If I were to assess the past week, starting Thursday, 29 September we have: 

- He slept over on Thursday

- I slept over on Saturday

- I slept over on Monday 

- I spent all day with him on Wednesday

I see him, for multiple hours, every other day or so but I always seem to forget that when I am not actively speaking to him, and then I start to spiral. I keep waiting for him to call me, to send me a message -- I spent my days staring at my phone hoping for his name to pop up. It’s ridiculous because, look at how much time we’re spending together! I think I’m scared because he told me that he’s scared, that he doesn’t want to enter into a long-distance relationship, and that he is scared that he will hurt me. I don’t know if those fears still stand. I don’t know anything.

I need to draft an action plan that lets me lift myself out of my misery and into some sense, something, of stability -- I need to be able to ground myself in my work and find what used to drive and motivate me. I’m scared that, with the way things are going, there might be a more severe reprimand coming my way.

I’m making a 5-point plan to help me. here goes: 

- do 30 minutes of puzzling/ intense makeup/ Dyson a day 

- minimum 45 minutes of exercise a day

- read 30 pages of a book

- read at least one article on The New Yorker/ The Atlantic

- finish at least 9 tasks on my to-do list 

- take an extra 10 minutes to cross-check my work

I’m going to start this tomorrow (I mean, today, really) the 7th of October. I will circle back on the 14th, a week from today, with an update on work, play, and weight. 

Love,  Ankita

[haml3t]

I read so much news I’m going to start writing to journalists both those whom I like and those who write stupid shit. Starting with the guy from Time who put out this

motherfucking idiot

[notbecauseofvictories]

this story brave and bold

A lot of virtual ink has been spilled about different aspects of The Green Knight---the New Yorker has an article about the movie’s focus on time (both seasonal and mortal) and another (from Slate or the Atlantic, I think) focuses on how the original poem’s tension between chivalry and courtly love gets translated into the modern day. My favorite drew a straight line through the strange tensions and ambiguity of the poem to the ambivalent themes introduced and left unsettled by the film.

(That was the thing that most struck me, watching it---the absolute refusal, start to finish, to resolve this strange story into anything moralistic or easily digested; it felt like an Arthurian legend, with all the winding asides and opaqueness.)

Since those essays all exist and are better than anything I’ll write here, I wanted to point at something else, that really only occurred to me today.

See Gawain and the Green Knight is not my native habitat when it comes to Arthurian legend. I’m a Le Morte d’Arthur girl with some T.H. White on the side, so it’s strange to think of Gawain not running around the countryside with Gaheris in tow, losing jousts and being denied the Siege Perilous and the Grail quest, only to watch his brothers and sons die, one by one, at Lancelot’s hands. Nevertheless, even stripped of most of the things I love about Arthurian legend, The Green Knight (2021) captured something inherent in it.

Namely, that the world is full of strangeness and chaos, that you are only in control of your own actions, and even then, the frailty of man is great.

It’s a pretty consistent theme for Malory---I’ve read more than my fair share of academic articles talking about the influence of the Wars of the Roses on his chaotic, entropic depiction of Camelot. From the very title (“The Death of Arthur”) you know this will be a tragedy, and there’s an air of Greek drama to it all as knight by knight, the Round Table fails to meet the ideals set out for it. Whether it’s Kay’s pride or Gawaine’s bloodlust and eagerness, or Bors/Percival’s temptation or Lancelot’s love for Guinevere, every single knight is shown to be a fallible, frail human.

(Well, except Galahad, who after attaining the Grail, is assumed to Heaven. So he doesn’t count.)

And yet, despite this, the world occupied by the Knights of Camelot is one of strangeness, violence, mercy, visions, mysticism, ladies strangely dressed who show up out of nowhere, and other things inexplicable. When you live in that world, there are a very limited number of things you can control---mostly who you kill, and who you deal with honestly. You can’t control the strange deer, questing beasts, or prophetic dreams, but you can still choose. 

(Malory’s Gawain only attains his knighthood after suffering for refusing to show mercy to a knight pleading for his life, and killing the knight’s lady by mistake. Integral to his oath of knighthood is swearing to ever after respect and honor all ladies.)

Even though TGK was taken from a very different context I could feel this sense of overwhelming strangeness/essential human weakness/necessity of choice moving in and throughout the film. 

It was in Garwain’s journey into the north, the civilized and recognizable world peeling back as he encountered spirits, giants, and eventually the murky lands of Bertilak and the Green Chapel; it was in his flinching from sharing what he ‘’won’’ at Hautdesert, and then again when he encountered the Green Knight and asked for a minute more, not yet. The sustained meditation on who Gawain is/will be if he refuses to choose, continues deflecting blows rather than accept the consequences of his choice.

It was all there. The movie didn’t settle on an answer, any more than the original poetry does, because that’s not the really the point. The point is the negotiation between the world, our own weakness, and our will. It’s there, translated expertly into film---I don’t think it was by accident that Gawain sets out wearing yellow, stumbles increasingly into blues, and then ends up in lurid yellow again as he makes his final choice; then bleeding into the green moss of the final title card. 

Yellow and blue make green, and green---as Alicia Vikander tells us---is the color of life and rot and mortality and immortality. And that’s what you get when the human will clashes with strangeness and chaos of the world: more life, and more rot, but mostly wildness.

[mviswidow]

my girlfriend’s got a gun

Fallon Carrington x Reader

Word Count: 2,185

Warnings: gun

Prompt: Maybe one where we're Fallon's girlfriend, but also at the same time her bodyguard/personal assistant to keep up a facade since she doesn't want anyone to know about the reader. - @another-fantasy-world​

Summary: Three scenes of Fallon and R dating.

“I don’t want to see that happening anymore. If I have to ask you again you’ll be fired,” Mr. Carrington said peremptorily. 

You nodded your head, clutching the iPad in your arms tighter to keep yourself from fidgeting, “Of course, Mr-”

“Excuse me?”

Your shoulders relaxed the slightest bit when you heard the voice of your girlfriend, her heels clicking on the floor until she was standing beside you, a few feet away, “Why are you trying to fire my PA?”

“Fallon, she comes out in almost every single one of the photos that the press takes of you. She is not your babysitter. It’s ridiculous, a quarter of the articles that have been written about you in the past five months have been speculating that the reason you broke up with Michael was because (Y/n) drove you apart and-”

“What is your point, Daddy?” Fallon challenged, her arms crossed. “She’s my personal assistant, her entire job is following me around.”

“Going to clubs, parties, and galas with you is not in her job description,” He said, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. “She doesn’t need to be there.”

You felt uneasy, the two of them talking about you as if you weren't even there.

“No, but I want her there. There’s no harm in befriending your staff,” Fallon said simply, eyebrows raised, as if she wanted him to argue with her because she knew she would win.

“Fallon-”

“I’m the one who gives her a paycheck, so it isn’t up to you. I’m not having this conversation again,” She left Blake with no room to say anything else, her eyes flicking to you for a moment. “(Y/n), go get me a coffee and come up to my room so we can discuss the schedule for this weekend.”

“Yes, Ms Carrington,” you nodded, taking your leave before either of them could say anything more to you or each other.

You made it to Fallon’s room five minutes later. You’d taken a bit longer in the kitchen because you had to bug one of the chefs so they would give you a croissant for Fallon.

You knocked on the door with your knuckles, waited two seconds, and then opened the door to see Fallon in one of the lounge chairs in the corner of her room, doing something on her phone, “You took a long time to get here,” She said without looking up.

“Sorry, I was getting you a croissant,” You walked over and placed the plate on the low table that stood in between the two chairs before taking your usual seat from when the two of you went over her schedule, on her bed bench that was at the foot of her bed.

Fallon slid her phone underneath one of her thighs and smiled softly at you as she took the plate into her lap so she could eat the baked good, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” You shook your head with a small blush spreading on your cheeks from the way that she looked at you, unlocking your iPad and pulling up the schedule. “Your father has two meetings scheduled for you this weekend, one Saturday and one Sunday-” “Cancel the one on Sunday, he knows I don’t take more than one meeting during the weekend unless it’s urgent,” She interrupted before taking a bite out of her croissant.

“Okay, Sam requested that I add ‘go to the mall with Sam’ on your schedule, so I fit it after the meeting on Saturday, but of course, if you want it to be cancelled I can always do that. Steven asked that I make a dinner reservation for him, you, and Sam, for the Seafood Room on Saturday night-”

Fallon interrupted you, once again, with noises of protest as she tried to swallow the bit of croissant she had in her mouth quickly, “Not happening, you know Saturday night is our night.”

“I know, but you haven’t gone out to dinner with them in two months, and besides it’s almost Steven’s birthday.”

“I don’t care, cancel the reservation,” Fallon said sternly, placing the plate back on the table once she had finished crossing her legs at the ankles.

You sighed and nodded, “Alright, and finally, Sunday is the banquet for the children’s organization I told you about on Monday.”

Fallon’s eyebrows furrowed at the way you said it, “But?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go with you,” You bit the inside of your lip, nervous for the reaction she was going to have.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “You have to stop letting my father get to you.”

“He’s right though,” You shook your head, opening a tab to search up her name. “Look, there’s articles about us all over the internet.”

“When will you learn that I don’t give a damn about what the press says? I’ve been scrutinized by them since I was a child, I can handle it. I don’t care if they call me lonely and desperate or if they say that you’re trying to ‘befriend’ me for money or whatever it is they’re coming up with.”

“You read that one?” You asked, a wince on your features.

Fallon sighed, looking between your eyes before standing up and going to sit beside you, taking the iPad from your hands and putting it behind her so she could take one of your hands in her own, “Do the articles bother you?”

You bit the inside of your lip again, nervous habit, before speaking, “Kind of.”

“Okay,” Fallon nodded, trying to think of a solution. “I know you aren’t used to this stuff and keeping us a secret is probably really stressful for you... If doing this - us, is too much, I understand-”

You frowned and shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes at the idea of what she was trying to say, “No, I love you, I love us. Stupid articles are nothing, I can ignore them.”

“I don’t want you upset over this stuff, baby,” Fallon frowned a bit and reached the hand she wasn’t holding yours with up to cup your cheek, running her finger along your cheekbone. “Although I don’t exactly think you should be reading these articles, I know you do whatever you want, but if you read one that bothers you, you come to me and I’ll make the calls I need to get it taken down, okay?”

“Yes, darling,” You smiled softly and nodded, leaning into her hand.

Fallon smiled, “For now I rather enjoy no one knowing about us. It’s so private and I guess it feels more intimate in a way? But, I do eventually want to announce that we’re dating, so I want to tackle these issues now so you’re hopefully much more comfortable in the future.”

“Really?”

“Of course, baby,” She smiled softly and leaned forward to kiss you languidly.

You sighed into the kiss before she pulled away slowly and kissed the corner of your mouth before sitting back, “So, I’m either going with you, or I’m not going at all. It’s a shame that all those children will have to suffer the consequences of your decision,” She said, making a face.

You rolled your eyes, and ducked your head to hide your smile, “Fine, I’ll go, asshole.”

Fallon grinned and clapped her hands, she had known she was going to get her way, but was happy that you weren’t miserable about it, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

------

Your brow furrowed when you got a call from Fallon at around 5:30 while you were out running an errand for her. She was supposed to be in a late meeting with her father, Jeff Coulby, and a few investors for Carrington Atlantic, an odd and dangerous mix of people.

You answered the call and heard it connect to the bluetooth of the car, “Hello?”

“Can you come get me? Please,” Fallon asked, her voice sounding a bit shaky on the other line.

“Yes, of course, where are you?”

...

You pulled into a parking spot on the side of the road of the address Fallon gave you, “Okay, I’m here, babe. Can I hang up now?”

Fallon let out an ‘mhm’ and ended the call, and it took you 30 seconds to see her walking out from between two buildings towards your car, which you unlocked and waited for her to get into the passenger seat and close the door before you spoke.

“Are you okay?” You asked, outstretching your hand and tilting her head towards yours when she wouldn’t look at you.

“‘M fine,” She nodded, her eyes watering.

“Okay I get that you didn’t want to talk about it over the phone but don’t think for a second that I’m believing that crap. You look like a kicked puppy.”

She groaned and closed her eyes for a moment, “There were no investors. Just Daddy and Jeff-”

“Hold on, since when do they tolerate each other?” You asked, resting a hand on her knee.

“I don’t know but they apparently do now. Or at least, when it’s convenient,” You could almost hear her roll her eyes as you turned forward again to pull out of your parking space.

“What did they do?” You urged her on and took your hand off her leg to put it on the center console, but she quickly grabbed it and laced her fingers with yours before putting your hand in her lap.

“They cornered me about something I leaked to the press, not Crystal related this time, and- the whole thing was really embarrassing, I don’t really want to get into it right now.”

You squeezed her hand gently and nodded, “Okay, that’s perfectly fine. Though I have to say I had no idea you leaked something, I haven’t checked any articles in like, two days.”

Fallon chuckled, “Oh boy, just wait til you read these.”

------

“Screw you, I’m not going anywhere. I need to talk to you about the C-R-A-Z- why does the crazy lady have a gun?” Fallon asked, her jaw slack.

You were on your way to follow Fallon into the dining room, but stopped when you heard what was going on. You turned on your heel, quickly and quietly walking towards where you knew Fallon kept her gun.

“She’s not crazy, she’s been faking her brain injury,” Crystal replied calmly.

“Why fake such a miserable life? Actually- that’s a rhetorical question. I think I know exactly why. I think you’ve been faking lots of things.”

“Sit down,” Claudia said, gun pointed at Fallon.

“You never had a brain injury, did you Claudia?” Fallon asked, shaking her head.

“Of course I did, I almost died,” She said quickly.

“That’s true, she and Mathew were in a terrible car accident,” Steven interjected.

Crystal cut in, too, “I remember it.”

“I bet,” Claudia spat before turning her head back to Fallon. “That was the night I found out he was cheating on me, I just didn’t know who the other woman was.”

“All you knew was that one minute your husband was cheating, the next he wasn’t going anywhere because he had to take care of you, and then you got better,” Fallon said with a raised eyebrow.

...

When you got close enough again to be able to hear, you heard Fallon speaking, “Girls can be engineers, too, Dad. When I was a kid I told you I wanted to be one so you introduced me to Mathew, who told me his wife was an engineer. That was before your accident, of course.”

You smiled to yourself as you listened, God you loved her. You clicked the safety of her handgun off, just waiting for the right moment to come in.

“You killed him, you killed Mathew,” You heard Crystal say.

“No, I loved him. You killed him,” Claudia replied, which made you furrow your brow and you almost let out a scoff at how ridiculous this lady was. “He told me he was leaving me even though I was sick.”

“Even though you were faking it,” Fallon corrected.

“He didn’t know that. You took him from me, and once this snake ran me over, I saw my chance to do something about it-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” You said, stepping into the room, the barrel of the gun pointed straight at Claudia, using one hand to aim and the other hand used to steady the gun, just like Fallon taught you. “but I think you guys have let her pity party run for too long.”

And with that, Claudia faltered and you took your shot, shooting the gun right out of her hand before giving Fallon her gun, “I think this is for you.” Fallon smiled proudly and took it, taking her aim at Claudia, who was not left defenseless, “I wouldn’t try anything,” She said with a smirk once she saw Crystal pick up the gun Claudia had been pointing at her. “Not sure if you’ll be able to pull it off as well as you pulled off the brain injury.”

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Four Times Nathan Proposed and One Time He Meant it

Hi! This is my humble contribution to @nolypats and @hockeyboysiguess campaign for Nathan MacKinnon for Hockey Boy of the Month. Please see their blogs for more info, also just because they’re amazing writers. This is my first time trying a 4+1, I thought it would be nice to put something out before the next chapter of Flatbush & Atlantic. It was genuinely so much fun writing this, so please let me know what you think!

Wine pairing: Rotari rosé. @hockeyboysiguess and I have started to pair all of our writings with their own wine, bearing in mind that neither of us knows anything about wine. It’s all about the VIBES. 

4 times Nathan proposed and 1 time he meant it

The first time (February)

Jordan knocked on the door, a glass dish balanced precariously on her hip. She and Nathan tried to have a standing date night every week, something that wasn’t grabbing lunch when they were both free or meeting for coffee before she had to head to work and he went to practice. That was, unless there was a game. Or a roadie. Or a team event. So needless to say, the two had been a little strapped for “couple time” recently, and they were both feeling it. She had an article due the next day, a co-write about the use of illegal dark money in a recently-elected congressman’s campaign. Nathan had a long practice that morning and wasn’t feeling too up to anything that would require him to move too far from his couch. 

He opened the door, giving her a quick kiss. “I pulled up a few movies I thought you might be into, but didn’t want to pick anything until you got here.”

“You’re so considerate, I think I’m going to swoon,” Jordan said.

Nathan shrugged. “I’ll catch you if you fall.” Deep down, he really was a romantic, though the boys would chirp him endlessly if they knew. 

Jordan padded into the kitchen, setting the dish onto the counter and opening up the cabinet right above the toaster oven, grabbing two plates. Even apart from date night, it wasn’t uncommon for them to eat in; partly due to the fact that there were few things in this world Nathan loved more than being able to fly under the radar, something that was a little bit difficult to do when you wore the A for the Colorado Avalanche, but partly because in his own way, it was letting Jordan into his life. “What movies were you looking at?”

“Depends what you’re feeling,” Nathan replied. “We’ve got...Star Wars, Captain Marvel, and 10 Things I Hate About You.”

Her ears perked up. “The one with Heath Ledger?”

“That’s the one. Sound good to you?” 

Jordan had always had a penchant for movies of the late-90s and early 2000s, especially if they were romcoms, and especially if said romcoms starred Julia Stiles. As a little girl, there was definitely more than once where she had herself entirely convinced that her life would turn out exactly like The Prince and Me. Minus, of course, the fact that the beginning of Paige and Edvard’s entire relationship was built on lies. Mainly, she was just really into crowns and big poofy dresses as a little girl. “Sounds good to me!” She said brightly. “You want a brownie?”

Nate craned his neck to look at her in the kitchen, looking expectantly at him with one hand holding a spatula. “You made brownies?”

Jordan giggled. “I did. I take it that’s a yes?”

“That’s a definitely, please, my God give me one right this second or I might combust.” She slid the plate onto the side table a minute later, grabbing two napkins. “Are these normal brownies?” Nathan asked, picking one up and inspecting it with a semi-confused look on his face. 

“They’re triple-layer, it’s an old recipe for slutty brownies from when I was in college. Bottom’s cookie dough, then Oreos, then fudge brownie on top of that.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Slutty brownies?”

Jordan swatted at his shoulder. “I know it’s a weird name, just give them a chance. I know you’ve been feeling a little down with the losing streak, and thought you could use a pick-me-up. They were my go-to for breakups, always seemed to help the girls feel better, so I thought it might work for you too.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but Nathan’s heart skipped a beat with Jordan’s words. “Guess I’ll have to see,” he said, taking a bite out the corner. His face melted. “This is...literally the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Seriously, it’s so good. So good. Oh my God, marry me.”

Jordan flushed, turning to take a sip of water so he wouldn’t see. “I’m glad you like them.”

The second time (May)

It was 11:38 on a Friday night, and Jordan and Nathan were at a bar. To be precise, Jordan, Nathan, and pretty much the whole team were at a bar, plus what seemed like the entire population of Denver. Springtime meant playoff season for the NHL, and winning a series meant going out. Jordan normally had to pass whenever the team decided to hit up a bar or club after a win; as much as she would have liked to go, she was a journalist who kept a 9-5 job, which meant that she had to at least get some modicum of sleep if she was going to be able to function in the newsroom without an injection of caffeine straight into her veins. But it was the weekend, and she’d be damned if she was going to miss out on this. 

For the most part, the fans weren’t making a fuss; there was the occasional picture taken or pat on the back for winning the conference semifinals for the first time in twenty years, but nothing out of hand. Sipping her Dark & Stormy, she looked fondly over at Nate, who was having what looked to be a very animated conversation with Burky. Already two and a half drinks in, Nathan was starting to act a little tipsy; while he was normally more reserved about public displays of affection, he kissed Jordan more than one as the night went on. Not like she was complaining. Picking up a refill from the bar, she scooted back into the booth next to Nate. He planted a messy kiss on her cheek. “Where’d you go, Jo?”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Unlike some of us, I can’t just snap my fingers and have alcohol appear at will. I had to actually go to the bar for another drink,” she teased. 

Nathan threw his head back laughing. “‘S’pose you’ve got a point there, babe.” He slung one arm over her shoulders. Jordan unconsciously leaned into his touch. “What’d you think of the game?” She wasn’t able to make it to every game, but was lucky that she could get down to the Pepsi Center more often than not. The Avalanche had beaten the Flames in 6, after dropping the first two games in Calgary and being pegged as another likely sweep, they had come back to win the next four and the series. 

“Just trying to stroke your own ego, eh, MacKinnon?”

“Picking up some Canadian slang, eh, Murphy?”

She tilted her head. “Maybe, maybe not. But the game was amazing. You know that. You did amazing, Nate.” In the 3-1 win, Nathan had scored two points, an assist and an absolute beauty of a power-play goal that just barely squeaked into the top left corner above Rittich’s shoulder. 

“Sure, maybe I do know,” Nathan admitted, “but it’s one thing hearing it from fans and the media and even my teammates. It’s another hearing it from you.” Jordan loved Nathan, but he wasn’t always the best at expressing his feelings out loud. She was the first one to say “I love you, to introduce him to her parents, to take just about any step forward in their relationship. It was something he was getting better at, slowly but surely, and it meant the world to Jordan that he was trying so hard. Maybe it was the liquor, or the atmosphere, or the excitement of the night, but it meant just as much to her to hear it as it probably did for him to say it. 

Half an hour and several drinks later, the last few people left were trickling out. Most had carpooled to the bar, leaving their cars back at the arena to get the next day. Jordan would have ordered Nate an Uber and then just hitched a ride with someone else back towards her apartment west of downtown, but Nate was pretty far gone. And he was a cute drunk, all things considered, but she was on her way to sobering up and felt an obligation to at least get him in bed safe. Their car pulled up, Nathan clumsily ducking in ahead of her as she shut the door behind him, buckling first his seat belt then her own. They walked through his front door fifteen minutes later, Jordan dropping him off in his bedroom to get undressed before grabbing a glass of water and a bottle of Advil. Nathan was in his boxers when she walked in, struggling to pull a t-shirt over his head. Jordan laughed, walking to his side of the bed before gently tugging it, handing him the water and two Advil. “If you take it now, it’ll help with the hangover later.” Kissing his forehead gently, she turned to leave.

“Where are you going, Jo?”

She stopped at the door. “Home?”

“I want you to stay.” 

She sighed gently, smiling at him. “Okay, I’ll spend the night.” 

“No,” Nathan interrupted, grabbing her wrist lightly as she turned to grab one of his old World Cup shirts to sleep in. “Forever. I want you to stay forever.”

The third time (August)

It was the middle of August, and Jordan and Nathan were in Canada. He had invited her earlier in the summer to visit for a few weeks, and as soon as she got the time off approved, she booked her flight. Getting to Springhill wasn’t the easiest — she flew to Toronto, had a layover, flew to Halifax, then got picked up by Nate for the two hour drive to his hometown. He had flown out in June, about a month after the Avs lost to the Kings in the conference finals, so the couple hadn’t seen each other in nearly two months. Jordan wasn’t about to complain about a few more hours. His parents had been so generous letting her stay for two weeks, and hadn’t batted an eye when Nathan had moved her into his old room. “Just don’t wake us up,” his mom had said, causing Nathan’s cheeks to turn scarlet. 

Jordan had met them a few times before; they had flown out for the All-Star game the previous January and had gotten together during the team Moms’ and Dads’ trips. And if she was around when Nathan was FaceTiming them, she always popped in for a few minutes to say hi. But she still hadn’t quite expected the ceaseless hospitality she had been offered over the past week. Maybe Canadians really were just that nice. 

Halfway through Jordan’s trip, they decided to throw a barbeque. And by they, that meant it was Nate’s idea and he roped them all into helping. Jordan had already been introduced to a few of his old friends, they had gone out for drinks to the one bar in town on her second night, but she was excited to meet everyone else. His dad Graham was keeping an eye on the grill, Nathan had filled the cooler with drinks, and Jordan was helping his mom carry out the fruit bowl and salad to the backyard. Nathan ran up to his room to change right as people started trickling in, and came back to a yard full of family and friends. He craned his neck, trying to figure out where Jordan had wandered off too, before his sister pointed to where she sat with a few of his cousins. 

Nathan opened his mouth, about to ask her something, when Jordan quietly brought a finger up to her lips. “She’s sleeping,” she whispered, gesturing to her arms, where a tiny baby was nestled, eyes firmly shut. 

He remembered that his cousin Rachel had had a baby not too long ago, but didn’t realize she’d be old enough to travel yet. “Is this Natalie?” he asked quietly, sitting in the chair next to Jordan. Rachel nodded. For a few moments, Nathan was lost in the scene, lost in how damn perfect Jordan looked with a baby in her arms. They had spoken about those sorts of things — future things — enough to know that marriage and kids were something they both wanted, but this was the first time it had hit him, like really hit him, that that could be them down the line. Over by the fire pit, his mom watched, a soft smile on her face.

Nathan stood in the kitchen with his mom a few hours later, drying off dishes from the party. Handing a plate to him, Kathy shot a curious glance at her son, as if a thought had just popped into her mind that hadn’t been there before. Nate looked back at her, confused. “What is it, mom?

Kathy nodded out the window, where Jordan was laughing at a joke his dad had just made, balancing the last round of dirty plates to bring in on her arm. “When are you going to put a ring on it, Nathan?

Nathan wasn’t particularly prone to blushing, but he had been doing a lot of it lately. “I—uh—” His mom rested a hand on his shoulder with a knowing smile. “Okay, I’ll admit that I’ve been thinking about it.”

Kathy was beaming. “I knew it. When?”

“When am I going to propose?” She nodded. He shrugged. “I don���t know when it’s going to happen, Mom, but it’s going to. I’m going to marry that girl.”

The fourth time (November)

Jordan grimaced, breathing in sharply as she braced her elbows on her desk. Elisa, her friend who worked in the cubicle beside her, looked over, a concerned expression on her face. “You good, hun?” 

Jordan nodded mechanically, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen, swallowing three with a gulp of water. “Yeah, I should be fine. I should be starting my period in the next day or two, so I’m pretty sure it’s just cramps.”

“Are they usually this bad though?” Elisa had always been a worrier.

She shook her head. “No, not since I went on birth control a few years ago, but who knows. The ibuprofen will help, and it’s probably normal anyways. I’m sure it’ll go away.”

It didn’t go away. Two hours later, when Elisa was finishing up the last paragraph of her analysis of the Broncos’ new coaching hire, Jordan suddenly shot up from her desk, running at breakneck speed towards the women’s bathroom with a queasy look on her face. Elisa followed, bursting through the door to the unmistakable sharpness of vomit. She knelt down next to Jordan, pulling her hair back with the spare scrunchie she kept on her wrist. “Jordan? Are you okay?”

Jordan shook her head. “I feel awful, El.”

Eliss touched the back of her hand to Jordan’s forehead. “You’re warm. Have the cramps gotten better.”

“Worse,” Jordan admitted, wiping at the beads of sweat that had started to accumulate on her forehead. 

Elisa pulled out her phone from her back pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance. I don’t think this is cramps, Jo.” 

Jordan didn’t have the strength to argue, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to anyways. The ambulance arrived ten minutes later, carting Jordan off to Denver Health Medical Center. “Any chance you could be pregnant?” one EMT asked. 

“I could be, but I shouldn’t. I’m on birth control and my boyfriend always uses protection,” Jordan said weakly. The EMT made a scribble on her paper. She barely registered pulling into the hospital, nurses pulling her into the ER, or a doctor wheeling in an ultrasound machine. She was conscious enough to recite her name, date of birth, and insurance number before being taken into the operating room, and then a mask was placed over her nose and her world went dark.

The first thing Jordan did when she woke up was check the clock in her room. It was 3; from what little she remembered, she had been taken to the hospital sometime a little after noon. “Oh, thank God,” she heard from her left side. She recognized that voice. It was Nathan’s voice. He grabbed her hand — the one that didn’t have an IV drip in it — and kissed it quickly, smoothing back the pieces of her hair that had come out of the hair tie. “Elisa called during practice, and she told me what happened, but she didn’t even know what happened, and then I left and drove over here, but then—”

Jordan laughed softly, feeling a dull pain in her lower abdomen. “It’s fine, Nate, I’m fine. What happened, anyways? I don’t remember anything after I went into surgery, I have no idea what it was even for.”

“You had appendicitis, your appendix was about two seconds away from bursting.”

Jordan let out a low whistle. “Glad that didn’t happen. Hey,” she added as an afterthought, “I thought visiting hours here didn’t start until 4?” Jordan had visited a college friend of hers who had had a baby a few weeks prior, and could have sworn that she wasn’t let in until later. 

Nate smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, they do. I couldn’t even figure out what room you were in at first. They wouldn’t tell me anything, so I told them I was your fiancé.”

“Oh, did you now?”

Nathan rubbed his thumb over her finger. Her ring finger. “I mean, it’s pretty much true. All I’ve got left to do now is ask you.”

“And get the ring,” Jordan added. 

“Nope.”

+1 (January) 

Family skates had quickly grown to be one of Jordan’s favorite parts of the season. She had loved the first one, but had felt just a tiny bit out of place; her and Nathan had only been dating for a little over six months, and it seemed like almost everyone else had known each other for years. But she’d forged some amazing friendships with other WAGs over the past year, trading babysitting duties for pies and meeting to watch the game while the boys were on a road trip, sharing new Spotify playlists and learning how to support each other along the way. The team had become her second family, even though her parents only lived an hour and a half away. 

Jordan had been a competitive figure skater throughout high school and into college, so she was no stranger to the ice. She obviously couldn’t get out nearly as often as she had before, but her skates still fit and she could still land a triple salchow after warming up. She and Nate had been skating around for an hour or so, taking a break after some “friendly competition” where Josty had made the mistake of challenging Jordan to a race around the rink. She beat him by two seconds. 

Jordan unscrewed the top of her water bottle, taking a few grateful sips before putting it back in her bag. “Babe!” Nate called from a few rows away, where some of the younger kids were gathered next to what looked like pastels. “Want to face paint?” 

She smiled, raising her eyes playfully as she popped on her blade guards and walked over towards the bench. “You sure about that one, MacKinnon? I’m not much of an artist.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s okay, I bet you’ll be great!” He was so sweet for believing in her. 

“Alright,” Jordan said, straddling the bench and picking up the box. “What would his highness like for the design? Bear in mind you’re working with a beginner here.”

“Butterfly!” He chirped excitedly. “There’s been a whole bird and insect theme going on here,” he pointed at the kids’ cheeks, covered in bees, ladybugs, and one demonic-looking...crow? Was it a crow? Did they even get crows at this time of year? “and I wouldn’t want to break the trend.”

“We couldn’t have that,” Jordan agreed. Ten minutes later Nathan had a very blue, barely-acceptable-looking butterfly on his right cheek, but he was beaming like the sun as soon as he pulled up his camera to look at it. “I love it, Jo. Thank you,” Nate said, giving her a quick kiss. 

Activities wrapped up not too long after, and Jordan and Nathan walked out of the rink hand-in-hand towards his car. They had moved in together two months earlier, and Jordan had been more than happy to move out of her tiny studio into Nate’s giant apartment, where you could see the Rockies from the rooftop on clear days. Plus, his building allowed dogs. As Nathan drove home, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tangled with hers by the center console, Jordan looked over at him, with the little blue butterfly on his cheek, and she suddenly felt so unbelievably happy. So unbelievably full. It went without saying that she loved Nate. She loved him like she had never loved anyone before, and never would again. 

At the same time, Nate’s heart was beating faster than it ever had in his life. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t surprised, but he had just realized something. He already knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jordan. Nathan had realized that months ago. And he hadn’t been lying at the hospital, he had already bought the ring. But Nathan wanted everything to be perfect when he proposed; it couldn’t be rainy outside, because what if she wanted pictures? It couldn’t be too soon after her older brother’s wedding, because then she might think that was the reason why. It couldn’t be in the summer, because then he’d go back to Nova Scotia for the summer and his mom might scalp him for leaving his fiancée in another country. But, Nathan realized as they pulled into the underground lot, there never was going to be a perfect time. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wanted to be Jordan’s husband. There shouldn’t be anything stopping him. There wasn’t anything stopping him. 

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Nate said as Jordan slipped off her shoes. She nodded. Nathan went up the stairs, but past the bathroom. He walked into their bedroom, into his closet, to the shoebox that had his old atom league medals. He grabbed the velvet box, opening it and taking one last look before taking a deep breath and putting it in his pocket. 

“You want to watch SVU reruns?” Jordan asked as he ambled back into the living room. 

His mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Uh—can I say something?”

Jordan looked over. “Yeah, go ahead? We can totally watch something else if you’re not feeling Law & Order, I think I saw Chopped on the Food Network, or Jurassic Park is halfway through…” She trailed off. 

Nathan shoved his hands in his pockets, turning the ring box over and over. He bit his lip. “You know how much you mean to me, right?” Jordan nodded slowly. “When I met you, I wasn’t looking for anything. I had just had my heart broken by someone who I thought would be my forever, but then you came into my life and suddenly...suddenly, it all made sense. I thought I knew love, I thought I knew what it was to be in love, but I didn’t, really. Not until you. You bring me down to earth, Jordan, when I’m too far in my head. I know you’re on my team even when we’re losing, even when it seems like nothing in my life is going right I know you’ll always be there to pick me up when I fall. And I don’t ever want to take that for granted. You challenge me in the best way, you always push me to be a better partner, a better teammate, and a better man. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for you.” Jordan was tearing up, starting to figure out where his whole speech was going and hoping beyond hope that she was right.

“I know I’m not always physically here, but I promise to always be there for you, Jordan. I’ll hold you when you’re crying, I’ll buy your favorite chips when we’re out, I’ll pay the utility bills because I know you’re terrible with remembering dates. It was eight months in when I realized you were the one.” Nathan bent down on one knee. One of Jordan’s hands was over her mouth, the remote having long since been abandoned on the couch. “I can’t wait to see where we go, Jordan. I can’t wait to get a nice house with a big backyard, go down to the animal shelter saying we’re only going to adopt one dog but come back with three. I can’t wait for the day you tell me you’re pregnant, and we get to hold our child for the first time and I get to see you be a mother. I can’t wait for us to start our lives together. I can’t wait for you to be Jordan MacKinnon.” He opened up the ring box. “Will you marry me?”

Jordan fell on her knees, hands on both sides of Nathan’s face. “Yes.”

[bonvoyagenoona]

About Me | 07: Why I Write BTS Fanfiction

I opened up tumblr to talk about why I write fanfiction but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw @ynki​‘s incredible gifset featuring a very soft, cute Yoongi from the most recent episode of Run, which I have not yet seen because I’m technically still on the clock but will be watching tonight before sleepytimes.

Aaaaaand I’ve lost my train of thought.

Fuck.

Yoongi looks so cute.

What was I talking about?

Yoongi.

Shit. Wait.

Right. 

Fanfiction.

OK, so I’ve been seeing a lot of fanfiction-related articles being published lately, like this great Vox article on the controversy behind ao3′s tagging system, made salient by the fic Sexy Times with Wangxian. (Btw this controversy is wild!)

Or like this article by Jessica Pryde of Book Riot, with a great tongue-in-cheek title, I Don’t Read Fanfiction for the Plot. (I’ll leave it up to you to guess which “cheek” I mean 😜.)

In all seriousness, though, I’ve been feeling so supported by our BTS fanfic community, making such great connections with people and commenting back and forth here and on ao3, that I’ve started feeling like I wish I could talk about it with people more. Other people talk about the marathon they’re training for, or the new quilt they’ve made. Even my co-workers who are fellow ARMY talk about the photocards that they’re collecting, or the latest merch they bought.

Why do I feel so awkward and nervous about letting people know that I am A Writer™, and that it is with an emphatic yes that I deeply embed my fanfiction in that identity?

I mean, like so many of you, I’ve been a fanfiction writer all my life. It’s one of my longest-lasting interests. When I was 9, I wrote out Anne of Green Gables stories in my notebooks. At 10, I typed out Backstreet Boys fanfics on my mom’s old, loud, intoxicating-smelling typewriter, throwing the pages away almost immediately because of my cringe-worthy attempts to describe how they kissed. Throughout my youth, I wrote fanfiction for major fandoms, like Harry Potter (where are my H/H shippers?!). In grad school, I even wrote spec scripts for The Mindy Project (yes, I was once known on tumblr as “calmdowncheryl”, and it’s a name I should’ve stuck with because it’s still apt, tbh). 

Fanfiction taught me how to write, a sentiment that most articles on fanfiction identify, especially this one from Juie Beck at The Atlantic.

And it’s now, during the pandemic, that I’m finding time to reconnect with my favorite interest. What I often feel is my true identity.

After seeing all these aspects that pop culture pundits have identified as potential reasons why fanfiction is gaining popularity during the pandemic specifically -- things like reduced social contact, more time to oneself, increased desire for wish fulfillment, and a hunger for comfort and positivity -- I started thinking about why I was so enthralled with fanfiction starting at an early age, and why I always felt such shame around it.

Constance Grady’s Vox article, Why We’re Terrified of Fanfiction, makes a great point about media for young women:

Young women are so attacked for loving the media they love that it is a radical act for a young woman to love something unashamedly. And transformative fandom is the most radical act of all, because it reverses that "lady thing to respectable thing" process. It takes a piece of media that may not have been designed for young women and makes it for young women.

I’ve carried that through my adulthood, not just as a former teen girl (gasp!), but also as an immigrant, a woman in her own right, and a woman of color at that, especially one who reached her terminal degree before the age of 30. I’ve always had to enter spaces that people thought I had no right being in and hammer them into spaces that fit right for me.

This is where my unbridled joy for writing comes from, this idea of taking something seemingly taken for granted and shaking it up to squeeze even more, new meaning out of it. To let others see themselves in it where they didn’t before. 

To share.

I was talking with someone who left a comment on Office Hours about how I started the whole fic zooming in on a zipper. How a zipper works. What the parts of the zipper actually are. I spent hours looking at diagrams and descriptions of zippers. I use zippers probably five times a day, every day, and it wasn’t until then that I learned what they really were. 

You, as a fellow fanfic reader and/or writer, feel the same way. It’s why we have the language that we have. The ships. The tropes. It’s how I feel about this brilliant episode of Rick and Morty (S04E03), where they take an Ocean’s Eleven-style The Caper trope and hammer it into you to the point where you think it’s dead, and then they resurrect the trope in a fantastic and meaningful way that gives you insight into who Rick is at his core.

I mean, even Yoongi wrote fanfiction.

I think it’s that core value that writing fanfiction feeds me. Jessica Pryde talks about in her article, and BTS lends itself to it particularly well. It’s this concept of wanting to take a formed idea and stretch it, pull it, tangle it up, twist it, all to see what else comes out of it.

It’s why Namjoon fits so well with the zipper, in Office Hours. He’s the one whose zipper would break.

And in comes the magic of BTS. 

The members themselves play around with this notion of, well, playing around. At the end of the day, they’re just seven guys who want to create music. But all of the content they produce, like their their games, their concerts, their official alternate universes, and yes, their epic Run episodes, give you the boys in all possible permutations of subunits, themes, positions, stories, friendships, etc. Having seven members gives you such range. And having seven members that have such clear identities allows you to write so many different kinds of permutations that they all can feel so real. To borrow more imagery from another Harmon show that I loved, Community, with each new work, you establish the rules, and then you toss the dice to see how it all pans out. With fanfiction, and writing in general, you get to see all possible outcomes.

In another article, Constance Grady makes a fabulous point about this:

I loved [Buffy the Vampire Slayer]. I loved that it had made me feel something so deeply. I didn’t want the events of the fic I read to take place on the show. What fic gave me was a way to temporarily soothe the pain the show had created, secure in the knowledge that the show existed outside of the world of fic and was going to resolve this storyline in its own fashion. It essentially served as a way to outsource all my baser narrative needs: I got the catharsis of a sentimental ending and the surety that the show itself would avoid sentiment.

That’s why I like writing fanfiction, particularly BTS fanfiction. I feel like I’m stepping into a familiar space, instead of having to carve one out on my own. There’s so much to explore. They’re structured enough that there’s continuity, but room enough to play around. And during a time when I am forced to reckon with myself, I am rediscovering my love for writing, and I am rediscovering myself. I am processing life events that I hadn’t given enough time to. I am reminding myself what is true and real to me. 

I am finally letting go of the things that don’t matter.

BTS is arguably the ultimate Kpop comfort group. They ask their fans to use them as a way to find solitude.

So what better way to pay homage to all of this healing than with a sexy OT7 romp where you literally get everything you could possibly want? 🤣💜

[thekillerssluts]

My Relationship to Performance Has Changed

A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

Last October, before the second pandemic wave took off in New York City, I had one last band practice in my backyard in South Brooklyn. Five of us were working on songs from my new solo record. Normally we’d play in the basement, but it’s pretty low-ceilinged, and we’d read Zeynep Tufekci’s recent Atlantic article on viral spread, so we were all hyper-focused on air circulation. My bandmate Sara had contracted COVID-19—and recovered—in March, but the rest of us had no immunity. Besides, we suspected that we were in for a long winter and might as well hang out outdoors.

It was warm in the sun. After hauling the drums, keyboards, keyboard stands, guitars, and amps outside and plugging everything in, I hadn’t wanted to bother setting up microphones, so we had to play softly to hear ourselves harmonize. When we paused for lunch, someone leaned out of a fourth-story window in the apartment building next door and yelled: “Are you done or are you just taking a break? I have things to do, but I really miss live music!” “Me too, man!” I called back. “Should be just a break.”

Six months and a difficult winter later, the break is ending. I’m seeing more and more Instagram posts for shows that aren’t just wishful thinking. Low-capacity indoor shows are popping up in New York. Outdoor—maybe even full-capacity indoor—concerts are coming this summer. Am I ready to play? Ask me every other day and the answer changes. I’m torn. I’m desperate for sound engineers to get back behind the board and bartenders to start earning tips. I want venues to thrive again, both as places for art in neighborhoods and for the sake of the network that keeps music culture alive in America. I want my booking agent to feel excited again; he loves music so much. And I want musicians to make a living. So many people have been so screwed by the past year. I guess I just want everyone to get paid.

But the actual performance; the rebuilding of the sonic cathedral, as Dave Grohl wrote last spring; communally reaching for rock-and-roll transcendance? I’m not there yet. I’m not concerned that I’ll get sick. I received my second vaccine shot at the end of March and am ready to high-five strangers on the subway. My hesitance has an element of crowd-shyness, which we’ll all get over. But in my own performance, I don’t know how to meet this moment. A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

I used to think of performance in purely aesthetic terms. In the movie La Strada, a clown wearing angel wings does a high-wire act across a crowded piazza. For his finale, he brings out a table on the wire and, while balancing, tries to sit and eat a full plate of spaghetti. The heroine of the movie watches him with an almost religious ecstasy. When I first started performing, I strove for transcendence and stupidity, high concept and low art. My focus was on keeping myself in the air.

When my band Arcade Fire was playing mostly to people who hadn’t heard us before, we felt that the best way to get them to open up was to blow the windows and doors out. At an early show in Lawrence, Kansas, my brother, Win, bashed Styrofoam tiles out of the venue’s ceiling with his mic stand. We pushed as hard for an audience of six people (two of them my parents) upstairs at AS220 in Providence, Rhode Island, as we did in front of tens of thousands in the desert at our first Coachella show (during which I accidentally cut Win’s guitar cable in half by repeatedly smashing a cymbal into the ground).

At a certain point, as people got to know our music, my relationship to performance changed. The energy from the crowd was greater than anything coming from the giant speaker stacks. The audience wasn’t a challenge to overcome, or an opponent to conquer. We became a team. Not in an abstract, lovey way but how a sports team operates—pushing one another to do better, sometimes failing, sometimes frustrating one another, sometimes just joking around.The high-wire act of live performance—Will the music come together?—was still there. I’ve even sometimes tried to make the metaphor real, climbing arena scaffolding with a drumstick in my teeth and a drum strapped over my shoulder to play 30 feet in the air. Some of our crew members hate it—“Will! You have children now!”—but climbing up there doesn’t actually feel that dangerous, and a little nervousness is good. I’m reaching for primate simplicity and catharsis: The crowd needs tension to experience release.But now I have no desire to make tension. I want people to feel safe and comfortable, and I wonder whether creating a feeling of danger and openness is antithetical to that. I know that cultivating a perception of safety and actually making people safe are different. On tour, in a big venue, every night our management and local security have a briefing. It’s partly to set a vibe—People are here for music. Everybody be chill. If some teenager sneaks into a closer section, please let them. But the briefing is also serious—where the medics are located, what the escape routes are. Most of the time, these safety measures are invisible. I worry that post-pandemic precautions, as welcome and necessary as they are, will be depressingly visible. Some elements, such as temperature checks, will be inane. Some, such as requiring vaccination, will be important. Regardless, they will also set a tone—not You are entering a place for music, but You are entering a secure location. Dancing is hard when you’re looking at your feet; singing is hard when you’re thinking about everybody else’s breath. I bet the crowd could get over this. I’m not confident I could. With limited capacities and tight procedures, I worry that the stage will feel like the VIP section of the VIP room at a members-only club. Sterile, lonely, all of us chillingly aware that we are part of a ticketed event.

I have another concern that’s hard to shake. After this pandemic year, I’m more aware of the responsibility I have not only to the people who buy tickets, but to the driver making deliveries to the show and to the family of the woman working arena concessions, people who really don’t care about what I’m doing onstage. Vaccination numbers will grow, and the pandemic will end, God willing. I’m not worried about the spread of the coronavirus in particular. But these links of responsibility remain. The analytical part of my brain turns off when touring starts. Before scrambling back to normalcy, I want to make sure that this sense of connection becomes embedded in how I think. I would really love to just be a musician—but I’m also an employer and a player in an industry that has chewed up and spit out plenty of people, especially in this past year.

My hesitations are all about shows, though, not music. Over the past year, I’ve rarely played music with others—a few practices and filmed performances; work on the new Arcade Fire record in November; a handful of Zooms with bandmates to help a school’s PTA fundraiser or support a candidate in the city-comptroller race. But in all of those instances, I’ve experienced an ease, a rightness to the communication—not through the screen with whoever was listening, necessarily, but the people I was playing with. That connection felt restorative, like having a night of deep sleep that repairs parts of yourself you don’t know how to access.

I know people are ready for live music, ready to forget themselves in a wash of sound, ready to loudly talk with their friends over the song they don’t like that much. And so, for heaven’s sake, go to Neumos in Seattle when shows come back. Go to the Hideout in Chicago. See your favorite band, or somebody new. Plenty of artists don’t share my nervousness. I don’t want to add worry to the world; I’m just figuring out my new relationship to performance.

The magnolias are out in New York, and some of the apple trees are blossoming. Temperatures are creeping past 60. The vaccines keep rolling out. The future seems more possible. If I miss an emotion from live shows, it’s not any moment of transcendence. I miss the time just after, when, dazed and excited, you still feel the reach of some universal gesture, but the only thing concrete is the people around you.

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/04/world-changed-what-makes-live-show-successful-didnt-arcade-fire/618625/

[domesticmail]

you send me - jj maybank

summary: a short-ish fic in which john b. basically forces you and jj to get on a boat and watch the sunset. with slight jealous!jj vibes and some real intense artist!reader vibes

a/n: yes i’m in love with the whole “wild and reckless falls for soft-spoken and gentle” cliche, u can’t stop me from exploring every single possible outcome of this potential relationship :)

taglist: @arthriticcrickets i know u asked to be tagged if i ever wrote anything with artist!reader and jj, so here u are!! i hope u enjoy it :)

warnings: none? mention of beer? cursing?

It all began when you told John B. that you’d never painted a sunset.

You’d been standing in the kitchen of The Chateau, hands under hot water, scrubbing paint from your most recent artistic shenanigans off of your fingers, palms, wrists, and forearms. John B. stood next to you, back leaning against the counter, looking remarkably similar to the ‘white guy blinking’ gif (y’all know the one) - the epitome of disbelief.

“So let me just recap here,” he said. “You call yourself an artist.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been painting since you were little.”

“Since I was seven, actually.”

“Okay, you’ve been painting for nine years.”

You nod, turning the faucet off. “Yep.”

“And in all that time. In those seven years...” He pauses to hand you a towel, and partially for the dramatic effect. “You’ve never painted a sunset.”

“No,” you laugh. “Why, am I missing out on some cosmic experience?”

“I mean, yeah.” He holds his hands palms-up. “How do you even call yourself an artist if you’ve never done at least one super-cringey painting of a sunset?”

“Um, because I paint other things -”

“Okay, but you’re missing out on a basic artistic revelation -”

The front door shuts, and JJ appears, looking like he usually does: tanned and a little riled up. No hat today, you notice - it’s nice to see his hair, golden and probably really, really soft. Not that you’d know. It’d be nice to know, but - wow. Really off topic here. JJ’s standing in the doorway, looking from you to John B., back to you, to John B., then you again. “Where’s the rest of the group?”

“Pope has scholarship stuff, and Kie and Sarah are helping out at The Wreck,” you answer.

“Oh. Cool.” He looks between you and John B. again. “I’m not interrupting something, am I? Because it kinda feels like I am.”

You and John B. look at each other with the kind of grossed out expression that says ‘No thanks, let’s not think about that ever again, thank you.’

“Yeah, no.” John B. says.

“Not really my type,” you tell JJ.

“Woah, hey, I take offense to that.”

You flick the towel at him with a grin. “I’m not really interested in guys who call me a poser.”

JJ has no idea what you’re talking about, so John B. fills him in: “Dude, she calls herself a painter but she’s never painted a sunset.”

“What? You’re totally posing.”

You groan exaggeratedly. “Not you too.”

“Yeah, sorry, Y/N, but you’re outnumbered here.”

“You’re so right, guys. You’re so right. I’ve been fooling myself this whole time. For seven years.” You shake your head, pretending to be disappointed in yourself.

“Living in total denial,” JJ adds, grinning.

“Oh, no, guys.” John B. fake-gasps, clearly pretending to have found a scientific article on his phone. “WebMD says there’s only one cure.”

“Please, Doctor! I’ll do anything!” You adopt a Trans-Atlantic accent for a second, clasping your hands together and pretending to plead with him.

“Anything?” JJ asks under his breath. You swat his arm playfully, ignoring the way your stomach butterflies when he grins at you.

“Well, Ms. Y/N, it says here that you must paint a sunset by midnight tonight, or else you’re doomed to be an art poser...forever,” John B. explains, his voice dropped to a serious, gravelly tone.

“But Doctor!” You gasp, looking at the time, one hand pressed to your chest in fake astonishment, “Sunset is in two hours! I don’t have time! I promised I would go down to The Wreck and help Kie and Sarah!”

“If it’s to save you from a life of bullshit art galleries and uncomfortable turtlenecks, I’m sure Kie and Sarah won’t mind if I step in for you,” he offers. He clearly is just angling for a reason to spend more time with Sarah, but you don’t mind. Cooking really isn’t your strong suit anyway. JJ snorts at John B., then mouths “SIMP” at you.

You repress a snicker. “But I can’t watch a sunset alone!”

John B. grins. “You won’t have to,” he says. “I know someone who’s not doing anything tonight.”

Both of you turn to look at JJ, who throws his head back and groans. “Fine. But you’re not dragging me into this weird roleplay-pretend-thing.”

So that’s why you’re here. On a boat. At sunset. Sitting next to JJ in a pile of blankets.

You brought the blankets for comfort, a towel for your paints, a canvas for - you guessed it - the actual sunset painting, and a speaker (you have a very specific playlist you like to listen to when you paint; you call it your Paintlist). 

Once you settle in, sitting cross-legged next to JJ, who’s holding a beer and looking at the sunset, you grow quiet. It’s nothing against JJ, you just tend to get really into the zone, with the music and the gentle light of the sun and the breeze over the water and the weight of the brush in your hand of a direct line of energy from your mind to the canvas. Your anxiety, your issues, all concern disappears from sight, and all that is real is the pain on the canvas and the way it makes you feel, breathless and weightless and nonexistent but somehow still so alive.

While you lose yourself in the art, JJ’s losing himself in you. There’s something really memorable about the way you look in the light of the sun: your skin aglow, your eyes sparkling. But the best part is how utterly confident you are now. Even though in conversation you constantly downplay your skills, talking about all the flaws in your technique, when you have a brush in your hand, he can literally watch your insecurity wash away. It’s beautiful.

He’s never noticed that you bite your lip when you concentrate. You’re not even really biting it - it’s more like you’re trying to peel it away, layer by layer. It’s weirdly endearing, seeing you in such an unfiltered state. And even though he knows it’s probably because you’re so in the zone that you’ve forgotten he’s here, he likes to think it’s because you trust him.

He also knows that this may just be the beer talking, but something’s telling him to kiss you.

Pogues don’t mack on pogues, he tries to remind himself, but the thought gets buried when he realizes he’s literally the only pogue not macking on another pogue. Well, that’s one of two, if he’s including you, and of course he is, you’re part of the group now! So really there’s only two of six pogues who are actually following the rule.

Wow. When did he start calling himself a rule-follower? The apple must’ve fallen farther of from the tree than he thought if he’d really just - 

“JJ? You in there?”

He snaps out of it, your voice pulling him from his thoughts, and only then does he realize that he’s probably been staring at you the whole time. You’re looking at him, slightly confused, eyebrows knit together and mouth pursed, and oh god, come on, pogues don’t mack on pogues but does the rule really matter if nobody is following it? “Yep, yep, sorry, what’d I miss?”

You point to the painting, then to the horizon. The sky has gone dark, and the moon is beaming light onto the water. “Sun’s down.”

He nods, then looks at the painting. “Did you finish?”

“That’s what he said,” you mutter under your breath with a smile, scooting over so he can get a better look at the canvas. Your legs are touching, a weirdly intimate thing that you’ll probably remember for months after. “No. Guess I’m doomed to be a poser forever.”

JJ shrugs. “Pretty shitty, bro.”

“I think I’ll survive. And anyway, it’s really just John B. teasing me, so who cares?” You grin at him, but he’s not looking at you anymore, he’s watching the sky with an intense fascination that’s unlike him regularly. “JJ?”

He clears his throat. “Uh, weird question that’s probably not my business, but...”

Your heart swells in your chest, and you feel so concerned. “What?”

“Are you macking on John B.?”

That was not what you were expecting at all. You thought he was going to ask some deep, personal question - but upon review, you realize this is JJ. The chances of him trying to be deep with you are slim-to-none. “No. No no no no no. No.”

JJ still hasn’t looked at you, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was blushing. “JJ, no. There isn’t even a snowball’s chance in hell John B. and I would ever mack on each other.”

He nods, but no eye contact still, so you poke his shoulder playfully. “Hey. No John B. on Y/N macking, I promise.”

He finally looks at you. “Dude, never say ‘John B. on Y/N macking’ in front of me ever again.”

You smile. “Yeah, it grossed me out, too.”

It’s becoming cold out, so you reach forward and pull a blanket over yourself. As you and JJ become a little lost in conversation, you notice that he’s shivering a little, so you take initiative and cover him with some blanket, too.

The first thing you notice is that now you’re accidentally pressed right up against him, and dear god, this is nice.

The second thing you notice is that your heart is pounding quickly. It’s been a lot just being here alone with him, and now you’re cuddling under the stars? Magical.

Your heart nearly leaps into your throat when he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer. Your chest is slamming from your rapid heartbeat, and you think you might actually die right here, right now, and wow, that’s a little Romeo and Juliet of you to die in JJ’s arms, and pretty poetic -

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You ask, your voice a little shakier than you’d hoped.

“Chill out a little, okay?”

“Okay.”

No pogues macking on pogues, you think to yourself.

No pogues macking on pogues.

[danieco]

check in tag ✅ (Thank you, @chaosmax!!)

1. why did you choose your url?

It’s a partial mashup of two of my names that sounds a bit like a company: “Danie Co.” It’s my Brand™ (facetious) 

2. any side blogs? if you have them name them and why you have them?

Yes, an RP blog @dubmiho and @daniecho, a catch-all for non-YGO reblogs and occasional silly text posts about my life

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

Hard to say, I’ve used Tumblr on and off for years just as a way to collect posts that I liked. I started actually participating in fandom (making and reblogging posts) last December, so like seven months?

4. do you have a queue tag?

Yes, “queue-gi-oh”

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

Surface level answer: I got back into YGO somehow, was having a LOT of thoughts and needed somewhere to put them. Realer answer: I think the timing with the pandemmy isn’t coincidental. The Atlantic ran an article months ago about how people were mourning the loss of relationships they didn’t realize they had, the outer circle of acquaintances that populated their lives and they saw regularly but didn’t really know. Tumblr I think kind of fills that niche with convos in the tags, etc.

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I honestly don’t know, it’s not even my favorite color. I guess it felt like a quick, neutral thing? Also with the first header I had (a manga panel of Jou going “Hmmmm”), in dashboard view it kind of looked like he was blowing bubblegum and getting concerned he let the bubble get too big. 

7. why did you choose your header?

My header will probably always be some manga panel of Jounouchi, haha. He’s the boy! I was actually a Kaiba stan for like, my first decade of liking YGO. No clue how Jou totally took over this go around, but I’m having a blast. 

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

Definitely a Kaiba joke I tossed off and almost didn’t post because I thought it was “too Tumblr”. Someone I used to follow for feminist film criticism (who I never would have guessed even knew what YGO was) reblogged it at one point, and seeing it on my dash from her was the most bizarre experience I’ve had on here for sure. 

9. how many mutuals do you have?

I honestly don’t know, but this question stresses me out because I recently unfollowed a lot of blogs so I’d spend less time on here and I know some were mutuals. I know the cool kids are always reblogging the “I don’t care how many followers I have/who unfollows me” posts but I still feel bad doing it. :( It feels like not waving anymore to someone you regularly pass in the hallway at work. Minor, but still a bummer. 

10. how many followers do you have?

200, it’s baby blog hours over here always

11. how many people do you follow?

Around 50

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

I’ve made a lot of dumb jokes (affectionate) but I’m not sure any qualify as an actual shitpost. People may think of my super spy Tristan post but I was being entirely sincere!! Sincere, thank you!

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

God, I don’t even want to think about it. I love you but I hate you, my little dopamine-boosting trap. (This is why I try to follow as few people as possible, so I run out of posts on my dash more quickly.)

14. did you have a fight/argument with a blog once? who won?

No, but I’m pretty quick to just mute blogs by blacklisting their names if I see them being rude to someone or if their posts don’t Spark Joy for me.

15. how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts?

Opposed; I understand that’s coming out of a passionate desire to help but frankly (time for a HOT TAKE) I think a majority of the Tumblr activism I see is underinformed and/or ineffectual anyway. 

16. do you like tag games?

Yes!! It’s fun to get to know people

17. do you like ask games?

Yes again!! Same reason. Give me all your opinions. I want to know. Tumblr is like a fin-de-siecle Parisian salon except all our opinions on life, love, art and politics are filtered through a YGO lens (i.e., incredible and inherently entertaining)

18. which of your tumblr mutuals do you think is famous?

This question made me feel old because I immediately thought “What, a secret celebrity is incognito on YGO Tumblr?” But this probably means like, who has the most followers. I know of at least one with a solid following but YGO is such a small fandom it’s hard to feel like anyone’s really “famous”

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

Maybe a LITTLE and it’s extra silly because a) we hardly talk and b) she might be straight I don’t actually know HAHA it is mostly just for cute fun. I can have a little pandemmy parasocial summer crush, as a treat

20. tags?

I’d love to see anyone do it! Tag me back if you do, I’d love to see them (seriously!! say hello!)

[aiorevelations]

A Number, Not a Name: part two

Chapter 2: The Journey Ahead

Ms. Connors looked up from her computer as she heard Tasha walking past her desk "Have a nice day Tasha."

"Thank you, you as well Ms. Connors" Tasha responded. Tasha exited the room and stepped into the aisle where Jason was waiting. "So," began Tasha as they started to walk down the aisle, "what are your thoughts about your first assignment?"

"I'm really looking forward to it" Jason answered, "between you and me I'm a bit tired of typing up reports."

"I know what you mean. During my first few months here it seemed like I'd never get the chance to put my skills to use on an actual field assignment."

"So what's your specialty?" Jason asked.

"Several things actually. counterintelligence, codes, technology but my main specialty and first love is microbiology."

"Microbiology, that's impressive. I've always admired people who could spend hours analyzing strands of DNA or studying microorganisms."

Tasha flashed a smile and responded "Thank you. Lab work can be quite difficult at times but I have always enjoyed a good challenge. So, what about you? What do you specialize in?"

"Like yourself I specialize in a variety of things. Tech, weapons, encryption, counterintelligence"

"You're not too bad yourself."

"Thanks" Jason responded as they reached the elevator. "Are you going down as well?"

"Yes, I am," Tasha replied. Jason then pressed the down button of the elevator, the doors opened, and the two of them walked inside.

"Ground floor right?" Jason asked.

"Yes," replied Tasha, "thank you." Jason pressed the "1" button and the elevator began to descend to the first floor. The doors soon opened and they stepped out into the lobby.

"How did you end up working for the agency?" Tasha asked as they made their way towards the front doors.

"Well you could say it sort of runs in the family. My father is a consultant here and I guess I took after him in that I've always been interested in this type of work. I also thought of it as a way to put my technology and coding skills to good use. Even more than that I've always wanted to be able make a difference in the lives of people and help make the world a better place. So right after college I decided to apply for the NSA and two years later I finally heard back from them saying I had been accepted."

Tasha nodded understandingly. "What about you?" Jason asked as the automatic doors opened and he and Tasha stepped outside, "how did you end up here?"

"Long story short I was working as an intern for a Professor Landon in the microbiology lab at Georgetown University," Tasha began as they walked out onto the concrete pavement in front of the building, opposite the parking lot, "and as it happened the agency's top executives were looking to recruit someone with my area of expertise so Professor Landon told them about me. And soon after that I began working here." Tasha paused for a second then resumed speaking. "I have to say I never imagined myself as a NSA agent but as soon as I started working here I instantly fell in love with it. The travel, excitement and mystery of it all. Playing an important part in bringing the bad guys to justice. I can't imagine myself working anywhere else."

"Who knows maybe one day I'll feel the same way."

"I have a feeling that you will." She said, a sincere look in her eyes. Tasha then raised her arm and quickly glanced at the time on her watch.

"I've really enjoyed our conversation," Tasha said, "but I'm afraid I must be going now."

"Sure...see you tomorrow Tasha."

"Goodbye Jason" Tasha replied, before the two of them split up and walked towards their parked cars.

…..

Jason and Tasha sat in the seating area of gate 16 at Washington Dulles airport. The sound of flight announcements, the clattering of shoes, and distant conversations filled the air. Tasha was reading an article in the latest issue of Journal of Applied Microbiology which she had purchased from an airport newsstand. Jason was absorbed in the latest issue of The Washington Post which he had picked up from the side table next to his chair. A voice soon boomed from the loudspeaker "Attention all passengers this is a boarding call for Air U.S.A flight AU1498 from Washington to Bulin. At this time we would like to board all first class passengers or those that may require special assistance. Thank you for choosing Air U.S.A."

"Well, I guess that's us" Jason said as he placed the newspaper back on the table, grabbed his carry-on bag, and stood up from his chair. Tasha closed her journal, grabbed her carry-on bag, and stood up as well. The two of them then made their way to the gate where a member of the flight service personnel scanned their tickets. They then made their way down the passenger boarding bridge onto the airplane, and walked down the aisle towards their seats.

To the outside view they looked like normal passengers, even the contents of their luggage, such as pens and coat buttons, looked innocent enough to the observing eye. In actuality, the pens also contained a hidden knife and camera and the coat buttons were tracking devices. There was also a lock picking device and a gun located in the hidden compartment of their bags. They arrived at their seats 3A and 3B. Jason asked, "window or aisle."

"Window please. I always prefer to have a view."

"Sure. Here let me take your bag" Jason offered as he reached for the handle.

"Thank you." Tasha said as she gave her bag to Jason and then took her seat next to the window. Jason put their luggage in the overhead compartment and then took his seat next to Tasha. Once everyone had finished boarding the plane the flight attendants reviewed all the safety regulations and then prepared the cabin for take off. After they had finished the plane taxied down the runway and took off.

"No way!" Jason exclaimed as he glanced at the screen located in the back of the chair in front of him.

"What is it?" Tasha asked as she looked up from the journal she was reading.

"They're showing Return of the Samurai. I've been dying to see it, the first film was so awesome!" Jason gleefully grinned.

"Let me guess your favorite film genre is action-adventure." Tasha said with a playful smile on her face.

"It's only the best one. So what about you? Which genre is your favorite?

"I like all film genres but overall I prefer documentaries over movies."

"That makes sense considering your choice of reading material" He responded, glancing at the journal in her hand.

"These journals happen to be very informative and even interesting."

"Oh, really" Jason replied, obviously disagreeing with Tasha's opinion.

"Yes, take this passage for example 'recent studies have shown that the external mucosal barriers of teleost fish play a vital role as a primary defense line against infection.'"

"Fascinating...but ah..Return of the Samurai is still more entertaining."

"I'm sure it is." she responded sarcastically. The two of them then settled in on the flight, Tasha concentrating on her microbiology journal and Jason fully immersed in Return of the Samurai. Once they were finished, they spent the next hours either chatting or sleeping as the plane made its way across the Atlantic; traveling ever closer to Bulin.

[jokertrap-ran]

(未定事件簿) EVENT!「致斯卡提的情诗」 [Tears of Themis] EVENT: A Love Poem to SKADI Translation (Chapter 1-01 奇怪邀约 : A Strange Invitation)

*Tears of Themis Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *The tracking tag for ALL Event Stories will go under: #Tears of an Event *(y/n) is your name when in direct referral; otherwise referred to as MC.

Location: Home

MC: Hm… So, you’re saying that you want me to go to Skadi Island with you?

Yao Yu: Yup! Please? You’re the only one who can help me!

The person on the other end of the line was Yao Yu, a friend that had been in the same Club as me back in University, who now works as an Editor for a Geographic Magazine Publisher.

She’d recently planned to write an article, a Travel Guide, on the popular Skadi Island.

Skadi Island was located at the junction where the North Atlantic and the Arctic Ocean met; the Island itself was home to many volcanoes, hot springs, and a large number of beaches along the coastline with black sand. The temperatures were moderate, and they had a strong culture related to elves. The island was also located within the Aurora Belt, so it was a place that was very popular with the younger people since the Auroras could be seen all throughout the area...

MC: But there are so many other sights to see on the Island… Why choose to go to a haunted place of all things…?

Yao Yu: Here’s what you don’t understand; articles of those scenic locations have already been repeatedly written god knows how many times now! But! How many articles have you seen that describe this island as haunted?

Yao Yu: I spent a great lot of effort getting this information out from a friend of mine, you know?

Yao Yu: It’s said that almost no one knows about this, apart from a few locals on Skadi Island.

Yao Yu: I’m sure the magazine’s sales will definitely increase again if this article gets released!

The place she was referring to be the abandoned mansion near the Golden Waterfalls.

Rumor has it that this mansion was the “Fiend’s Tomb”, where the “Malevolent Lord of Evil”, who had tried to destroy Skadi Island, was put down. Every time a Polar Night occurs, the “Malevolent Lord of Evil” would wander the mansion, dressed in all white, in search of a face.

It is said that your soul will be snatched away by him, if you accidentally approach this area during those nights.

Yao Yu: How about it? Can you really not consider it? I’ll foot all the expenses for this trip so long as you agree!

Yao Yu: All you have to do is to accompany me to that mansion and write a travel diary of your experience; that’s all!

Yao Yu: You get to travel abroad for a small holiday; all for free! Don’t you think it’s very worth the price?

MC: ……

Yao Yu: Please! Pretty please? This is my once-in-a-lifetime request!

MC: ...Fine...

Yao Yu: Thanks! I’ll end off here for today and let you know once I’ve arranged everything!

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Vikya City

MC: …...

???: What’s the matter? Are you unhappy to have come here, to Skadi Island?

MC: It’s got nothing to do with the Island, per say. I'm just wondering why I'm so stupid…

Yao Yu had sent over a complete itinerary plan not too long after her call, to invite me on a trip, had ended.

But what I didn't expect was…

That Yao Yu would suddenly contact me, saying that she couldn't take the same away flight together with me because of work, on the day of the flight itself where I had arrived early at the airport.

She'd entrusted me to a friend of hers who was at Skadi Island, telling me that I could go check out the Mansion first; and to complete the travel diary that was part of the deal.

???: Hearing you say that makes this development… A little awkward.

The person in front of me was Johnny, Yao Yu's friend. He was the owner of a guesthouse and also operated a Bar of his own.

He seemed to have quite the reputation here, for there were always locals enthusiastically greeting him as we went along our merry way, ever since we'd entered Vikya City.

Mostly female locals, though.

Johnny: But really, you don't have to worry that much about it. Although the Manor of Hermes is deemed as something very strange by the outside world…

Johnny: It's still essentially just an abandoned house, so there isn't really anything to be scared of, apart from the dust.

MC: The Manor of Hermes? Is that the name of that Mansion?

Johnny: She didn’t tell you anything about these either?

MC: She told me that she'd explain in more detail when we were on the plane back then, so she'd only given me a simple explanation about the Mansion.

MC: I did do some homework before coming here, but any information on the Mansion here can't really be found online...

MC: And what should I do now…? I've come all the way here without her; and am completely clueless to boot.

Johnny: ……

Johnny: If that’s the case here, then I'll give the beautiful lady here two suggestions. Perhaps they may be of help to you.

MC: What do you suggest?

Johnny: Lady Yao Yu isn't here with you; and you know nothing about that Mansion.

Johnny: That means that if we take safety into consideration, you shouldn't be entering that Mansion rashly like that.

Johnny: If your job here is to compile and write a travel diary about the Mansion here, then...

Johnny: I can just tell you what's inside that Mansion; and I'm pretty good at telling stories, myself.

MC: So, you mean… You're familiar with that Mansion?

Johnny: In a sense, yes. But you'll have to pardon me, because I can't disclose much more about it.

MC: ...And your other suggestion is? You did say that you had two, right?

Johnny: The other suggestion is for you to enter the Mansion and explore its secrets, of course!

Johnny: Sit on the thought for a while; what do you want to do?

MC: …...

⊳Choice: Go myself

MC: I've decided; I think it'll be better for me to investigate it by myself.

Johnny: Why?

MC: How do I put this… Well, I mean this IS an article that might be published after all.

MC: So, I have to be responsible about the things I write.

MC: I mean, how will the travel diary I write have any element of persuasiveness to it, if I've never actually been to the place myself?

MC: Plus, Yao Yu's paying for this trip— Which means, I must treat this seriously!

Johnny: I'm glad that this was your choice

⊳Choice: Listen to Johnny’s stories

MC: Could I bother you to tell me about the stories of the Mansion?

Johnny: Of course; but are you sure about this?

Johnny: This is just my personal thoughts on this, but...

Johnny: There are some things in the world which are only more interesting if you explore them, and personally experience them yourself, no?

MC: You do have a point…

MC: And thinking about it, Yao Yu's sponsoring this trip of mine, so I have to be more serious and responsible about it.

MC: I think it'll be better to write the Travel Diary after I've actually been there myself.

MC: That's what I say, but I still know nothing about that Mansion… So just how am I to explore that place?

Johnny: Then how about asking around for information on it, for starters?

Johnny: Don't the people of your country often say that "Good Generals don't fight unprepared battles"?

MC: Where can I get more information? I can't find any on the net...

MC: If you told me everything right from the get-go, then it wouldn't be considered as me having explored anything at all.

Johnny: Alright, beautiful lady… Say, do you mind doing me a favor?

MC: What favor?

Johnny: I'm planning to hold a party at my Bar soon, and I'm still lacking in a couple of things to make that happen.

Johnny: So, it would be of great help to me if you could go to some of the surrounding Cities and pick them up for me.

MC: But what does this have anything to do with me exploring the Mansion?

Johnny: I'm not the only one here who knows something about that Mansion. They're scattered all over this Island, and they might even be located in the places you're going to be visiting.

Johnny: Observe the surroundings carefully enough, and you might just make an unexpected discovery!

☆⋅⋆…⋅───── ⋆⋅A Love Poem to SKADI⋅⋆ ────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Next Part: (Chapter 1-02: The weirdness intensifies)

[rustandyearnings]

How This Ends

Loan Tran

Two weeks into quarantine I read an article in The Atlantic titled, “How the Pandemic Will End.” It still felt wildly early to make any predictions about the future and the course of the virus. It has been now over a year that I have been trying to write a response to what I read, not because of any substantial disagreement but I foresaw then what I know now to be true, that after nearly a year of pandemic life: none of this simply ends. 

There are no numbers and statistics, CDC guidelines, or even well thought out epidemiological reports that captures the depth of what it means that over 2.75 million people have died from COVID-19; over half a million of them alone in the U.S. We have witnessed a year that has made everything that was terrible before, much, much worse. And we know how we got here—especially being in the belly of the beast— we know all too well what regimes of power are capable of in their commitment to greed and profit. If you are like me or if you love people like me, you may know too that the world has come to an end many times before. What is different about this ending? If anything? 

It was mid-March. My partner and I were on our way to the beach for her birthday. During our drive, we got news that the airports were starting to shut down and we were uncertain of the rumors about the National Guard being deployed to ensure compliance with stay-at-home orders. The beach was still there, and still sweet as always. We celebrated her the way we love each other; we ate delicious food, we laughed. She made her family’s shrimp: Lee Adam’s Shrimp. Which is comical, she says, because this was the only dish he would ever cook, and he got it named after him. Meanwhile, the family functioned because of women who made everything else possible. Such is our lives. 

The Atlantic Ocean on the coast of North Carolina in mid-March is wind-swept, vast, very quiet. The sand becomes these large mountains to be trekked over before the water meets your eyeline. But once you see it, you know exactly where the ocean departs the sky. It was terribly cold. Yet, I was grateful to be by the water as our world began to shake us into conference calls and organizing meetings. Within just a few short hours of our Governor declaring lock down, we had formed the United for Survival and Beyond coalition. And knowing the year we were going to have and coming out of years of pavement pounding work, we were already exhausted. Deeper than the exhaustion is the truth that we must stick together, and we must find a way to continue on, especially now, with the cards so clear on the table: some of us will live and some of us will die. And there will be no logic to the madness.

The political work is instinctual to me; it makes sense in any crisis to bring together as many people as possible to understand a situation and to then take action. But the political work is also sometimes slow moving, even when we are all speeding and incredibly busy. So, I did other work that I felt, by my own standards, was more tangible. Like organizing a group chat of the queers I know who need medication on a regular basis. Or joining the local Mutual Aid Groups (and then promptly leaving all of the groups, which was simply a matter of exiting the Signal threads). Making a phone tree that was unreasonably the size of a phone book itself was an early action, too. And of course, cooking. There have been gallons upon gallons of pho. And gumbo. And at least 1,000 meatballs. Anything to attempt at satiating what I knew would become a growing hunger inside of me for a normalcy that still has not yet returned.

Things were deteriorating quickly all around me. By March’s end, my mom and I are on hold with her retirement company. She wants to get her money out of her account before the stock market steals it all away. This economic system routinely comes tumbling down for her; and often does it too line the pockets of the already ultra-wealthy. She has earned her retirement from working at the same alterations shop for over 20 years. She is paid for the time it takes to hand sew sequins onto wedding gowns that cost more than her year’s entire salary. She makes the inseam of your boutique jeans go from 32” to 30” with you never knowing the difference. She helps make people feel good, never questioning their own frivolousness in paying someone else to replace a missing button on their jacket. Her job has treated her well. This pandemic was beginning to test it as she’s filed for unemployment, without assistance from her bosses. The alliances that had shaped her life up until this point were beginning to fall apart, as is the case for so many of us. 

It would become easier in the summer, but even then, the sweaty walks and the sitting outside in the beating sun just to eat a meal with someone who I wasn’t also sleeping with most nights began to tire me. I was unsatisfiable. I am lucky to have eaten many good meals, celebrate even more pandemic birthdays, and have extra money to keep supporting my parents’ and sister’s bills in between our socially distanced visits. Things would seem relatively calm for some weeks, when I felt like the weather wasn’t badgering on me. Which is to also say, that when things felt turbulent, it really just meant I was incredibly sad. 

As I’ve been writing this piece in my mind, mulling over—as I usually do—which details feel relevant enough to evidence in words, the world around us has danced to the precipice of something new and back again. In between it all, I have had some of the most elaborate dreams of my life, the dreams at the heart of how I wish life could be. 

I am home in Viet Nam. The sky is a dreamy pink, small stripes of orange and some residual blue as the sun sets and the moon takes over. I am sitting by the water and before me stretches a few miles of the bay. On the other side, mountains: spotted gray from granite and green from trees. I think to myself, “this is beautiful” and I take out my phone so I don’t forget what this looks like. My mom is here with me and it is quiet and perfect. Standing in line waiting to buy coffee from a street vendor, I think to myself, “wow, I get to be here,”; there are children and their parents who look my kin weaving around my stillness on the side of the road. I smile at someone I clock to be like me: a little odd, short haired, sweet looking in the face, stern and tough but kind in spirit. Then I wake up. It’s a dream. And all I know is that it’s a beautiful, perfect dream. 

While time stretched and I could dream and I could travel in my mind, buoyed by my memories, telling stories that after the 3rd or 4th re-telling feels almost untrue, time also pulled me back to reality. To the everyday where I had few answers for the big question of: what now? 

So what of time now? What is its worth? And what is worth it? I wear a watch every day still and I check my calendar still. And I still want Fridays to feel how Fridays are supposed to feel, still: they should release me. I still want to wake up slow on a Sunday, my favorite day, still. Things feel numbered and open all at once. Do I measure the worth of my life in this way or that? Do I consider tragedy to be where we start or is it having a witness to it that makes the clock run? Do I count the pints of soup I have made? What about the distance between us? There have been more cardinals than usual, but I’m really not counting. I do miss the children in the streets and the laughter beaming from their hands. Making sense of quiet and calling this place, my ever-growing city of just nearly 270,000 people, a ghost town seems a little defeatist; some days it seems just right, and some days it feels like an opening: to stop counting the time. 

There is a slowness of this period that I have come to appreciate, even as it frustrates me. The slowness to remember and reconsider and re-learn the basic unit of relating: care; to care for each other and to care for ourselves. And we are being subject to the realities of care’s absence: there are millions of people—while they toil and make our world turn, even against the heaviest measures of despair—are disregarded as undeserving of housing, of health(care), of food, of life itself. 

These systems of violence and domination continue to evolve, as showcased by this next phase of neoliberalism, with its elite colors and sloganeering. Coca-Cola racial justice investments and Nike’s you can do it to end racism and NFL’s $250,000,000 check to shut it (what, exactly?) down. Our task is more urgent than ever, yet there is still, simply this: you and I making a road where perhaps previously there was not, where perhaps previously there were, and it had been bombed or torn apart.

I am on the eve of my second pandemic birthday. And between the last time I dared contemplate how this ends and this moment now, there have been attempted coups and multiple mass shootings; there have been more vaccines distributed in the 1st world and essentially none for our sisters, brothers, and kin to the global south. Schools in my city are reopening and the people who suffer are made to blame each other.

A pandemic of this kind, through which a virus has served as the vehicle sounding the sirens of human plight, has the potential to lure us towards conclusions about the ever-deepening crises of white supremacy, patriarchy, and capitalism that will be regretful for us in the long-term. Namely, while it is true many things are outside of our control, like how a virus may mutate or transmit, there is so much more that is within our control.

We have witnessed that even in the middle of a pandemic, our people have risen up across the globe to declare that there must be another way to live. What deserves to be said again and again is that on one hand there is the science of this pandemic and the science of greed which profits on sickness; on the other is clear the science of solidarity; the science of organizing; the science of returning people back to each other; a sense of attention, a regard for care, an interest in ourselves and each other and the planet as people and places worthy of a world different than what centuries of violence and domination have conditioned and forced us toward.

At last, I do not know what the end of this pandemic means. But it seems to the hopeful, revolutionary optimist in me, that we have tried our raggedy best this year. I have appreciated more than ever our attempts at an honesty we may not have been willing to demonstrate. It seems to me that I haven’t been the only one to lie about how much I don’t know. And if you are looking for a script right now, about how to be, or how to cope, or how to regard yourself as belonging to those around you who do not look like you or speak like you or understand as you understand, I hope you’ll remember that there is no one else to make the future but us if we are to see ourselves in it.

I am embarrassed by my desperate need for things to return to normal. I am so desperate that I lay awake at night: wanting something I know I cannot have and the intelligent part of me knows that if I could have it, it would not be good for me or the people I love. The desperation is also a grief, fear, fatigue. But I also lay awake some nights taking audit of my gratitude; that beside me is my lover deep in restful sleep, that somehow in the morning our hands always find each other; and when we get out of bed, to make breakfast, or step outside: there is another day that affords me the time to learn how to be more human, and perhaps that is what this is worth. And those of us who still have it in us, and even those of us who feel that we have lost it, we must help this situation by becoming more and more human, as that is the only way I would want this to end. 

This piece is dedicated to my dear friends who have kept me this year, in particular Zaina, Mindy, Margo, and Nadeen. It is also dedicated to our beloved Elandria (E) Williams, may they continue to rest in piece and know that we are taking their mandate for us to care, seriously. It is dedicated to the best pandemic pal and partner I could have ever asked for, who has also vowed to return the favor next pandemic, Chantelle. This is dedicated to the streets, to the uprisings, to all people everywhere who believe life doesn’t have to be this way, that we are so much more—these people include city workers, educators, youth and students, organizers, healthcare workers, and more. Thanks for the example of your lives.

[maybeeatspaghetti]

1) I'm not sure if this has been asked before, but do you have fics that you haven't posted, or don't plan on posting? If so, and if comfortable with sharing, are there any particular reasons, be it the content, how it's written, etc?

2) Somewhat generic question, but as someone who is interested in writing, be it fanfiction/smut (possibly?) or otherwise, do you have any tips? I know that reading more is the big one, but y'know.. still.

Have a great day/night! ♡

1) I have three fics that I haven’t posted and don’t plan to post. Two are short fics that are so similar to fics I’ve already posted that it would be redundant if I did post them. The third one is a 150k novel that was a Whizzvin fic, but the characters changed so drastically as I wrote the book that I changed the names and developed them into different characters. Maybe it’s a little bit selfish, but I wanted to keep that one for myself and not share it. And I actually cut down the sex scenes, to make it less about sex and more about the story—so instead of four or five sex scenes, I cut it down to two and rewrote it to sound more like Warm Baths, where there are no typical erotica words (like “cock” or “thrust” or “hard”) it’s more about feelings than anything else. 

2) Write, write, write. That’s the biggest tip, and I know it gets thrown around a lot to the point of “I’ve heard this so many times already,” but it’s because it’s true. If you’re starting out writing and you look at it and think, “this is terrible” and you stop writing forever, then you’ve prevented yourself from ever getting better. The more you write, the better you’ll be. I’ve been writing for 15 years, and I can tell you, the writing I did when I was in middle school is horrific. It’s really bad. And I got marginally better in high school, and a lot better in college, and even better now, beyond college, when I’ve really been able to develop my voice without being encouraged to write a specific way by my teachers and professors. So allow yourself to write badly.

Write and get feedback. It’s not as easy to improve if you’re writing into a vacuum and you’re the only one seeing your work. As hard as it may be, share your work with other people; let them tell you what works and what doesn’t. If you’re uncomfortable sharing your writing with people you know, look for beta readers on the Internet. Feedback is key to helping you grow as a writer.

Yes, reading is important, but I’d rank it lower than writing. Reading helps get a sense for how authors structure their sentences, pace their stories, weave in subplots, and split their chapters, but ultimately, I personally lean much more heavily on the writing than I do on the reading, though I do read, just not as much as some authors. Some authors say to be a good writer you must 1) read x number of books a year, 2) read with a pen in your hand, and 3) read “good” works of literature only. I disagree with all of those: 1) There’s no certain number of books you have to read a year that makes you a reader or a writer. Go at your own pace and read how much you want to. I know some people good-naturedly compete to see who can read more books, but if that’s not the way you work, then don’t feel bad about not reading as much as other people. 2) Taking notes while you read doesn’t necessarily make you a better writer. If you like marking up texts and it works for you, go for it! And I do it sometimes (my Falsettos script... there’s hardly any white space left), but it can make you feel like you’re at school when you do mark in the books or take notes, and that might kill your interest in reading it. Just by reading (without taking notes or writing in the text), you’ll unconsciously absorb a lot of information about what makes a story work. 3) “Good” is subjective. What’s considered “good” by the people who say things like this is usually confined to the literary canon. And while I agree that some knowledge of the literary canon is valuable, there are so many wonderful works beyond it that are just as good. So when people talk about “good literature,” they’re usually deliberately denigrating and stepping on everything beyond the literary canon (which excludes a huge range of diverse works/voices). So don’t listen to them. There’s plenty of good literature outside the literary canon, and who’s to say something they personally didn’t like isn’t good? It’s all about personal taste. So read what you want, be it novels or nonfiction or comics or manga or fanfiction—whatever it is, it can be valuable to you as a writer.

Going back to writing—sometimes, you just have to write something bad to get it out and then take it out and start afresh, and I know that takes extra time and effort, but sometimes you need to do it. For example, I was writing a serious story about depression and I just couldn’t keep from writing a specific scene in a humorous way. So I wrote the scene that way, with a completely different feel and tone and pacing to the rest of the story, and then copied and pasted it somewhere else and went back to the beginning of the scene. Once I had gotten that awkward funny stuff out of the way, I could write it seriously. 

I’ve never been particularly good at plot, as I’m a much more character-driven writer, so I’m afraid I can’t offer too many tips about that. I usually let my characters lead the story, no matter whether it’s a short piece like what I mostly post on AO3 or it’s a longer, more involved piece like What a Wonder You Are.

In terms of writing smut... let me tell you—my first attempts at writing smut about five years ago were dreadful, and I actually gave up until this summer, when I jumped right off the deep end into my Shameless Whizzvin Smut series. And I’d grown a lot since the last time I tried to write it, and I did my research and tried to focus on the language and the emotions over the actual acts themselves (though some fics require a level of detachment, like Pretty Little Thing, where the fic is about the acts rather than the emotions), and I thought I did alright. And in the last four months, I’ve gotten better.

If you want to learn how to write good smut, turn to fanfiction authors. I have rarely read a good sex scene in a published, literary, mainstream novel (but for god’s sake, don’t read Fifty Shades of Grey; I know that was fanfiction, but it really doesn’t depict healthy or safe sex in any way—The Atlantic article “Consent Isn’t Enough” is great at explaining why). A lot of novels do the “fade to black” type scene where they cut away just as the characters are falling into bed together (Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin is a “fade to black,” but it’s done really masterfully). But if you want to learn how to write good smut, read fanfiction and remember that you can write smut that’s sexy without foregoing safety, communication, and consent. 

There’s kind of a fine line between what’s sexy and what’s absurd, and it’s all too easy to step over the line into the absurd, and this is sometimes as basic as word choice—if you say “his cock was flushed and quivering,” it sounds much better than “his flushed and quivering manhood” or “his flushed member was quivering.” If you’re going for the absurd, then use all the ridiculous words you want (manhood, member, manmeat, prick, rod, love muscle, meat stick, loins, etc. etc. etc.)! Just know it’ll be more amusing than sexy and people will probably make fun of it. But if that’s what you’re going for, then go all out! 

If you’re wanting some more specific advice about writing in general or smut writing, you’re welcome to send an ask or message; this response would get entirely too long if I were to go into more detail here. 💕

[postguiltypleasures]

The Magicians Finale - (over a year later)

I didn’t watch the first season of The Magicians as it aired in late 2015- 2016. I was already watching the roughly estimated maximum amount of television I could watch. I didn’t have the time to make for a new show. It debuted at the same time as The Expanse, and that looks like the “better” show. But I would soon realize that I liked The Magicians more.

While I was watching the first season, I attempted to go back and look at the writing from while it aired. This experience profoundly influenced how I felt about the controversial ending to the fourth season, and the fall out in the fandom.

The fourth season ended after Quentin Coldwater, ostensibly the show’s central character, dying while saving the world. In his orientation to the afterlife there is discussion about was this actually heroic or was it a manifestation of his depression and suicidal identification. The show doesn’t answer this directly, it just has Quentin experience how his friends are mourning him and feel how loved it was. People felt really betrayed by this. It was considered deeply irresponsible. I have already written about it here. In the aftermath, part of me thought back to those recaps and reviews of the first season and wondered “how did we get to place where we could feel so betrayed?” Because reviews from the then seemed certain that it was more problematic than it was. Take for example this recap from Vulture season one, where the writer, Hillary Kelly, wonders who this show is actually for? Or this AV Club recap of the first season finale where the writer Lisa Weidenfeld erroneously thinks that The Beast and Julia, both rape victims, are being set up to be the show’s main villains? And that Eliot’s forced marriage to Fen was potentially a straight washing.

The fact that the worries Weidenfeld put into writing didn’t pan out is probably part of the reason that the show’s reputation improved. It would also have characters within the show call out others’s sexism, racism, etc. which could feel like something of a corrective to a lot of pop culture out there. You might also have noticed that in Weidenfeld’s recap she makes a comparison between Julia and Willow-gets-addicted-to-magic-plot season six of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Ads for the first season even looked like they wanted viewers to draw that comparison.

I remember from around the second season coming across a several articles declaring The Magicians a worthy successor to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Emily VanDerWerff discussed it in her review of the second season. As one point she makes the statement that “The Magicians isn’t as politically subversive as Buffy”, and I’m going to go out on a limb and say that might be less true than she assumed at the time. In an era of backlash against Buffy’s creator Joss Whedon, The Magicians could be comparatively more empathetic to its characters and had some pretty subversive plot points. But I haven’t watched an episode of Buffy since the early aughts, or The Magicians since it wrapped.

(VanDerWerff’s writing heavily influenced my own thoughts about thee show, which I previously wrote about here. I am also including links to her old podcast, I Think You’re Interesting and the interviews she did with novelist Lev Grossman and show runner Sera Gamble, though I should note those are from before she transitioned and under her dead name. Also I wanted to include that she included it in her best television of the 2010s article.)

In the articles I just linked to, you might also notice frequent comparisons to Game of Thrones. While the comparisons focus on the the vast difference in budget and how ubiquitous GoT was at the same time The Magicians aired, it is worth noting that both series are postmodern, deconstruction takes on their respective sub-genres. While GoT could use that to point out why surprising and awful things happened to their characters, The Magicians mostly had fewer horrible things happen to its characters. But the comparison might have influenced how post Quentin’s death people made a litany of those events/plot points to prove that any faith in the show was misplaced and it was a betrayer better left behind.

The after the fourth season I pulled back from discussing The Magicians online. I just couldn’t deal with other people’s anger. I was never really active in the fandom, but I did write about it here more than probably any other series since I started this blog. This may have given me a false impression about how the media ended up covering the show. While writing this I was planning an arc that would go something like, “at the start of the fourth season the media loved it and articles this one by Kathryn Van Arendonk at Vulture came out saying that they regretted stopping the show part way through season one. But the fan backlash to the finale was so harsh that even the show’s frequent champion, Emily VanDerWerff didn’t write about it at all for the fifth season.” She did write a positive review at the start of the fifth season. I even read it at the time. She didn’t write about the finale, and that disappointed me, which may have led me to mis-remember the earlier. (I did remember this round table discussion about the ascendency of fandom in which she discusses the show’s situation, and it might have also contributed to my misremembering.)

The AVClub had Weidenfeld write a review of the first episodes, but she no longer recapped the episodes as she had for the first four seasons. (Her review is generally about what is missing from the Quentin-less series) While preparing to write this I found out that Decider’s Anna Menta recapped through the third episode, despite being amongst those who felt betrayed by Quentin’s death and the lack of opportunity for Quentin and Eliot to explore their romance.

(I just want to take a moment to say a couple of things here. Firstly, I really believed the show runners when they said Quentin was dead and not coming back so I didn’t see the first couple of episodes as a tease that he might come back. When my grandfather who I was very close to died I would regularly have dreams that his death was incorrectly called and he’d come back. I saw those episodes as a version of that.)

This has been show I’ve written about the most in recent years. But as I was mostly ignoring both professional and fan writing about it for its final season, I only really got around to reading these now. I’m going to start with this post-finale interview with the producers, Sera Gamble, Henry Alonso Myers John McNamara, written by Vlada Gelman at TVLine. It isn’t really a lot of new information. It’s interesting to read about how being renewed or not affected their editing decisions in post production. They seem happy with it. At Entertainment Weekly, Chancellor Agard interviewed Gamble and McNamara. There is more talk about the connection between the final season of the tv show and the finale book of the trilogy, The Magicians Land. (As a viewer I was always pleased when they somehow brought in details from the books late in the season, whether it was big things for the arc like the World Seed page or details that only mattered for an episode like whales being magicians.) In the interview, they also talk about some of the wildest plot points. Gamble and McNamara also gave and interview to Adam Chitwood at Collider. Chitwood is the most enthusiastic about the show. The interview also confirms for those who want to know that Jason Ralph asked to be let go from the show, and that Julia’s pregnancy probably wouldn’t have happened if her actress Stella Maeve hadn’t gotten pregnant. Finally, in an I can’t believe I missed it example, at the New York Times, Jennifer Vineyard also interviewed Gamble and McNamera. This one starts pretty politically with how trying to save the citizens of Fillory unintentionally works as a metaphor for quarantine and how we don’t get through difficult periods of times because of individuals, instead it’s more of a collective. Then it somehow turns into a a thing about being in a mutual admiration society with William Shatner. I truly didn’t see this one coming.

So now I have to get to the actual reviews of the finale, with the caveat that I haven’t watched any of the series in over a year so it’s definitely not fresh in my mind. Over at The AVClub, re-capper Weidfeld is mostly mournful for the series, but also makes the point that when the characters grew up and stopped being so hurtful towards each other and themselves, it was less compelling. It kind of ties back to my “how did people think this was a show that wouldn’t hurt them” question from earlier, but with less interest in fans. I don’t remember if my feelings as it went on would have agreed with it, but it is partially why it was in good place to end the series. At io9, Beth Elderkin seemed to think the finale was rushed and the show deserved better. I don’t remember if I felt like the episode was rushed. But as I read through her recap, I realize that I’ve also forgotten a lot of the episode’s plot points. Over at The Mary Sue, Jessica Mason wrote a positive review highlighting aspects that pleased her as a fan who wanted good things for these characters.

Shortly after the finale Sarah Stankorb at The Atlantic recommend the series to COVID bound bingers. I was shocked to see this. I didn’t think anyone would be recommending it post season for backlash. (Earlier on an episode of Our Opinions Are Correct the hosts walked back what could have been a recommendation for the series, which disappointed me. I don’t remember which episode this was.) It’s a lovely overview of the whole series. I especially like how Stackorb addresses the way the show dealt with Julia’s assault (greatly improving on the source material). It made me wonder if the show will have a legacy, one worthy of celebration. I don’t hope for a revival, but if I had time to re-watch it, I might. And I am happy to read comicbooks building on the source material.