#tessa's thoughts on broadcasting

[chirpingfromthebox]

If you thought that the Jocks In Jills podcast could give my MVP Lee Stecklein a shout-out without me making record of it, then you thought wrong, my friends!

from the Jock In Jills Podcast, SE01-EP19, starting at 32:34

talking about what happened after the end of Game 4 of the Finals

TESSA BONHOMME:

I do have to point this out too though. After the game we usually quickly turn our chairs around to get ready for our post-game stuff to close out the show and everything and send viewers onto whatever it is they have to watch after us, after our broadcast.

Minnesota stood there at center ice, tapped their sticks, saluted their fans, and thanked them for coming. Because after all this is the last game of the season that they’re doing here. They all went in the middle to hug—Cassie Campbell-Pascall actually pointed this out to me after—and I had noticed, who’s gonna be the one talking if anyone’s talking?

And Lee Stecklein addressed the team at center ice.

And for those who don’t understand or appreciate or know who Lee Stecklein is: that girl, let me tell you, her voice carries some serious weight. I have mad respect for her and I am long gone retired—not only as a person but as a player—and I can only tell you that whatever was said out on the ice there will be carried over in three days when they are in Boston. And I don’t know what was said, but I’m very thankful and glad that she did. Because that team was torn apart and beaten down and battered and, like, distraught after that game. And I feel like she did her due diligence there in making sure that that team was picked right back up.

CHERYL POUNDER:

You know, Kenzie [LaLonde] and I and you Tessa, have been fortunate to be in the game for a long time, and it’s interesting, you talk to different coaches, different coaches come in and out of programs, different players come in and out of programs, but anytime you ask anyone, any coach, anyone about Lee Stecklein, the word that they use is “Natural-born Leader.”

And it’s interesting because we’ve watched her be placed on the National team where they tried to get her out of retirement with someone like a Caroline Harvey. Right? And then you all of a sudden see Caroline Harvey’s game elevate. In this situation you see her aligned at the beginning when Sophie Jaques comes over. And that is a strategic coaching decision, because coaches know that she plays for others. That she plays the right way, she plays hard, she loves the game, she’s passionate, but also she’s just that leader that knows how to elevate and lifts you up.

And so a perfect voice, I would think, leading into a game 5 after a situation like that.

KENZIE LALONDE:

I've asked Ken Klee before, I did say, in the room if there needs something to be said, if a word is said, if it’s a quiet locker room and someone’s saying something, who is it?

And he just kinda said, It’s Lee. Without a doubt. Like she will always be the one to vocalize something. The room listens when Lee speaks.

And we’ll never know what was said, it’ll probably stay amongst them, but what better person to lead them through what will be one of the most challenging moments in their hockey careers.

[wntw-virtuemoir-edition]

Every year I’m reminded how VM (especially Tessa) would BRAG about not doing jack shit for each other’s birthdays. Like… they really thought it was a flex?! Something cool we should all aspire to? Extremely weird behavior lol. And I wanna know who’s the person who convinced them that it was a good to publicly broadcast that.

[sunskate]

in what areas do you think Zach Lagha resembles Scott?

also what do you think the current crop of male ice dancers see in Nikita Katsalapov? if I’m not mistaken, I think Anthony, Zach, and Vadym have all said that he’s (Nikita) one of their idols

Kurt Browning mentioned it in that broadcast Tessa did with him in 2021 Olympic season. that Zak reminded him of Scott, and Tessa said his "unabashed commitment to performance" was similar. he does have that kind of unselfconscious giving everything quality on the ice. besides that and the dark hair, he doesn't really remind me of Scott, he feels like his own skater

as for Nikita, thanks for this question- i'd wondered that about Zak and others saying that but had never thought to investigate til now. i mostly knew Nikita from the quad leading to Beijing when he was injured a lot and never would have thought of him as someone that such good skaters would look up to. but this -

he's so light on his feet, and there's a spring in his knees that makes everything look upward and quick in his energy - it's very different from Scott, who has this opposition going on where he's skating deeply into the ice, and it's the depth maybe that makes his skating powerful and smooth, but his upper body is always reaching and open and big in expression. anyway, Nikita in this earlier period has a dynamic and charismatic quality - his twizzles often look wonky, but there is a flair to him that i wasn't expecting

here he is skating Hip Hip Chin Chin with Elena to very familiar music cuts in 2012 - both really talented for sure, with some deep edges. they're a little unbalanced as a team yet, but they move really well - they were 5th at Worlds at only 17/20 yo

[killercmd]

@deadcmd sent a broadcast: v's feelings on the gala massacre. let's go. it counts as a canon scene!!! post → title: ❝ out in the open, no one to save me ❞ → answered inbox meme (send a canon scene for my muse's feelings on it - accepting) content warning: graphic descriptions of organic gore, violence, body horror / mutilation, the ever-oppressive fear of your existence making you a puppet to one's demands regardless of how volatile

What have I done? It's the only thought that goes through your head as a loud ringing sounds in your auditory sensors and you stare down at viscous red dripping from disgusting, fleshy limbs in the shape of claws. Your chest shudders as it expands and contracts unstably, hysterical giggling breaking up what would otherwise sound like sobbing. There's so much blood... so, so much blood...

You can only remember so much leading up to this moment. Cyn was most prevalent. You recall crawling from the basement, unnatural limbs something you weren't consciously used to navigating with yet they moved as though they'd always been part of you; grotesque flesh makes up a hand and thin fingers that end in sharp points. Equally fleshy, tattered wings expanded from your back; you had a long tail with a pustule sack beneath the glowing eye wrapped within, something of a blade creating a deadly tip to it.

You had made your way up onto the ceiling of the ballroom, and as the lights suddenly went out, an X appeared upon your visor, your HUID becoming mixes of orange and yellow. An unnaturally wide smile parted your maw, baring sharp teeth and allowing saliva to drip down onto the man beneath you. All you feel is an endless, bottomless hunger burning in your stomach. You need to eat. You're so, so hungry.

As you focused on one of the many humans now trapped in the ballroom, you noted a crosshair hovering over them. [ TARGET LOCKED ]. In a flurry of yellow glow and flesh and blood, you launched from your perch onto the back of the confused target. A scream registers in your processors, but you ignore it, giggling as you sink your claws through thin fabric and pliable flesh to get to the BLOOD inside.

You are organic. You need blood, their blood. You need it to grow stronger, to become healthier. They don't need it. They've done nothing but waste their lives away while making yours a living Hell. It was only fair you finally reap what they sowed, wasn't it? Razor-sharp fangs make quick work on the soft flesh that you expose, ripping and tearing it from bone to draw that lifeforce to the surface.

One human wasn't enough. It's not enough. Never going to be enough. You launch yourself at another, draining them just as ruthlessly, before continuing to move along in a rinse-and-repeat cycle. Screaming, sobbing, all of it goes through your processors without acknowledgement. All of the warnings blaring in your visor are ignored in favour of a deep-rooted need for survival that continues to push you forward in your homicidal rampage.

Starved wolves would attack cattle. This was no different; humans were designed to be consumed. Their flesh, their blood, their guts. [ ALL OF IT WAS DESIGNED TO BE CONSUMED AND DESTROYED ]. You only stop eating once you no longer feel the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or the haze of s̶o̶m̵e̵t̷h̷i̸n̵g̵ ̴e̴l̶s̶e̶ controlling you.

Your eyes blip back to white pupils, smile fading into a horrified expression. You feel your stomach twist and you vomit a disgustingly viscous mix of blood, viscera, and oil. You sob, wail, scream. The scene in front of you makes you want to throw up again; gored bodies litter the ballroom, sprays of blood and organs painting the formerly pristine wooden walls a thick, disgusting red. Your servos are shaking. You want this nightmare to be over. Please please let it be over.

Where was N?

You just want to be with your friends...

When you look up, your gaze meets one remaining pair of equally white eyes.

Tessa.

You reach for her, only to recoil away from yourself when your sights set on the knives your fingers had been contorted into. No, no no no no. What have you done? Scrambling into a corner, you tuck yourself away into the darkness, using those tattered organic wings much like a veil to hide your shaking frame from sight.

The only indication you were still in the room was the very faint sound of muffled sobbing.

You're a monster.

. . .

You just want to end this dream.

[marie12141989]

This One Is Not A Test ch. 16

Word Count: 1421

Pairing: BuckyxOFC

Summary: Everyone sits down to watch Walker's trial and Bucky comes home to spend some time with Tessa.

A/N: Since this is the last chapter I'm posting before the holiday hits I want to say to those of you who celebrate it Merry Christmas/Kwanzaa.

Tessa sat in the living room with Tony and Pepper ready to watch the broadcast on Walker’s trial. They weren’t allowed to have cameras in the courtroom but she knew that there’d be reporters inside that would tell everyone what exactly happened, they watched as a car pulled up and both John and Olivia got out. Olivia took his arm and walked up the steps with him, a few reporters tried to stop him to ask him questions but they ignored them. A few people waved signs at them and even shoved it in their faces, Tessa remembered when Bucky was on trial and people had jeered at him and waved homemade signs at him wishing death on him. As they were watching them walk into the building they heard the sound of car tires crunching on the gravel outside and a minute later they heard someone walk up the driveway while the car pulled away.

There was a knock on the door and Tony got up to see who had shown up uninvited. Pepper and Tessa waited for a little bit, as if she could sense who it was Alpine came bolting down the steps letting out a long cry while she headed towards the direction of the front door. A minute later Tony walked back into the living room followed by Bucky who had Alpine in his arms, she was happily purring away while rubbing her head all over him. Tessa got up off of the couch and ran over to wrap her arms around Bucky who wrapped the arm not holding Alpine to him around her. Pepper noticed the look on Tony’s face when Bucky bent down just enough to give Tessa a kiss, she nudged him with her foot and when he looked at her she gave him a look that told him to be nice.

The television caught Bucky’s attention as soon as he pulled away “What are you guys watching?” he asked.

“We’re kind of watching Walker’s trial. They won’t let cameras in but there’s people inside that are reporting what’s going on.” Tessa said.

“They’re going to hang him out to dry. There’s no way the government’s ever going to admit to making a mistake.”

True to Bucky’s word they watched as the reporter that was outside of the courthouse announced that not only had they obviously stripped him of the title of Captain America but they had also taken his rank from him along with any benefits he would have been able to receive like Steve and Bucky were. Tessa would have felt bad but then she remembered the way he had treated Bucky and Sam, the way Olivia had acted like just because her husband was Captain America that Tessa should and would do what she wanted and then she remembered the Flag Smasher that was on the ground his back probably broken begging John for his life. And then it hit her, she waited until Pepper and Tony were out of the room before she turned to Bucky who was just staring at the screen “Bucky. Bucky. Hey Bucky. James,” She watched him slowly look in her direction “do you think that someone like say Sam or I could use that shield to easily cut someone in half?”

“I guess if you hit them enough times why?”

“I watched Walker kill that man. He only did it in a couple of swings. Do you think we could do that?” she watched him think it over.

“You? No, you don’t have the strength to do it. Sam might after a good dozen swings or so.”

“Oh John didn’t need a couple dozen swings.” Tessa said. Bucky thought about it, John had put up a better fight than Bucky and Sam had expected.

“There’s no way what you’re suggesting happened. Zemo destroyed all of the vials how would he be able to inject himself with any of the serum?”

“I don’t know. It was just a suggestion. I mean from the way you were talking about how he talked about the serum I doubt that he would have taken it. Maybe you’re just getting slow in your old age.” She teased. Bucky’s mouth dropped open at that and a second later Tony and Pepper heard Tessa let out a squeal before she started to laugh and beg Bucky to stop, Tony poked his head into the living room. Bucky had Tessa pinned under him and he was tickling her where ever there was exposed flesh “Stop! Bucky stop! Please!”

“Take it back!”

“Never!” Tony just grinned and shook his head before walking away.

“What’s going on?” Pepper asked as they heard Tessa let out a scream before there was the sound of a smack.

“Ow!”

“Keep your hands to yourself you pervert! We’re at Tony’s house!” Bucky must have heard Tony walking back to the living room because when he poked his head in to the living room Bucky was sitting up with his hands in the air.

“Getting fresh with my goddaughter Barnes?” he asked trying to look stern.

“I swear I didn’t mean to.” Bucky said with wide eyes.

“Uh sure. I get it. I’ve ‘accidentally’ gotten fresh with a few women too. If you’re going to do that than get a room.” He said. A second later Tessa let out a squeal as Bucky picked her up from the couch and slung her over his shoulder and started heading towards the steps “Not here! My daughter’s in her room she doesn’t need to hear the two of you going at it!” Tony said.

“You’re no fun Stark.” Buck groused as he put her down. He gave her a little wink before he smiled at Tony “I’m just joking Tony.” A second later he grabbed a hold of Tessa’s hand and pulled her out of the cabin.

“Where are we going?” Tessa asked.

“For some privacy.” Bucky said as he pulled her towards the lake. Tessa turned and looked back at the cabin, there was a window pointed right at the lake.

“I don’t know how much privacy we’re going to get.” She said as she sat down beside him. Bucky pulled her closer and gave a few kisses to the side of her head.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He whispered as he let out a sigh. Tessa snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes, neither one of them said anything for a few seconds before he cellphone went off. Both of them looked at each other in confusion before she pulled her phone out.

He needs to be further away from you. Tell him to leave room for Jesus. Tony texted. Tessa let out a snort and showed Bucky, he looked at the phone before turning and looking up at the cabin. Tessa turned and looked to see Tony standing at the window facing the lake, he was making hand gestures showing them to separate with a serious look on his face. Before Tessa knew what was happening Bucky pulled her into a kiss before he moved to her cheek and then down to her neck, a minute later they heard the front door slam open.

“You better take your hands off of my goddaughter Barnes!” Tony shouted as he stormed down towards the lake. Bucky let out a laugh and jumped away before running off towards the woods laughing at Tony the whole time. Tony stopped right beside Tessa glaring at Bucky the whole “If he can’t keep his hands to himself than he’s sleeping out in the shed.” He told her before he stalked back up to the cabin where Pepper was waiting with her hand on her hips. After about fifteen minutes Bucky came back from the woods.

“So what did the grumpy old man have to say?” he asked as he pulled her close again.

“That if you can’t keep your hands to yourself that you’re going to have to sleep in the shed.”

“Oh so he’s giving us more of an opportunity for some privacy.” A second later Bucky let out a yelp as he felt cold water splash up into his face. “What the hell?”

“Thought you needed some cooling down. You’re a hundred and seven not a teenager.” Tessa said as she watched him wipe his face off.

“Bucky! Tessa! It’s time to eat!” Pepper called out. As soon as they heard the word food both of them jumped up and raced each other to the cabin laughing the whole way.

[virtchandmoir]

Inspiring and informative keynotes and conversations with Olympic heroes Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir.

[amchara]

In Cold Blood - (Whumptober prompts 4, 7, 22)

Kit Herondale, Belial, Sammael, Tessa Gray, Jem Carstairs, Mina Carstairs

The Princes of Hell are looking for the perfect pawn and Johnny Rook's protection spells performed on Kit as a baby aren't enough to save him... (Or- my take on this thread about possessed!Kit in TWP)

Prompts: Taken hostage (Prompt Four), helplessness (Prompt Seven) and Demon (Prompt 22) for Whumptober

TW: offscreen violence, demon possession?

The two demons watched as the teenage boy shifted uneasily and cried out in his sleep. “No Ty… not if you do this, not if…” he fell silent. Then his body locked and stiffened. He called out in horror and despair-- “LIVVY!”

Sammael looked appreciatively at the boy’s long limbs, which, despite their coltish appearance, had nascent muscles- the promise of a powerful warrior if trained properly. And his face was fair, framed by golden curls and a strong jaw, and despite his nightmares, sweet and open. All the better for seduction and persuading the unwary to trust him, Sammael thought.

“Well done, brother- I think he will do well for our plans,” he said, adjusting the portal window so that he and Belial could spy further into the room.

Belial smiled. “He’s not of my line but his protection spells are weak- they were not completed properly. And there’s a hint-” he sniffed. “A hint of dark magic around him- that should speed the possession.”

He started forward, clawed hand descending towards the opened portal to draw the shadowhunter boy into his realm. But his brother’s arm thumped across his chest, stopping him.

“You have him for three days,” Sammael reminded him. “And then you must allow our brothers to take their turns.”

“You should find your own,” Belial said, a sulky note entering his voice. “I want this one.”

“Most shadowhunters have intact protection spells so you know that would be challenging. Also, this one…” Sammael said, watching the boy carefully. “His faerie blood will do nicely for the final stage of our plan. You must share.”

Belial tossed his head, moonlight glinting off his immaculate dark hair. “Understood,” he said shortly. His grey eyes glowed. “No matter- I should be able to accomplish my goals by that time. Starting with my plans for the inhabitants of this house.”

-

Kit opened his eyes, blinking as he took in his surroundings. His limbs felt oddly heavy and his mind felt unfocused, and he tried to shake his head to clear it. Strange. He couldn’t quite manage it.

He was in Mina’s room, dressed in normal street clothes and standing by the door, hand resting lightly on her dollhouse.

Mina was awake and sitting upright in her bed. But something was wrong, Kit realised. She was watching him with a wary look, her dark eyes solemn and unsure as she huddled in her covers.

“Where’s Kit?” she asked, her voice small and tentative.

What was Mina talking about?

To his horror, Kit could feel his face move into a rictus of a smile and he walked forward even as she shrank back from him on the bed.

Was he sleepwalking? Was this a waking nightmare?

No. The voice was low and seductive, caressing across his mind. You’re under my control now, Kit Herondale.

Mina screamed as he grabbed her.

But suddenly he was the one screaming, as his hands burned uncontrollably and he dropped her, her light yellow magic trailing away like smoke wisps. She scrambled away and the fear on her face sent a stab of pain through his heart. The… presence, whatever, whoever it was seemed to find delight in this, almost broadcasting its feelings directly into Kit’s mind.

There was a thundering noise in the hallway and Jem and Tessa burst into the room. Jem was an incongruous but deadly sight holding a long broadsword and clothed in only an undershirt and tight white underwear, while Tessa, despite the late hour and wild hair, projected an air of sharp competence as she held her hands up, blue flames dancing between her fingers.

They took in the sight of their two children.

Tessa was the one who understood it first, a look of shock and dismay crossing her face. “Kit?” she asked, slowly.

“Hello, daughter,” it said, the words leaving his mouth in an unnatural way, and Kit could feel a cold amusement from the being currently controlling him.

“Belial,” Tessa whispered, and Jem let out a muffled gasp but his grip on the sword didn’t waver.

Panic rose through Kit as he considered Tessa’s response. He tried to push, strain his muscles, blink his eyes. Anything to regain control over his body that was being controlled by a freaking Prince of Hell.

Nothing worked.

“I know we said we were even, the last time we spoke-” and Kit could feel his focus switch to include Jem as well. “But I’m afraid I… lied.” He gestured down his body. “And it was rather careless of you to have left such shoddy protection spells on another of your children.”

Tessa narrowed her eyes. “Let him go.” She raised her hands again.

“Or what?” His arms crossed, and he leaned casually against the bedside table. “You’re hardly about to attack me away, not while I’m wearing this.”

And Kit thought he would do a million chores, and a thousand tough training sessions, if it meant he was never again referenced as a demon fashion accessory.

Tessa’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly towards Jem. It was the smallest of gestures and if he wasn’t so aware of their tiny tells, having lived for three years with them, he wouldn’t have realised that they had just shared a plan. Unfortunately, Kit realised with growing horror, as his hand suddenly raised in a familiar gesture, Belial seemed to have direct access to his very thoughts.

I do indeed. Thank you

Jem lunged towards the bed, arms outstretched to scoop up Mina. But he was intercepted by Belial taking control of Kit’s powers - the same powers he and Tessa and Jem had spent hours carefully training, safely- and knocking him with a giant invisible force, slamming Jem into the opposite wall of the nursery, where he lay crumpled but still conscious, eyes wide with pain.

Tessa snarled and with a couple elegant gestures, a crying Mina flew into the air, landing safely into her arms. Mina burrowed her head into her mother’s shoulder.

“I do need both your children, Tessa, my darling.” Kit sauntered over to her but stopped short as a solid, invisible wall stood in between them.

“Over my dead body,” she told him, her eyes furious as she stroked Mina’s back protectively.

“How very dramatic,” Kit heard himself drawl, looking down at his fingernails in a bored manner.

There was a growing sense of a burning, hungry power building in him and Kit summoned all his willpower to fight Belial if he tried to hurt Tessa or Mina or Jem again.

I won’t let you hurt my family.

He could feel the demon scoff at him, as he stepped away. With a few sharp gestures, he outlined a door frame, and reality bent and shivered for a moment before a doorway opened. On the other side, Kit could see city lights and hear cars honking, as a balmy breeze drifted through.

“I’ll go have fun with this one first, and we can return to discuss your daughter later,” Belial told her as he stepped through, easily sidestepping Jem’s pained attempt to try and tackle him.

“Kit!” Tessa’s cry was suddenly cut off as the doorway winked close.

Kit raged and swore and drew on every scrap of knowledge he knew- Shadowhunter and Downworlder alike- but it did no good. He was powerless and worst of all, as he walked down the busy urban road, he felt insignificant, a feeling that was highlighted by Belial’s next words to him.

Oh, you’re still here. I don’t think I need you around for this part. In fact, I think for this first time- it’ll be more fun if you’re not.

The next time Kit returned to consciousness, he was lying in an alley somewhere, his head throbbing and it felt like a bucket of paint had been thrown over his face and body, his clothes tacky with it. But instinctively Kit knew it wasn’t paint. He looked down.

There was blood on his hands.

So. Much. Blood.

-

(Yes there will probably be more to this story - this was too much fun to write. Which Prince of Hell takes control next?? Also, am thinking a Kit / Ty reunion while Kit is still possessed... )

Taglist: @sandersgrey @dontmindmyshadowhunting @shadowhunting-hooligans @of-same-steel-and-temper @hardlymatters @storm-of-ruination @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @roundtom

Previous Whumptober fics:

Prompt One - "You Have To Let Go" (James Herondale, Cordelia Carstairs, Matthew Fairchild)

Prompt Two - Choking/Gagged (Dru Blackthorn, Ash Morgenstern, Ty Blackthorn, Kit Blackthorn, L.A. Institute inhabitants)

Prompt Three - "Who Did This To You?" (Cristina Rosales, Mark Blackthorn, Kieran Kingson)

(link to prompts)

[silvermoon424]

Recommendation: Sleepless Domain

Read Sleepless Domain HERE

Sleepless Domain is an ongoing webcomic by Mary Cagle that began in 2015. I think TVTropes already wrote a perfect summary of it: 

By day, a nameless, isolated city is safe under the Great Barrier. Every night, however, monsters come in from the surrounding lands and terrorize the city. The first line of defense against these monsters are young magical girls, such as the five teenagers that make up Team Alchemical. Practically celebrities, these girls are regarded as champions, are honored and respected above all else, with all the support that implies, especially if they are registered.

It would be almost perfect... except for the part where they have to risk their lives every night.

One night, that risk becomes tragedy and one of the girls of Team Alchemical, Undine, also known as Alchemical Water, decides to find out why it happened. Even if that means she has to do it alone.

Sleepless Domain is a coming of age story about expectations, loss, friendship through healing and hardship, and the price of magic.

I decided to read this webcomic upon the recommendation of a follower. I thought the premise sounded intriguing (Puella Magi Madoka Magica is one of my all-time favorite anime, and I love dark magical girl shows in general) so I thought I’d give it a shot. I ended up devouring all currently available 15 chapters (as of July 2020) in a matter of hours, only to be struck by the realization that from now on I’ll have to wait for updates. It’s a double-edged sword; I’m addicted to binging media in one go so it sucks having to wait, but on the other hand I’m glad I have something to look forward to getting updated every week.

Anyway, as the summary implies, this is a darker and more mature take on the magical girl genre. Although the girls get to enjoy cute costumes, magical powers, a much elevated status, and the adoration of the public, they must also risk their lives every night against dangerous monsters that are more than capable of hurting or even killing them. They’re essentially child soldiers, albeit glorified ones. Their fame and idolization is also a mixed blessing; while magical girls get to enjoy their boosted status, they’re also put on a pedestal, to the point where people forget they’re still teenage girls who don’t solely exist to fight and die for the public.

Speaking of the public, I absolutely love the setting. I’m really fond of stories where magical girls/superheroes/etc are a known thing and we can see how the rest of the world reacts to them. In the city where Sleepless Domain takes place, magical girls are essentially celebrities. Their fights get followed by camera crews and broadcasted every morning, they have managers, they get interviewed, they have officially licensed merchandise, they’re featured on the front covers of magazines, etc. Many of the magical girls have outright monetized their popularity, doing ad deals and sponsorships. 

Another detail I really like is that almost all magical girls attend Future’s Promise, an exclusive private school where everything from the education to the facilities to the food is high-quality, as a reward for them for protecting the city. The classes even start at 11 AM to give magical girls enough time to sleep after their nightly patrols (the Great Barrier is inactive from 10 PM to 2 AM, which is when magical girls are active). It’s also cool to see a school that’s exclusively for magical girls and we get to see a lot of interaction between various magical girls.

I also really love the design and mechanics behind the magical girls themselves. They each have a unique costume and powers, although some magical girls may be “thematic,” meaning they have teams where the girls' powers, costumes, and symbols match (for example, Team Alchemical, the magical girls featured in the picture, have a team based on the classical Greek elements of water, air, earth, fire, and aether). Members of thematic teams usually know each other before they are granted their powers, although this is not always the case. There are also non-thematic teams, meaning that there is no common element among the girls' powers. In any case, each magical girl has her own unique costume, powers, and sigil/symbol. Their hair and eyes also often undergo a supernatural color change (for example, one character’s hair and eye colors went from brown to pink), which I am an absolute sucker for (PreCure is another series that utilizes that concept a lot, although in Sleepless Domain the eye/hair color change is present even when in civilian form).

Aside from the great and interesting setting, I also really appreciate the tone of Sleepless Domain. It’s mature and thought-provoking without becoming a grimdark edge-fest like a lot of dark magical girl media. Without going into spoilers, the main character, Undine, suffers a major loss towards the beginning of the comic and much of the story is about her trying to heal and connect with other people. Another main character, Tessa, having suffered the same loss, displays classic signs of PTSD and depression and she has a much harder time trying to move on. This is just one example of the realism of Sleepless Domain despite its fantastical setting, where people are actually emotionally and psychologically affected by death and loss and need help getting through it (another detail I really like is how therapy is made readily available for current and former magical girls, although not all of them take it). But despite the mature themes and tone, things never get too dark and there’s always plenty of fluffy interactions between the characters to give you hope.

Oh, and I should mention that the series is very LGBTQ friendly. One of the magical girls is a transgirl, and homosexual relationships seem to be quite accepted amongst magical girls. Again, I won’t go into spoilers but a very popular lesbian ship was just confirmed as well.

Overall, I can’t recommend Sleepless Domain enough. If you’re like me you’ll finish it in one sitting and be left desperate for more. If anything about this recommendation sounds appealing to you, I guarantee you’ll love the series.

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 6

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. Death rattles behind drawn curtains, expletives are spat over set bones, and shots are taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths to release the night’s chaos, still lodged deep in her throat.

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation—a leap into the procedural dance, a temporary loss of oneself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures.

But eventually the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a complimentary meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in?

Point proven: Our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory.

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls.

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie is no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, "Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero," on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb.

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.)

Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways. “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.”

“Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the the bin had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway, a soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just…wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, isn't he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew and the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

Joe nods, consoling, before he turns to answer an intern's cries for help.

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—Did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. It is something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, this almost-Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips are on the sting, and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl; no citrus kisses in a molting New York.

Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. Back at home, he had led her to the bedroom and its king-sized bed, had slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $15 for subscriptions and scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry.

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things.

GE: Oh yes, certainly. But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest?

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press.

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always desperate for crumbs. But they never fill the belly, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no.

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:          

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

_______

I have very few comments about this one, but I will say A) Jamie’s POV comes much more naturally to me—probably because I, like Jamie, love Claire so frickin’ much—so writing this was like pulling teeth. And B) As I was writing this chapter, I knew it was time to bring Jamie and Claire back together. Even I was rooting for them to reunite.

I love Joe and Claire’s friendship, and I wish I’d shown more of it in this fic (although what’s here I think fits pretty naturally). And I have to say...I love Geillis—or the idea of her: witchy, feminist, and confident—a whole lot, despite her Voyager crimes. Here, she is my Outlander version of Harry Potter’s Rita Skeeter, and I could write an entire fic from her voice any day.

[bonvoyagenoona]

Idol Hands (M) | 01: The Red Carpet

Word Count: 3,840 | read on ao3

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader 

Genres: Actress!Reader / Actress!You / Friends / F2L / Noona Romance / Fluff / Smut / Humor / ANGST 

Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature

Idol Hands | Masterpost

Idol Hands | Playlist

01: The Red Carpet

By now, red carpet events have lost all of their magic. You’ve seen most of the innerworkings. The PAs scattered in panic. The screaming matches in cars. All the headsets barking orders into peoples’ ears. The truly disgusting things that celebrities and their agents sneer at each other during the commercial breaks. You are finally disillusioned, and you feel the beginning of the descent.

You and Tessa, exchange a look. She smiles sadly, and you realize she’s thinking the same thing.

Tessa jumps out of the car on her side and runs around to open your door. You slide out perfectly to unleash every dramatic aspect of your gorgeous gown. The beaded bodice fits your waist and hips like a glove, and the handkerchief skirt ruffles daintily in the breeze. You look and feel like a princess. You’d never admit it, but you love it. 

As you hit the carpet, you and Tessa separate into your two lanes. Yours is to smile without looking too hungry for attention while trying not to break your ankles on these stilettos for the next five minutes. Tessa’s is to hold your purse and follow in the shadows. But neither of you mind it as much that night. You know this will be the second-to-last time you’ll ever do this. It’s best to enjoy as much as you can.

People snap your picture here and there. There are always some of your ever-present, die-hard fans, and you are always surprised to see anyone who gives a damn about your work at these things. Honestly, you’re here because of the size of the projects that you’re lucky to be attached to, not the size of the tiny parts that you play. Mostly, people are just trying to figure out who you are. You see a couple of people grin and exchange looks with who they’re with. They look so certain about the little industry factoid they’re about to drop about you, and the person who listens always looks impressed. You’re not really an actress. You’re a pub trivia night guess. You’re not even sure if they’re getting you right. 

You rejoin Tessa close to the major broadcast network stages. You take some time to look around and take it all in. The place is teeming with the industry. It feels stuffy and busy and unreal and insane, a weird mix of everyone you’ve ever seen on TV.

You notice Tessa’s eyes. They’re narrow. They’re working.

“What,” you say flatly. 

You follow her thoughtful gaze to the biggest stage, the one just a few steps away. The host is warming up the next group for their interviews. 

“Don’t make me go up there,” you plead, but you know Tessa is about to talk you into something.

“Do you realize what this could do for your career?” she reminds you. “All these years of playing the comic relief? The best friend?”

You see your credits roll before you. Some of them, especially most of the early ones, are real stinkers.

“And Asian-American actresses get almost no love in Hollywood. We could do with a little homegrown help to show what it’s missing,” Tessa continues. 

“You’re really going to do this in the guise of representation?” you ask, disappointed. “Are you going to miss this inane shit that much?” 

“I just can’t believe you’re retiring soon. I feel like you didn’t get to do the big things,” Tessa says, softening. “You’re so talented, Unnie.”

“Stop with the unnie business,” you chide, but you already feel your chest growing heavy. “We promised that we would save the sister cry session for tequila shots in our pajamas later. You’re here as my manager.”

“And as your manager, I’m saying it’s worth a shot,” Tessa points out, easily adapting to your tone. “You get some publicity from this, maybe it carries into the shoot next month. Maybe they’ll increase the budget. Maybe this isn’t one of the last times you’re here.”

You sincerely don’t know if you want that, but you mull it over. Tessa reads your stance, and to keep you from thinking too long, she yells, “Annyeonghaseyo!” loudly at the stage.

Your breath hitches, and you meet eyes with the very fake host, and with the very handsome, well-dressed, and fellow Korean superstars of BTS. The host smiles and gets an idea.

“I’m going to kill you,” you say to Tessa through a clenched jaw.

She lets out a laugh, and it sounds almost maniacal. She doesn’t care if she dies for it. She’s absolutely sure that it’s the right thing to do.

“Look who we have coming down the carpet now,” you hear, and you plaster on that dazzling smile of yours.

“Oh my god, hi, everyone!” you cheer, embracing Namjoon and pressing your cheek to his, even though you’ve never even been in the same room. Your lips next to his ear, you whisper in clumsy Korean, “Nice to meet you. How are you all holding up?”

“Just barely. Going off 3 hours of sleep,” Namjoon responds, repositioning your heads to press his other cheek against yours to complete the very Hollywood greeting. 

With your head over his shoulder, you catch sight of the rest of the guys and give them a little wave. They all respond in kind with their professional hellos to you, but there’s an added shine of renewed eagerness in their eyes. Like most of Tessa’s ideas, this made sense, but you aren’t expecting to be so touched by such a peripheral connection.

“You can’t tell at all. You look amazing,” you say comfortingly as you pull away, and Namjoon visibly brightens. 

You cheat out to the camera, and you and Namjoon sandwich the host. He angles the mic toward you, and you say a quick, not completely grammatically correct greeting to your Korean fans. You know you’re probably greeting more of Namjoon and his gang’s fans than anything.

“We’ve got a little Korean corner going here!” the host exclaims happily. You can already see how he’s thinking of how this will help him stand out in the recaps tomorrow. You and Namjoon wince at the tone-deaf statement, but you both seem to agree to let it pass. The explanation would be too nuanced, and you doubt this host is the most culturally aware person. Yet another of countless small concessions you’ve had to make for the niceties necessary to put on a good show. 

The host turns to you. “This is great timing because RM and I were just talking about BTS’s return to Seoul tomorrow to start working on their next album, and you’re actually flying there in a couple of days to shoot your next project.” 

There’s no way he actually knows that, and you make a mental note to thank Tessa for fervidly whispering this information to the host’s producer from her place in the shadows.

“That’s right!” you say.

“Tell us about it,” the host goes on, and you see the light in his eyes dimming quickly. How many times must he have had to say that in the past couple of hours? You feel a twinge of sympathy. Everybody here just has stupid shit they don’t want to do tonight.

“It’s called Sunset, which translates into Ilmol in Korean,” you say into the mic, stressing the word to start familiarizing people with it now. “It’s a small K-drama, but it’s a great story, and it’s got a little bit of everything.” You hear Namjoon and the gang excitedly say “ilmol” to each other over and over again, clapping and nodding enthusiastically.

The host picks up on their energy. “Does that little bit of everything include any appearances from the guys?” he asks, gesturing back to them.

“Hmm, maybe!” you say playfully, and you flash a look at Namjoon, who wiggles his eyebrows. Your entire brain is laughing. You can do this in your sleep. It’s too easy, and it means nothing.

“Exclusive information for you all tuning in,” the host says to the camera. “Are you going to see BTS in your next favorite K-drama? Maybe!”

You wonder if Tessa is having a full on orgasm at the mastery being displayed. Not bad for the littlest Korean in this little Korean corner. 

The rest of the night is filled with the same, vapid crap.

Awards for people who are mostly better at campaigning than they are at their craft. 

You and Tessa become little girls again, hate-watching the entire show and texting each other inside jokes about the circus going on in front of you.

Your table represents the underdog project that finally made it to the big leagues. Your table always houses the underdogs. They’re your kindred spirits. The outcasts. The underestimated. When the star of your darling, indie movie breaks down in tears at the end of the night, you have to try really, really hard not to laugh. You were never here to win. You were here to get a bit of PR, get a lot of champagne, and eat free food. And the food wasn’t even good.

Eventually, your night of fake glamor ends, and you and Tessa climb back into your car.

You lay your head in her lap, and she strokes your hair. Your little sister is so much better than you at caring. Caring for others. Caring about this job. Caring about this career.

“Y’know, I think I will,” she mumbles, gazing out the window.

“Hmm?”

“You asked me earlier if I was going to miss this inane shit. I think I really will,” she says.

You roll onto your back and look up at her.

“You will?”

“I mean, it’s been our whole lives,” Tessa says. “All the kiddie shows that you were on.”

“The diversity hire,” you chuckle.

“C’mon, you were cute. And you really showed off your chops. Without that, you wouldn’t have had that really good run of young adult stuff.”

“The trashy teeny bopper movies?” you ask. “I actually had to say the sentence, Popsicles are way better than boys. It was drivel.”

“That one paid off the house,” Tessa reminds you. “And it does kind of ring true.”

“They’re just as cold, but at least they stay sweet, and they don’t break your heart,” you quote, pitching your voice up to something that sounded closer to 16 instead of 30.

Tessa cackles. “Oh man, it sounds so much worse.”

“Imagine having a line like that every episode.”

“You were the sage Asian stereotype before you could even drive.”

“Yeah, I was their little fortune cookie,” you spit out, sitting up only to reposition and lean back down to start taking off your stilettos. You don’t deny that you’re still bitter from all those doors that slammed in your face. Maybe you shouldn’t have leaned into it in those casting auditions. But what did you, your two professor parents, and your baby sister know? You thought that you had no other option.

“Ugh. Speaking of.” Tessa places a hand on her stomach.

“Yes, please!” you say, reading her mind.

“Burgers.”

You scrunch your nose up.

“Tacos?”

Usually, you’d jump all over a taco truck, but you’re not feeling it tonight.

“Pizza?”

“No, something more filling.”

“More filling than cheese and bread?”

“I think I’m missing Eomma’s cooking,” you sigh.

“We’re going to see her and Appa soon.”

“Still.”

Tessa’s eyes brighten. “It’s been forever since we’ve been to see Mr. Lee. We should pay him a visit.”

You are about to eat your next spoonful of haemul bap when Tessa reaches over the table and grasps your forearm, knocking over one of the banchan plates.

Furrowing your brow in confusion at her, you follow her crazy-looking eyes to the group that has just entered the restaurant. 

You tell yourself that you’re just tired. That you’re still drunk from all the champagne. That Mr. Lee has made the haemul bap so spicy that you aren’t thinking straight. But, still, you see Namjoon.

“No fucking way,” you mutter.

Mr. Lee’s restaurant is empty, only big enough for maybe 20 people max, and, most importantly, not in Koreatown. You’re at the edge of suburbia, just outside of your childhood neighborhood, in the nondescript and melting pot strip mall where your parents would take you and baby Tessa on Sundays. 

In your household, and so many households like yours, there was “going out”, and there was “grocery shopping”. 

“Going out” meant picking up everyday items (paper towels, lemons, floss) at the nearby retail chain store. 

“Grocery shopping” was reserved for Sundays. Grocery shopping meant being forced to go to church before being dragged to this strip mall to pick up a bevy of Asian ingredients that the owners of the nearby box store wouldn’t even recognize, much less sell. You’d pack them into the car and drive home to wait for Eomma to cook. Soon, the familiar smell of bibimbap or samgyeopsal would float up to your bedroom. You and Tessa would chase each other down the stairs to fight over the good chair at the table, whatever that meant at the time. And then, as Eomma brought the dishes to the table, everything would settle. Everything would be renewed. Everything would be washed clean. That was your real church.

This is why Namjoon, in his sparkly Prada suit and coiffed brown hair, doesn’t belong. It’s almost blasphemous. You’re almost offended.

Tessa stifles a laugh. “Mr. Lee has no idea who they are.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” you say, “he was already senile when were kids.”

Mr. Lee slowly makes his way to the table next to you, guiding the rowdy group. You notice Namjoon watching Mr. Lee’s gait, hands out just in case he wobbles.

“Do we run out the back?” you ask under your breath.

“You’re joking, right?” Tessa asks, using the forward-facing camera on her phone to check her makeup and hair.

She looks up right as the group sits down, and Mr. Lee hands them some menus.

There’s a sudden, refreshing flurry of Korean being spoken. You can’t speak it fluently, but you understand flawlessly. It rings through the room like a familiar song, and Mr. Lee looks so happy taking their orders. With the neighborhood changing so rapidly, you imagine that it has been a while since he’s had patrons that weren’t non-Korean, millennial parents chasing a foodie trend while they’ve got the babysitter.

Mr. Lee turns to you and Tessa and says, still in Korean, “Are you both still OK?”

“Yes, thank you, abeonim,” you say.

The group hears your voice, and when they pause their chaos long enough to notice that it is you, they cheer and greet you.

“Noona! This is crazy!” Namjoon says in English, switching from the far end of the table to the vacant seat between you and Jimin. He hangs his arm on the back of Jimin’s chair and leans back. You think you see Jimin and Taehyung exchange some sort of glance and laugh.

“You think this is crazy?” Tessa asks.

“This is my manager, Tessa,” you explain to the group. “She's also my sister.”

Everyone cheers their hellos, and at this point, it kind of becomes too crazy for Tessa to process. She smiles, but she turns beet red. For once, she’s speechless.

“How did you find this place?” you ask.

“We kinda wanted to disappear for a bit,” Namjoon says simply, and you smell the liquor on him. “And I was craving Korean food.”

You smile. You appreciate his shrewdness. “Well, you made a good choice,” you reply. 

“Yeah…” He looks you up and down, and it feels like he’s delicately dragging silk across your skin. “Seems like I did.”

Flattered in spite of yourself, you smile and raise your eyebrows at Tessa. The look on her face is confirming what you’re feeling. He’s looking at you. He’s talking about you. 

And he’s funnier than you would have guessed. They all are. You could stay there all night, laughing at their stories, appreciating how sweet and kind they are to each other, even tearing up at how they still can’t believe they’ve made it. 

Tessa shoots you nostalgic looks, her eyes glistening. You are doing exactly what you had planned to do. You’re just downing shots of soju instead of tequila.  

Mr. Lee keeps the restaurant open an extra hour just for your little impromptu post-awards show party. He even drinks some soju with you. When you, and only you, notice him fail to hide a small yawn, you place your hand on his shoulder and smile.

“I am so sorry, everyone. I’m so exhausted,” you say. “Tessa, time to go?”

The guys (except for Yoongi) start to whine, and their voices meld into choruses of “one more shot” and “let’s all go back to the hotel”. Even Tessa joins in. But Namjoon settles the group down. “It’s probably time for us to go, too,” he says. 

“Noona, is your car on the way?” Seokjin says kindly. “We’ll wait for you.”

“Actually, the driver texted us hours ago,” Tessa says, blinking effortfully to read her phone screen. “He had to leave.”

“Well, why don’t we just take you?” Namjoon asks, observing her. He looks back to you. “You’re heading back into the city, right?”

“Aw, that’s really nice of you, but that’s not---”

“Yes!” Tessa says, cutting you off. “That would be so great!”

“Let’s go then,” Namjoon says, standing and jutting out his elbow toward you.

Too soon, you’re sandwiched between Namjoon and Jungkook in the back seat of a stretch limo, pointing out your building. Your new doorman stands motionless at the front. 

“Do you live in one of those fancy lofts?” Hoseok asks, his mouth hanging open as he peers up at the tall edifice. 

Tessa wants to milk this moment for all it’s worth and moves to say something along the lines of “you should come up and see”. But Namjoon bails you out with a laugh and a lithe, “I bet it’s beautiful. We’ll have to come back to visit them.”

You feel Namjoon’s breath on your bare shoulder when you speak.

Jungkook gets out of the limo to let you and Tessa out. Your dress unfurls just as perfectly as it did earlier, but you wobble, your stilettos and soju finally betraying you like you knew they would at some point that night.

Luckily, he catches you and holds you close to keep you from falling. You lean into each other and laugh. His cologne smells amazing, and you make a mental note to ask him what kind it is. “Make sure you call us when you get to Seoul!” he reminds you. “We need to hang out the entire time you’re there!”

“Absolutely. Whenever you want, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook’s sparkling eyes widen. 

You move to leave, but his fingers slide down your arm and catch hold of your hand. 

“Wait.”

He twirls you around to face him. 

“I wanna do one of those celebrity greeting things,” he says eagerly, miming the movement with his cheeks. “It looks so classy.”

“Jungkook-ah, let Noona go,” Namjoon playfully scolds, and Yoongi shakes his head.

You laugh. “It is pretty classy, isn’t it?” 

Jungkook nods with an open smile spreading on his face. 

“Well, then, what are you waiting for?” you ask.

Jungkook pulls you in and presses his cheek against yours, just like he had seen Namjoon do earlier. You pull back and face each other. His drunken giggle is too, too cute. As he presses his other cheek to yours, he makes another kissing sound. Namjoon catches your eye, and judging by the fond look on his face, you’re all feeling a little sad that the night has to end.

You’ve underestimated Namjoon at every turn. He’s tenacious. He’s smarter than you anticipated him to be. He’s more passionate than his level-headed persona would suggest. And these traits couldn’t be more on display than right now, as Namjoon is fucking you senseless. 

He reads your every movement and can tell exactly what it is that you want. And he’s giving it to you. Freely. Happily. He leans down and kisses you deeply, tongues sloppy and lips swollen. 

Your body is on fire. As he pulls away, Namjoon’s sweat drips onto your bare chest, and you’re surprised that it doesn’t immediately sizzle and evaporate. 

“Fuck,” Namjon groans, and he slows his pace, filling you. He opens his eyes and watches your face contort while you try to understand what’s going on. Pain and so, so, so much pleasure. Tension building up to what you know is going to be a bone-rattling release. He strokes your face with his finger, slipping it into your mouth to see you latch onto him, to devour him in every way possible.

“You want more?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

You nod your head.

“Say it,” he commands.

You whimper as he quickens. 

He wraps his hands around your upper arms and pins them down at your sides. He uses you as leverage to push you even deeper into your sweat- and cum-soaked sheets. 

“Say it.” He’s going to fuck it out of you. “Say it.”

“Unnie!”

You bolt upright and scan the room. Aside from still being in your designer gown, you don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. You’re about to forget the dream that you were having, and as its last remnants float away, you close your eyes to revel in the feeling of Namjoon’s lips on yours.

“Yeah?” you call back dreamily.

Dressed in her robe and underwear, Tess stumbles into your room and shoves her phone in front of your face.

It’s a picture of you.

And Jungkook.

And the word CAUGHT! plastered diagonally across the center.

You blink, clearing your bleary eyes. The picture comes into sharper focus. Jungkook has his hand on your waist, and you’re leaning into each other. You’re both beaming.

The devil, though, is in the details. The untied bowtie. The gaze fixed to the nape of your neck. The thumb pressed softly into your belly. 

Your jaw drops, and you grab Tessa’s phone to scroll. There’s more. There’s so much more. It’s like someone captured your innocent goodnight, frame by frame. The faster you scroll, the pictures blend into some forbidden-looking movie.

“I’m getting that fucking doorman fired,” Tessa barks, grabbing her phone back.

You hate doing this, but you awkwardly search for your own name, along with Jungkook’s, and click the first link. Then the second. Then the third. They’re all filled with pictures of that night.

It’s been a while since you’ve gotten this much attention. 

“Has anyone from their team called?” you ask nervously. “How much trouble are we in?”

“Their manager set up a meeting with us when we get there,” Tessa says.

You’ve been in your share of PR team crisis meetings, but never at this scale. You’ve never been this close to that kind of star status. You wish you had stayed asleep just a little longer.

Read 02: The Black Town Car  →  

Idol Hands | Masterpost

Idol Hands | Playlist

[mistressemmedi]

OMg I have so many thoughts on the competition 🤣 What is your take who is gonna be bitching, who is too extra for the whole thing, who is only there as comedic relief?!

Alrighty, big brain time: Welcome to "F1's Got Talent"

Lewis Hamilton - he's the winner from last year. Mentors the new entries. Despite not competing, he somehow wins this year again.

Valtteri Bottas & Kimi Raikkonen - they're judges and are the only ones that can keep a straight face during bad performances. Valtteri abuses the X button, Kimi has to be explained over and over again that he cannot use the Golden Buzzer every 2 minutes when a child goes on stage.

Romain Grosjean - also a judge. He is very Done™ with all of this, and rigged the show to get Lewis to win so they can all get out early. It doesn't work.

Sebastian Vettel - he does witty stand up comedy, with a flair for self-deprecation towards his 2020 season. The crowd loves him. Valtteri votes him out.

Charles Leclerc - he bitches the entire time that the green room he was assigned is not fit for an artist of his caliber. He throws a fit and doesn't end up performing.

Lando Norris - he goes for a contemporary dance routine. Unfortunately he misjudges the length of the stage and falls down, tanking the performance. He wins the 'Miss Congeniality' award

Carlos Sainz - his performance consists of him showcasing how to pick up various objects from the ground without kneeling. After all, it's not part of his culture.

Daniel Ricciardo - he's the show host. He wears the most garish outfits possible. People still remember the episode he filmed where he wore leather chaps for the entire evening.

Esteban Ocon - he doesn't even know why he's there. 10 extra points in the championship is NOT worth him losing his dignity. He does get into a fight with Max backstage.

Kevin Magnussen - he goes full Evel Knievel by jumping over three buses on flames. Surprisingly makes the jump safely, if a little singed

Pierre Gasly - he's a one man show and does the whole 'Spirit Fingers' routine from Bring It On. The judges are intrigued yet horrified

Daniil Kvyat - he shows off his newly aquired musical skills. In his head, he's Carlos Santana with a guitar. In reality, he's more akin to a fifth grader who just learned "Old MacDonald had a farm" on a plastic recorder.

Max Verstappen - he shows up in a three piece suit, ready to sign for the crowd and show off his hidden baritone voice. Esteban calls him a "poor man's soprano" and they have a fight backstage. Daniel decides to broadcast that and the show has massive spike in views.

Alex Albon - he does a whole routine with the Albon pets, where they jump through hoops, over obstacles and land in our hearts. (I LOVE THEM, DONT @ ME)

George Russell - he is ready to dance/sing/play on stage, hoping that finally Toto Wolff will notice him. He finds out the night of the show that Toto is not even there, so he spends the evening crying in the bathroom.

Nicholas Latifi - he does a dance routine. ON ICE. Tessa Virtue who???

Lance Stroll - much like Esteban, he decides this shit is crazy and will not take part on it. He supports Ocon in his fight with Max by taking pictures and yelling "YOU'RE DOING AMAZING, KEEP GOING"

Sergio Perez - he does a magician's routine in which he makes things disappear. In fact, his main act consists of him disappearing with that vacant Racing Point seat. Sebastian Vettel who???

Antonio Giovinazzi - he goes on stage and all he does is stare at the camera while he lasciviously (?) whips his hair back and forth for a WHOLE FIVE MINUTES.. Valtteri screams, Romain has a small stroke and Kimi falls asleep.

[after-depoisdodesencontro-dub]

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Título : After: Depois do Desencontro Data de lançamento : 2021-09-01 Produção : Voltage Pictures Gêneros : Romance, Drama Elenco : Josephine Langford, Hero Fiennes Tiffin, Chance Perdomo, Carter Jenkins, Kiana Madeira, Stephen Moyer

SINOPSE E DETALHES : Em After 3 - Depois do Desencontro, embora a história de amor entre Tessa Young (Josephine Langford) e Hardin Scott (Hero Fiennes-Tiffin) tenha passado por muitas complicações, desta vez o problema é mais complexo do que nunca. Agora que Tessa tomou uma das decisões mais importantes de sua vida, tudo mudou completamente. Os segredos que vêm à tona sobre suas famílias colocam em risco seu relacionamento e seu futuro juntos. Embora a jovem saiba que Hardin a ama, os dois estão cercados de ciúme, ódio e perdão. Será que o amor entre os dois será o suficiente para manter seu relacionamento?

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❍❍❍ Definition and Definition of Film / Movie ❍❍❍

While the players who play a role in the film are referred to as actors (men) or actresses (women). There is also the term extras that are used as supporting characters with few roles in the film. This is different from the main actors who have bigger and more roles. Being an actor and an actress must be demanded to have good acting talent, which is in accordance with the theme of the film he is starring in. In certain scenes, the actor’s role can be replaced by a stuntman or a stuntman. The existence of a stuntman is important to replace the actors doing scenes that are difficult and extreme, which are usually found in action action films.

Films can also be used to convey certain messages from the filmmaker. Some industries also use film to convey and represent their symbols and culture. Filmmaking is also a form of expression, thoughts, ideas, concepts, feelings and moods of a human being visualized in film. The film itself is mostly a fiction, although some are based on fact true stories or based on a true story.

There are also documentaries with original and real pictures, or biographical films that tell the story of a character. There are many other popular genre films, ranging from action films, horror films, comedy films, romantic films, fantasy films, thriller films, drama films, science fiction films, crime films, documentaries and others.

That’s a little information about the definition of film or movie. The information was quoted from various sources and references. Hope it can be useful.

❍❍❍ TV MOVIE ❍❍❍

The first national color broadcast (the 1954 Tournament of Roses Parade) in the US occurred on January 1, 1954. During the following ten years most network broadcasts, and nearly all local programming, continued to be in black-and-white. A color transition was announced for the fall of 1965, during which over half of all network prime-time programming would be broadcast in color. The first all-color prime-time season came just one year later. In 19402, the last holdout among daytime network shows converted to color, resulting in the first completely all-color network season.

❍❍❍ Formats and Genres ❍❍❍

See also: List of genres § Film and television formats and genres

Television shows are more varied than most other forms of media due to the wide variety of formats and genres that can be presented. A show may be fictional (as in comedies and dramas), or non-fictional (as in documentary, news, and reality television). It may be topical (as in the case of a local newscast and some made-for-television films), or historical (as in the case of many documentaries and fictional MOVIE). They could be primarily instructional or educational, or entertaining as is the case in situation comedy and game shows.[citation needed]

In 2022, it was reported that television was growing into a larger component of major media companies’ revenues than film.[5] Some also noted the increase in quality of some television programs. In 2022, Academy-Award-winning film director Steven Soderbergh, commenting on ambiguity and complexity of character and narrative, stated: “I think those qualities are now being seen on television and that people who want to see stories that have those kinds of qualities are watching television.

❍❍❍ Thank’s For All And Happy Watching❍❍❍

Find all the movies that you can stream online, including those that were screened this week. If you are wondering what you can watch on this website, then you should know that it covers genres that include crime, Science, Fi-Fi, action, romance, thriller, Comedy, drama and Anime Movie.

Thank you very much. We tell everyone who is happy to receive us as news or information about this year’s film schedule and how you watch your favorite films. Hopefully we can become the best partner for you in finding recommendations for your favorite movies. That’s all from us, greetings!

Thanks for watching The Video Today.

I hope you enjoy the videos that I share. Give a thumbs up, like, or share if you enjoy what we’ve shared so that we more excited.

Sprinkle cheerful smile so that the world back in a variety of colors.

[Dublado] After: Depois do Desencontro (2021) Filme Completo Online - Lançamento Portugues

[sunskate]

Something I’m curious about is the notion that VM were “given” Seasons. I know in the show VM said Marina wanted her teams to connect to a Russian composer because of the Olympics being in Sochi (and obviously Russia being Marina’s home country I can certainly understand her wanting to pay homage to that). And I know at various points they’ve both said it wasn’t the right music for them, they didn’t connect to it, and that they struggled to find music and ultimately settled on Seasons.

So yes, maybe Seasons was presented to them, but I’d like to think they had more agency and experience than they did when Marina played Mahler for them in 2009. They were still babies then (age wise) in the sport among more experienced and senior teams. It was their first senior quad. I get being given Mahler, this magical and ethereal piece that Marina knew would be perfect for them. But I don’t really get them being given Seasons and just accepting it. I partly question why VM hadn’t been planning further ahead. (Side bar - I think Tessa said in the Lilah Jo podcast that if you’re smart you plan for a quadrennial). In the 2014 nationals broadcast, the commentators talk about DW having picked out their music two years before and holding on to it for the Olympic season. Maybe VM were too injured to think about planning so far ahead. Even though Tessa especially recently said they’d thought about quitting around 2013, I don’t think that would stop them from planning for the Olympic year - the worst that could come from that would be they didn’t get to use the material they wanted to. So I just don’t get why there wasn’t more planning for their Olympic season FD.

I’d love to here a 30+ minute overview of how and why every single program of Tessa and Scott’s was conceived and picked, and I know they wanted to return to their vintage VM after the unsuccessful bid for Worlds gold with Carmen, but surely they would have had ideas across the board? I don’t know. It just surprises me. So yeah, sorry for the long rant! The question is did Marina fail them by “giving” them Seasons or did they fail to plan ahead? That sounds harsh in a way that I don’t really mean. It’s just me being curious.

Final thing - I also think that as you said VM had the superior Short Dance and were soooo underscored. So I don’t think Marina counted them out. Scott once said that you can’t win a title in the Short Dance but you can lose it there. I think Marina set them up to be serious contenders (obviously) but ultimately their FD just couldn’t get them there.

you're bringing up a lot of good points -- it is curious why VM didn't put their foot down, if Marina "gave" them Seasons, and they didn't believe in it. how they didn't have more of a game plan for 2014, or why they didn't come up with a more exciting alternative rather than pasting a story about their journey onto music that didn't inspire them or anyone

Tessa said if you're smart you plan for a whole quad, but i don't think they did. i never got the impression they had Moulin Rouge chosen at the start of the comeback. the 2nd quad with Marina, they sure weren't thinking of Seasons at the same time they were planning Hip Hip Chin Chin - VM say a lot of stuff in interviews that's contradicted elsewhere

i question if it's possible to plan a quad in more than a general sense. the rules, your competitors, your own progress - hard to predict years in advance what the landscape will be. Tessa's an overthinker and second guesser, but she did have an intuition about Marina. and Scott didn't agree. maybe they suppressed their instincts on all this

there's an interview from fall 2013 where VM say they felt the producers of the reality show wanted the best for them - if "the best" meant wanted them to win because it would help everyone involved, then maybe. but the show doesn't portray them in the best light. it seems like VM weren't reading the situation clearly that season

VM wanted to return to "vintage" VM after London Worlds? one thing that's spectacular about them is their range. so idk what vintage is - every season was a totally different style

Scott says in the show that Marina is the one with the vision - VM had some ideas, like they wanted Adios Nonino their first season in Canton, Funny Face was Tessa's - but VM were used to the coaches saying yes or no and making the programs. so Marina did fail them in that without good music, a program has no spine. but VM didn't exercise their agency either. they both underestimated their ability to create and their judgment. maybe they learned from this and also had an environment that encouraged them to trust themselves more in the comeback

[virtchandmoir]

The Winter Olympics we all need right now is set to begin

As the Olympics get underway, we interview Tessa Virtue, a legendary Olympic figure skater and new CBC broadcaster

February 3, 2022

Gold medallist Tessa Virtue has spent the past couple of decades delivering big Olympic moments. Now she’s joined the CBC broadcast team to witness and bring new stories to us. We are here for it. Streets of Toronto asked Virtue about her new gig, and what it’s like to not be competing for the first time since 2010.

How does it feel to be, at least virtually, heading back to the Winter Olympics?

Oh, I’m so honoured to be part of this CBC team and to have the opportunity to tell the athletes’ stories. And it’s certainly different this time around. We were hoping to go to the 2006 Olympics so we were preparing — we were alternates that year [she didn’t make it, but competed in 2010, 2014 and 2018]. So it’s been quite some time since a Winter Olympics has rolled around and it hasn’t been my entire life. But what a privilege to be on the other side of it, to be part of such an esteemed broadcast team. It’s really exciting. I’ll still get a little bit of adrenaline and nerves and pressure.

What do the Olympics mean to you?

For one, they symbolize a very significant first chapter of my life or maybe first couple of chapters. For so long my life and, honestly, those of my family and friends, too, were marked by the Games since 2010. And then 2014, 2018, we just thought in these four year cycles. But it’s so much more than that. And we never really took that for granted. There are so many ways in which the Games are politicized, particularly in the lead up. And yet, when that torch is lit and the competitions begin, it’s as if time stops, and we can all focus on the purity of sport, and it’s really beautiful. And I think it can bring people together. It can.

What do you miss most about the period leading up to the Olympics?

I miss the clarity of one very specific goal. And one purposeful moment in time chasing that feeling. I miss the big stage. I remember Hayley Wickenheiser saying that one time, when I asked her how she felt. I think that was when she was in med school. And she articulated there’s something about the big stage. Its sense of meaning and significance is astounding. So I missed those things. And I suppose ultimately, I also missed the camaraderie. And there’s something special to be part of the Canadian Olympic team.

What are these athletes going through right now?

Emotions are heightened surrounding an Olympic Games, no matter the circumstances, and I imagine even more so this year. I would presume they’re running the gamut of emotions, feeling anticipation, some fear, certainly excitement, nerves, pressure.

How is our Olympic team looking and what are you most excited to watch?

Oh gosh, I can’t wait. I’m the biggest Olympic fan. So it’ll be so fun to be — when I’m not in the commentating group — just parked right in front of the TV trying to absorb all the stories and following along. I mean, there are some standouts, people that we share a mental performance coach, Max Parrot and Mikaël Kingsbury. I can’t wait to cheer them on. Of course, I will say the women’s hockey team at every Games is the central pillar, like they were the heart and soul of the Canadian team. So I have so much admiration, so much love for those women. And, of course, our skaters. I mean, it’s going to be really exciting to see some fresh faces, which will be a great experience for them, and some seasoned vets. I think we’re going to be well represented no doubt.

What’s your fondest Olympic memory?

You know, in general, I think the Sochi Olympics was probably the best month of my life. It was so fun. Such a formidable team. But it’s the memories in the cafeteria, when you’re chatting with the curlers and you’re connecting with athletes who have very similar stories, even though you know there is such a variety of paths to get to the Olympics. It’s fun to connect with people who understand the sacrifice and determination it takes to perform on the world stage.

You’ve moved to Toronto. Have you landed on a few neighbourhood faves yet?

Having a dog, I have to say High Park is a real highlight. I love Trinity Bellwoods, but you know, some specific favourites: the restaurant Vela, Union, Jimmy’s Coffee; Bloomer’s Donuts is a staple of mine now. But there’s a vibrancy to the city. Granted, I moved during COVID, so not the best time to really pick up on the flavour of the city. But even just kind of wandering and getting an overall feeling for the city, I’m so happy to be here.

—Streets of Toronto

[anewbeginningagain]

I do remember Tessa saying in an interview that the show was pitched to them as a documentary rather than a reality show. So what they thought was being filmed and what ended up being shown was different to what they thought. If the show was edited differently I do think it would have been a little different and if they had shown that VM changed their programs so much over that season amongst other things it would have probably been seen very differently.

Yeah, that’s why I said that I think they were naive about the show. I mean I know very little about that network but did it make sense for them to broadcast a semi-documentary show that would last 6 episodes? 

The one criticism I remember reading the most was that the show just didn't bother to focus on the skating aspects that much which is a real shame considering they had a lot of skating related drama in their hands (Marina, the lower scoring of TS in the first part of the season - I mean their FD got like 100 in Finlandia which is insanity, the struggles with the material and so on) and that they could have really delved into what it means to be Olympic level athletes. It was just a missed opportunity when instead they focused on all the wrong things...