#I feel like if we’d had more time it could have been more nuanced and we could have seen more of the characters reactions

[exuberantoctopus]

.

[demonmoonsupreme]

Ugh. I have to say it. I’ve been holding it back because I know how much fandom hates this plot point so much. And like maybe it’s because I enjoy angst, or because characters coming in a vacuum sealed ‘morally upstanding’ package is just not realistic or enjoyable to me.

But Gwen should not have been ‘bewitched’ to cheat on Arthur with Lancelot. For one, it just sets another horrible precedence of magic use within the narrative. And two: it’s boring as hell. Oh, and also apparently Gwen was only allowed screen time in later seasons when her autonomy was nowhere to be seen. So three. Three reasons why I find it dumb as hell. And one that last front? Yeah, I think she should have willingly had an affair with Lancelot. I know, I Know. Cheating bad. Cheating make evil wrong person. Or whatever twitterinas are saying.

But hear me out (or don’t). How did Gwen feel after Lancelot died after she made him promise to return Arthur to her alive? Did she feel that she had unwittingly sentenced him to death? Her first true love; the man she looked for in other men. (Maybe we’d know how she felt if the writers didn’t have her going off like a broken record and just keep repeating what a great king Artie would someday be). I wish we had seen her grief, I wish she had been given time to mourn (as we know she never is in a series that kills every family member she has). And then Lancelot returns. She realizes she stills loves him, she feels guilty and blames herself thinking she had a part in his death. She thinks she asked him to sacrifice himself. And she wonders if she made the right choice. Lancelot and Arthur are there before her, and her wedding is in two days, and it’s all so sudden and the window of opportunity is about to be closed for the rest of her life; and she wonders if she’s chosen the right man. Gwen wonders if she’s been given a second chance, can she amend her previous choices. Does she want to amend them. Yes, this storyline opens her up to all sorts of criticisms. Fandom would condemn her a slut, she would join the ranks of women who can’t just make up their damn mind. Someone would declare it’s anti-feminist, because women aren’t allowed to be portrayed with “bad” qualities and when they are it just sets us all back.

But…it would be so much more nuanced than the plot they gave us. It would give Gwen the opportunity to make the choice because in the past it had been robbed from her (Lancelot leaving when he realized that Arthur loved Gwen, and Lancelot dying the first time). It would grant her autonomy over her own sexuality and choice of partner(s). Unlike the male protagonists in this show, Gwen is never actually given a real chance to morally grapple with anything, especially her own actions. She just is a good person who never does anything wrong, can be a bad-ass if it’s required, and falls into the straight and narrow path of ideal womanhood when she gets a boyfriend in a position of extreme power.

I know I’m barely making sense, but she just could have been written so much better. She could have been treated like a real person in the writers room, but she wasn’t.

[avelera]

I’ve been enjoying the Wondrium course, “The Birth of the Modern Mind: The Intellectual History of the 17th and 18th Century” much more than I expected to (based on the title). It certainly helps that the lecturer is extremely passionate about the subject. He also has a thick Jersey accent which makes it feel a bit like being lectured to by Danny DeVito.

But what really enraptured me about the course was its focus on how historical peoples thought differently than us, through the lens of how ideas we take for granted today were first introduced.

For example, one might think it obvious that, ideally, the pursuit of philosophy (as in literally “the love of knowledge”) and intellectual pursuits should be with the overarching goal of bettering the world. But that wasn’t a given, necessarily, before Francis Bacon who pioneered and championed this idea. His views became central to the later established British Royal Society, which formed a backbone of intellectual pursuits in England to this day, and likely plays a large part in just why this philosophy is deemed central to the sciences to the point of being self evident (at least, again, as an ideal).

Now, the reason I’m interested in this beyond basic curiosity is that I write historical and fantasy fiction. One goal I have when writing other times and places (real or imagined) is to capture or at least suggest and invoke a different thought process from our own. So this course is very useful in understanding how early modern people (in Europe) thought but also by extension how to create other, fictional ways to depict a different thought process. One of my favorite quotes already from this course, paraphrased, is that if we were sent back in time to a totally foreign, perhaps ancient era, we’d probably grasp pretty quickly what the rules for survival are. Like, how to make a living. Or how to not piss off the powers that be.

However, why everyone is doing what they do, how they think about the world, what basic assumptions they take to be self-evident and immutable, might be harder to grasp. For example, why do they simply accept the divine right of kings? Or that a deity makes the sun rise and set? Because they just do. That might be quite hard for a modern person to reckon with or accept.

(This particular question is quite close to my heart because I once disagreed with my Classics advisor about whether we’d get along with Bronze Age people if we ever got the chance to meet them. My advisor stated that ancient people would be utterly alien to us. Perhaps all she and I really had was a failure to communicate nuance, but I was baffled and outraged by the notion. Ape mothers with their babies have been able to recognize and on a basic level, identify and communicate with human mothers holding their babies sympathetically. Both understand they were mothers with babies and bonded over this. You’re telling me that I, as a fellow homo sapien, couldn’t communicate and understand a fellow homo sapien from a mere 3,000 years ago?? However, if the nuance instead was, “You could figure out quickly how to work within their society but you’d struggle with the rationale of the why of their society, it would be utterly alien to you.” That I would much more readily accept.)

Anyway, I highly recommend this course, especially for fiction writers who want to capture and understand that the way we think has evolved (speaking for the predominantly “Western” Anglosphere) and by extension, how to understand and portray other more archaic forms of thinking.

[noxemma]

Chapter 6 for my Hot Summer Art challenge fic

It's not a vacation without some relaxation. The group comes back to the house for late night movie night to relax after the case.

Tags, Rating, Word Count, AO3 link, etc. at the bottom

Beside Your Side

Fic Summary: Dean convinces Sam to look into a potential case where people are going missing from a New Jersey beach town. Of course, they have to bring Cas and Eileen along, just in case it's not a monster. Dean is excited to get the case over quickly and enjoy a well-earned vacation with the people he loves the most. Nothing ever seems to go the way Dean plans it though, and this case is no exception.

Chapter 6: Ready for Relaxation

Cas

"Cas, I-"

“Are you guys going to stay out here all night or are you going to come in and join movie night?” Sam demands, cutting off whatever Dean had been about to say.

“Dude, what is wrong with you? I know I raised you better than this,” Dean sighs in defeat leaving Cas like he's been all night, utterly confused. “Yeah, we’re coming.”

Dean holds the door and gestures for him to go in first, but he hesitates, curious as to what Dean had been about to say before Sam had interrupted.

“Don’t worry about it, like you said, we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

Despite Dean acting normal as he and Sam make popcorn and grab beers for everyone, Cas can’t help but feel like something has changed and he doesn’t know how or why. He tries to shake it off though as everyone else appears to be enjoying the chaos.

“What’re we watchin’?” Dean shouts, mouthful of popcorn, swiping the remote off the side table.

“My vote is for Fellowship,” Eileen declares, claiming a seat on the couch before taking a sip of beer.

“Hell yeah!” Dean enthusiastically agrees before going still with mock seriousness. “Theatrical version or extended edition? Choose carefully, Eileen, this may just make for break our friendship.”

“You’d have to pry the extended edition from my cold, dead hands before you could get me to watch the theatrical version,” Eileen responds with equal solemnity.

They stare at each other, stone-faced for a few more seconds before they both burst out laughing.

“Sam, I want you to know, if you two ever break up, I’m taking Eileen’s side. She’s obviously your better half and she has the correct opinion of the theatrical version."

“Dude, that was one time! And I never said I didn’t like it or that it wasn’t the better version, but we’d been up for thirty plus hours and-“

“Excuses, excuses,” Elieen calls over Sam’s continued attempts to reason with the two of them. He finally gives in and takes his place to watch the movie.

Sam and Eileen end up nestled together on the couch, Cas sits in one of the armchairs, and Dean sits on the floor, propped up on the pillow Sam had eventually thrown down for him.

The movie starts.

Cas watches diligently, enjoying Dean’s comments and easy smiles more than the actual film, at least for the first portion of the movie. While watching parties and wizards talking hadn’t really held his attention, he finds himself watching with rapt attention as the fellowship is formed and the party begins losing members and facing dangers as they travel.

“Whaddya think so far, Cas?” Dean leans down to ask him, handing him another beer.

“I know the general premise, but I wasn’t sure if I liked it at first,” Cas starts, rolling his eyes when Dean places a hand to his ‘wounded’ heart, “but I find myself enjoying it more now it's not just a lot of walking.”

“And who’s your favorite character?” Dean asks, but he’s looking over his shoulder.

“They all have interesting nuances and flaws but I have to say that Aragorn is my favorite,” Cas says after thinking for a moment.

Eileen and Dean share look before bursting out laughing again, bringing themselves to tears.

“What? Dean, I don’t’ understand. What’s so humorous about that?” He looks to Sam for explanation, but he just shakes his head.

“I knew you were going to be an Aragorn fan,” Dean wheezes when he finally stops laughing, “nothing wrong with it. It means you’ve got good taste, Cas. He’s one of my favorites too.”

 “Hey Dean,” Sam barks, suddenly siting up on the couch. “Why is it that you always complain about my hair, but you don’t complain about Aragorn’s or Legolas’s?”

 “Well, first off because it's high fantasy not the real world, Sammy. They don’t need to really worry about a werewolf or a ghoul or something yanking them by the hair or having it get in their eyes while fighting.  Legolas I would complain about more, except that he wears it tied up in a way that kinda makes sense.”

“Ooh! Sam, I could try braiding your hair for a hunt,” Eileen joins in on the ribbing.

“No!”  Sam yelps with a hint of fear, causing Dean to go through another bout of giggling. He waits for them to regain control before challenging Dean, “And what about Aragorn? His hair is usually down.”

Dean crosses his arms defensively before shrugging in a lackluster attempt to remain unflustered. “It’s Viggo Mortensen. I’m not gonna complain about him, just like I’ll never complain about Dr. Sexy. Now can we get back to the movie; We’re missing good stuff.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chortles and Cas gets the feeling he means more than Dean getting upset for an interruption Sam caused.

They continue watching the movie. Cas with great interest as Metatron's information dump could never have quite lived up to the nuanced characters, the moving music, and the breathtaking views.

They’re about three-quarters of the way through the film when, after yawning and nodding off for at least ten minutes, Eileen and Sam excuse themselves to go to bed. Dean pauses while they say their goodnights.

“Goodnight. See you both in the morning,” Eileen murmurs, giving Cas a pat on the shoulder and waving at Dean before heading up the stairs.

“Beach day tomorrow,” Sam says stifling a yawn, excited despite his apparent exhaustion. “Still weird to think we’re actually going to be on vacation.”

“Yeah, it’s long overdue,” Dean agrees.

Sam smiles and heads for the stairs to follow Eileen. He makes it up a few before he steps back down and call softly, “Hey, do you guys mind if Eileen and I go out for breakfast? I think it might be a nice surprise for her.”

“Go for it! She deserves a nice date.”

Sam ducks his head but can’t hide the beaming smile as he continues up to their room.

“Gah, he gives me a toothache when he’s sweet like that,” Dean grins at Cas who smiles in agreement. “You wanna take their spots on the couch?”

Cas takes a moment, not sure if he should trust himself to be in such close proximity to Dean, but the way Dean’s smile falters a hair at the hesitation ultimately makes his decision. He forces himself to move from the armchair to sink into the couch next to Dean who somehow made if from the floor to the couch faster. Cas makes sure to situate himself carefully toward the outside edge of the sofa so as not to crowd Dean and Dean does the same, apparently having a similar idea to Cas.

He hits play and Cas is sucked back into Middle Earth. He’s so absorbed in the craftsmanship of the storytelling that he doesn’t realize how close he’s gotten to Dean. Somehow, they’ve both shifted until their legs and shoulders are pressed together, until Dean is able to turn his head slightly to whisper into his ear.

“So, Viggo Mortensen actually broke his foot when they were filming him kicking the helmet after thinking Merry and Pippin are dead. That’s why his scream sounds so good, they decided to keep that take for the final cut.”

Cas stares at him, once again reminded why he loves the man so much. He loves that Dean wants to share his favorite movies, wants to know which characters Cas likes, wants to whisper pointless trivia because he thinks Cas might appreciate it. He misses the next few scenes just watching Dean happily consume media he’s probably seen several times. 

I wish we could do this all the time. Sit close to each other and watch movies, go to bars and grab drinks, just enjoy each other’s company, Cas thinks, his insides turned back into gooey, molten happiness.

He sighs and leans his head back against the sofa, so content that he nods his agreement when Dean silently asks him if they should start the next one.

Not even twenty minutes in though, he finds himself yawning frequently and his eyes getting heavy and tired, despite having slept most of the day away with Dean.

I’ll be sleeping with Dean again tonight. The thought momentarily distracts him from both the movie and his weariness as the memory of Dean leaning over him breaks loose from the box he’s forced it into. He closes his eyes and tries to keep his breath even against the phantom sensation of Dean’s erection pressing into his leg. It was nothing. Just a normal reaction to sleeping practically on top of another person.

Eyes still closed, Cas vows to keep to his side of the bed tonight. To not give Dean a reason to avoid his gaze or act awkwardly; to not give himself haunting visions of the man he can’t have.

“Cas? You asleep?” Dean whispers in the silence, apparently having paused the movie at some point.

“Yes? I mean no. Sorry, I was just resting my eyes for a minute,” he responds, his body feeling too heavy to move, even with the promise of laying down again with Dean.

“We can stop if you want, finish the rest tomorrow night?”

Dean

Cas takes a long time to respond, and Dean has a moment where he thinks he might have to carry the angel to the bed. The idea is not wholly unappealing, but he’d rather Cas get into the bed of his own volition, just to reassure Dean that he actually wants to be there.

“No, I’m good, really. We can keep watching for a few more minutes.”

Dean’s skeptical but lets the angel have his way, playing the movie again. It only takes a few minutes for him to feel Cas’ head fall to his shoulder for a short while before jerking back up again. He wants to tell Cas that he can leave it there, that he’s more than welcome to rest on him, but he keeps quiet, hoping if he doesn’t bring attention to it that Cas might let himself do it again.

His patience pays off and the comfortable weight of Cas’ head is back, hair tickling his bare neck a little. He lets Cas stay like that for far longer than he should, enjoying the way the man is tucked into his side too much to do anything. Eventually, his conscience gets the better of him and he pauses the movie one final time. He rewinds twenty minutes, so Cas doesn’t feel too bad, then taps his shoulder lightly with his opposite hand until he feels the angel stir.

“Cas? Cas sweetheart, it's time for bed.” The endearment slips out so quickly that all Dean can do is suck in a breath and hope that Cas doesn’t notice.

“’s the movie over?” Cas asks groggily.

“No, but I paused it. We’ll finish it later.”

“But I like it here.” It’s the closest Dean has heard the angel get to a whine, but he doesn’t have time to find amusement in that fact because Cas is nuzzling closer, nose and lips brushing up against his skin.

“I like you here too, Cas,” Dean says bravely, taking a half-step toward telling Cas he loves him, “But take it from me, the sofa might seem comfortable right now, but you’re back will be cursing you tomorrow.”

Like what you read? You can find the whole fic here on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 6/? (hopefully 9 😂)

Chapter Word Count: ~4,100

Tags: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Case Fic, Established Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Beach Case, Cannon when convenient, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (Dean and background characters), Non-Consensual Touching (Not between Dean and Cas), Hurt/Comfort, I promise it's not as dark as it sounds, Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, clueless Sam Winchester, Chick-Flick Moments, Cannon typical misunderstandings, Angst?, One day I'll learn how to tag, WIP, JackieDeeArt's Hot Summer Art 2024 (Supernatural), Hot Summer Art, Greek Mythology if you Squint, No Beta, Everyone is bad with words, Except Eileen who is the only emotionally stable person for miles, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Angel Grace Dysfunction, Poor Coping Mechanisms, There was only one bed

[knightsofeclipse]

I think it is such a mark of good writing how hard it is to pick and keep a favourite character. (It’s Reece, I’ve landed on Reece). That every new episode, ever clip compilation, every quote I see makes me go “ok but are they may favourite now?” Everyone has so much that is compelling and complex about them. And each new interaction draws from every previous one. Nothing is forgotten, everything is taken into account. I’m a writer, I understand how this process works. And I’m still so blown away every time how amazing Charlotte is at executing just everything. She’s so incredibly talented. 10/10, 5 stars, every glowing review in the book.

And I don’t see people talking about just how brilliant the writing is. The moment that just keeps getting me is Char getting Mia fired. I see lots about the Mialotte side of it, but no one’s really talking about everything that had to happen to lead up to it. The establishment of Char’s character as someone who is so trustworthy and honest — she would never do something so underhanded, especially not so openly — and how vocally against what she was doing she was up until that point. Whether or not her plan had been premeditated, all of the pieces were set up so that it could ONLY be Char who could take down Mia. And then Mia’s side of it, that it’s made so clear that Mia can see something is up with Char but she wants to believe Char is nothing like her. That Char wouldn’t manipulate her like that. Mia is blinded by her affections for Char and Char can see that. WE can see that. I feel like I’m not doing the scene justice in trying to impress upon everyone how nuanced and complex that interaction was. I feel like I’m just going to devolve into screaming from the rooftops “this is what good writing looks like!”

The storyline going on right now, everything surrounding Shibby and Roger, as well as what’s I’ve dubbed the “Charlotte Protection Squad” Siobhan showing up for Char alongside Marjorie and Mia — including the revelation that Mia and Shibby had a flirtation, even if it amounted to nothing — I think recontextualizes the conversation Siobhan and Sorscha had about “knowing what you like”. Shibby’s reaction to Sorscha asking “what is it that attracted you to the millionaire sixty year old” felt off at the time. Maybe I’m just too autistic but it felt unnecessarily defensive. Siobhan’s concession that maybe people can know what they like, her almost surprise at Sorscha insisting that clearly she “knows” she likes much older men, it just didn’t sound like someone who was sure. And I’ve seen this kind of situation before, where a scene doesn’t feel right initially but later episodes provide more insight into it. It’s giving foreshadowing — intentional or otherwise, it doesn’t really matter. Part of writing is rolling with things as they develop and then looking back and going “oh hey, I foreshadowed that”.

I could go on about how I felt like I was reading too much into Shibby’s character and her interactions with others and was just waiting to be proven wrong but every further interaction continues to align with how I interpreted her. And by go on I mean GO ON. But we’d be here all day — and probably night — and that’s a lot of quotes to pull…

A brief aside about my autism; storytelling and writing are my core special interests. They inform how I interact with every other special interest I’ve had. And The Nursery Nurse is my current special interest. I’m usually a silent lurker. It just means so much to me to feel safe enough to be able to break my silence and properly engage with a community like this. And although it may take some time to convince myself that anyone actually cares to hear what I have to say, it’s a really big step for me to even say it in the first place. Thank you all for creating a community like this, where everyone feels welcome. I feel like just being here makes me more of a person… if that makes sense.

I’ve changed my mind. I do have one more thing to say about Siobhan. I know why the fandom has latched onto her despite everything she’s said/done. And no, it’s not just because she’s hot — but, like, that helps. It’s because she’s a good villain. She’s a satisfying villain. She says and does horrible things, doesn’t pull her punches — for fear of “going too far” from a writing standpoint — and is always dispatched and put back in her place by the end of the episode. She’s beloved for the same reason Team Rocket is. She’s a fun character to play with and has an easily followed formula on how her interactions are handled. I’m just going to keep screaming it from the rooftops: ITS JUST GOOD WRITING. We like Shibby because she’s the right villain for the right job. Her level of villainy is on par with the rest of the stakes the series provides. And that’s such an overlooked part of creating a villain or any sort of conflict. It has to match with the level of intensity of the rest of the goings on. That is Siobhan’s place in the ecosystem.

And I may or may not be collecting evidence to suggest that Jodie has been the other spy the entire time. Like, from her first appearance the entire time. Totally prepared to be wrong on this, some maths just aren’t mathing for me though.

Anyway, impulsively sharing this right before bed so I can pretend the internet doesn’t exist for the next 8 hours and come back less anxious about the mortifying ordeal of being known™️. That’s being a bit over dramatic… I’ll sleep now…

[z-eusie]

I saw your tags on that repost and I agree soo much. actually part of the reason I love your writing is because you write nuanced portrayals of the gods. something rick failed to do. Zeus didn’t even get a third of the depth that hades and Poseidon were given (and I don’t even like how the latter characters were written lol) like his best scene imo is the 1-1 conversation with Jason when he tells Jason that bc hes king he can’t show favoritism or praise especially not towards his kids. we get a sliver of what kind of character zeus could have been but that moment lasts for like 2 seconds and is forgotten. Which is a shame because Zeus was the most interesting god out of the big 3, he had a great setup in the first couple of books in the og series but that was tossed in favor oh his brothers. I could get into the Hera’s character but then we’d be here all day 🙃.

1 ) thank you!!! i try very hard to write the gods as something complex and multifaceted, and have thought long and hard about what makes them tick / what makes them human as much as what makes us like them. so thank you, i really appreciate that!

2 ) i wholeheartedly agree. i understand that per/cy jackson is a work of fiction designed for children, and so i acknowledge that the level of complexity and nuance the gods should have is going to be diminished, somewhat, to make it more palatable to children.

but that's actually not where my issues have ever been. i don't mind that certain parts of the gods are simplified - in some cases, i think it actually works! his representation of hestia, for example, is one of my favourites in the series because despite being a relatively simple goddess, he presents her in such an interesting way. she's nuanced and important.

the issue i have is with what he chooses to simplify and how. some of the worst examples you have mentioned: zeus and hera, namely. but i also find a lot of my grievances with ares, dionysus, and aphrodite as well (among others, but those ones always stood out to me). i think the progression of the series makes it ten times worse, because whereas zeus was mildly insufferable in pjo for being grouchy, prideful, and unintelligent, his arc leads him down a path from mediocre king to abusive tyrant in a jump that is just SO jarring.

because i agree!!! zeus' scene with jason in blood of olympus is genuinely one of my favourite moments. it makes zeus feel so much more raw and real and understandable. he has an incredibly difficult job to do, and as much as he loves jason, he can't be the father jason needs. its gut-wrenching, but it made sense.

then literally the next time zeus is mentioned in the series, its as an abuser, which frustrates me to no end. zeus is only given bad traits. anything redeemable about him is ripped away. and riordan reduces what was a mediocre representation (but one i could stomach) to something completely one-sided and hurtful.

the same can be said for hera, who is introduced trying to help the heroes who immediately start shitting on her for something they know SO little about, and then is painted as the villain for the rest of the series - even when she's the only one actively trying to solve the problems in heroes of olympus. i understand her methods are questionable, but she's right. she's petty and vindictive because it suits the plot, which is super unfair to what she could have been.

ares is shown to be quite a doting (if eccentric) father to frank, which would be cool!! if it wasn't juxtaposed by his abuse of clarisse in the series and his general unintelligence. hades has character development that's interesting, but is also juxtaposed by the knowledge that his children were n*zis apparently???

i think riordan actually writes his demigods in a way that's super nuanced and interesting, but falls short with the gods. they're archetypes - which would be fine, if the archetypes they represented were at all accurate. zeus is the father of gods and men, and you mean to tell me he's the one who tells all his family they can't even see their kids? (this is another decision that irks me, mostly because it serves as the basis for the entire plot and makes NO sense to me). i think it would make far more sense for the reason for the distance to be a) an acknowledgement of the dangers of being around their children or b) recognition that interfering in the fates of heroes can seriously upset the balance of everything. but no, we get a paranoid, jaded, unintelligent king making dumb decisions.

i also think the mentality of "_____ gods are good and _____ gods are bad!!!" exists heavily in this series, which is also part of the problem. apollo is a good guy, but dionysus is the bad guy!!! poseidon is a good guy but zeus is a bad guy!!!! it's frustrating.

overall, i still love the series for what it meant to me and i find parts of it that i really enjoy, but i have to just squint through portrayals of the gods in that context because they're poor. riordan could have made some very seriously complex relationships between demigods and their godly parents, but most of them fall flat of their potential - mostly because the gods are never around for silly reasons!

anyway, i've rambled enough, but these are my thoughts. i'd love to chat more on the subject with anyone who is interested! i'm sure i've missed important things i would normally touch on but alas... thinking about zeus in that series is upsetting enough for me lmao

[razorsadness]

maybe we’ll hug each other in a past life (part one of three)

So much to say, and where to begin. “Begin at the beginning, and when you come to the ending, then stop.” I guess I’ll begin with the Giant Paddy O’s Show on September 7th, as that was the first big event of these past two+ months, and I jotted down so many notes about it.

We were truly blessed that day; it was the first day in months when it was chilly enough to be leather jacket weather, which was perfect for the outfit I was gonna be rocking that night. I was vending at the White Lilac, a new venue in Kenosha (well, they’ve been open about a year now), and also performing on the stage there at the end of the night. The day before, I’d been told by one of the event organizers that I had to bring my own card table for vending, unless I wanted to use one of the small high-top bar tables at the venue. I have a card table I could’ve taken, but I really didn’t want to haul that around on top of all my merch, etc., so I was just like, fuck it, guess I’ll use a small table. But, blessing number two, when I walked in to the White Lilac and explained my situation, Kelly—the owner, who was also working the door alongside his wife that night—said: “No worries, we have an extra table you can use!” and pulled a long folding table out from under the stage. And right after that, he gave me a free bottle of water and a free basket of popcorn fresh from their popcorn machine. The little while after that was spent setting up my table and waving away the yellowjackets that flew in the open door and landed on my popcorn, then I went outside to have a cigarette before the first performer went on stage. That’s when Pookie and Dean showed up, and I was like: “Holy flashback to 2000-2004, Batman.” Dean said ‘hey’ to me but we didn’t talk much, he seemed anxious and wanted to stand off by himself chainsmoking, which hey, I get it. But Pookie, he came up and gave me a huge hug and said: “It’s so good to see you.”

Here’s a little summation of my friendship with Pookie: he is one of the few friends from that era of my life I had a totally platonic relationship with. Though actually it requires a more nuanced explanation than that. When I say “platonic relationship,” I don’t necessarily just mean people I never hooked up with, I mean people that there wasn’t even any flirtation or romantic/sexual spark with. And actually he and I did make out—once. It was at a Halloween party at Paddy O’s in 2003, and a bunch of us were out back in the beer garden, and Beagan and I started making out (because that is the kind of friendship we’ve always had), and Pookie and Beagan had made out before so they started making out, too, and we were all drunk and back then Pookie and I were both single and we were both makeout bandits, so we made out for a little while before stopping and just looking at each other like: “No.” Later, we talked about it, and we were both like: “No offense, I love you, man, and it’s not that you’re unattractive, but there was no there there, and I feel like if we ever made out again it would just make me feel weird and sad, so, let’s not?” And then we cheers’d each other and that was that, there was never any awkwardness between us afterwards, we just both knew we did not at all feel that way about one another. We had a great friendship, the kind where you can give each other a hard time in an affectionate way, but also have deep, meaningful conversations, and know that the other person always has your back. Like, we could talk shit to/about each other (he’d call me a dirty Mick and I’d call him a filthy Frog—though I have French ancestry too, he’s mostly French; we’d make fun of each other’s favorite music), but if anyone else seriously talked shit about one of us, or did something fucked up to one of us, and the other one found out? Heads would roll. He was one of the only guys that were part of the Paddy O’s crowd/Kenosha scene who a. believed me and b. cared when I started telling people that the King of Kenowhere had raped me. Yeah, we were great friends, but I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in at least a decade until that Saturday night—not because we’d had a falling out, just because life happened—and then he hugged me, and let me tell you, I hadn’t been hugged like that in such a long time. It was the biggest, warmest hug, full of love and 20+ years of friendship. He hugged me, and then we immediately went on to reminisce about ye olde days.

Back inside the White Lilac, the first act, Kenye, a glampunk poet/musician, went on. He performed songs about being bipolar, and about class war, and one called “Emily Dickinson Was Right,” and then he performed poems about heartbreak and ghosts (specifically about haunted places in southeastern Wisconsin). So clearly I have a lot in common with this fella! I went up to him after his set, to say I really liked his stuff, and to talk about ghosts. I told him some of my own stories of local haunted places, and mentioned that I’d also done a lot of research about haunted places in southeastern Wisconsin for a blog post when I was writer-in-residence a few years back. Kelly overheard us talking, and jumped in with his own spooky local story, and it was pretty neat, to be chatting about ghosts and haunted places with a couple likeminded folks.

Codes Within Codes (aka Cody) went on next, and I got really into his stuff. It was like Radiohead meets the Chemical Brothers meets some heavier industrial bands. I was messaging with Yoni at the time, and was like: “Oh hey, check this guy’s stuff out,” and he did, and said he dug it, and might play it on his radio show at some point. Then I got my first beer of the night, a tallboy of Garage Beer. I’d never had it before, or even heard of it, but I liked the name and specifically chose it because it has a low ABV. Even with the low ABV, I sipped it slowly, because it was still early on in what was gonna be a long night, and I did not want to get blotto before my set. I sipped my beer, watched (d)VICES’s set. One of the people vending at the table next to mine was this gorgeous woman; I immediately got a teensy crush on her. She came over to look at my stuff, bought a copy of my mini art zine, and we chatted about various stuff, art and music and zines and the like. Somehow the topic of train hopping came up; it turns out we both used to do that. And then we were talking about our favorite cities and it turns out she has a New Orleans connection, too, and even knows some of the people I know there. Shit like this happens to me all the time—meeting new people and discovering they have connections with some of the same people and places I do—but every time it happens, I’m amazed all over again at how fucking small this world is. Also, she had a leopard print sweater tied around her waist, and I noticed that she had a leopard-spot tattoo on one of her arms. I was wearing a leopard print shirt, and I rolled up my sleeve to show her my leopard-spot tattoo. She said: “Leopard twins!” and we fist-bumped.

Then it was time for me to head over to Paddy O’s to see The Yates Kids. Oh, The Yates Kids. One of my longtime Kenocore favorites. (There’s a lot more I could say about that band, but I’ll get back to that later.) I’ve seen them at least a dozen times over the years, but it had been over nine years since I’d last seen them, and, other than the Bikini Kill concert in April 2023, I hadn’t seen any live punk show since pre-pandemic. So, needless to say, I was stoked. All the Paddy’s bands were playing on an outdoor stage, back in the beer garden, so first I walked in through the front door, and waited at the bar to get a drink. It was packed, so I had to wait a while, and while I waited, I noticed my friend Hank was standing at the bar next to me. He was standing next to a guy I vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. They were talking about feeling old, and I jumped in and said: “I know the feeling.” Hank said: “Oh yeah, you’re like the same age as us, huh?” And I said: “I think I’m a little bit younger than you are.” (Hank is 48, I’m only 42.) The other guy said: “Jesus, Hank, are you saying she’s an old man, too?” Then, turning to me: “You don’t look like an old man. You’re beautiful.” Hank said: “Hey, this is my friend High Life. High Life, this is Jessie.” High Life reached out to shake my hand, and said: “It’s great to meet you.” I said: “Oh, we’ve met before,” because at that point I’d realized who he was, but he was adamant that we had not met. “No way. I wouldn’t have forgotten you. You’re way too hot to forget.”

Let’s go back in time for a minute. Back in the days when I spent most of my time at Paddy O’s and The Port (or at least, most of the time I was in Kenosha), High Life was a regular at both bars, too. He was a sexy, fucked-up punk rock dude, and I was a fucked-up punk rock girl (and all the Kenosha punk dudes found me irresistible, ha ha), and when none of our other friends were around, we’d drink together, and flirt. Eventually, we ended up hanging out outside of the bars, one-on-one or at parties; we’d make out and do drugs together, and we fucked a couple times. It was never anything serious, but it was what we both needed (or at least what we wanted) at that point in our lives. Then I stopped hanging around those bars quite as much, and by the time I was back in that scene he’d gotten married and had a kid and stopped coming to the bars much at all for a while. We’d still run into each other at shows occasionally, but we never really talked, and before September 7, we hadn’t seen each other in over nine years. Still, I never forgot him. He was a good dude, despite his issues, and aside from the sex and drugs, we also shared great conversations. I’d sometimes think of him, and our brief symmetry, fondly, especially when I was nostalgic for my misspent youth of wild parties and brief flings. So yeah, as soon as Hank introduced us and I heard his name, I knew who High Life was. And even if that hadn’t rung any bells for me, I would’ve figured it out by the time I went out to the beer garden to see the band, because did I mention he’s one of the guitarists for the motherfucking Yates Kids? Yeah, he is.

So there I was, feeling really fucking awkward, because he was sorta hitting on me (which, don’t get me wrong, was great—he’s still a cutie and I don’t get hit on so much these days) yet insisting that we’d never met. It’s not that I was upset that he’d forgotten me—our little thing ended 20+ years ago, and as I said I hadn’t even seen him in nearly a decade, and we’re older and look different and I hadn’t even recognized him at first, and not everyone’s memory works the same way mine does—it’s just. What was I supposed to say: “We’ve definitely met. We used to fuck! We’ve shot up together!”? I was not going to do that. What I said was: “Oh, y’know, it was like twenty years ago, back when everyone was at this bar every night. No worries.” He said: “I really think I’d remember you. But we’ll talk more later, okay? I gotta get out to the stage.” He headed outside (Hank had already wandered off, to talk to another friend of his); I got my drink (whiskey & ginger ale), then I headed towards the beer garden, too. On my way, I saw Lily. She gave me a hug and said she had a gift for me. I asked her to bring it over to the White Lilac later, so I could stash it in my suitcase rather than trying to carry it around; she said she would. Then I saw Honey, who said: “I just texted you YATES KIDS NOW!!! because I knew you wanted to see them tonight.” “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m way ahead of you on that one, babe.”

Outside, I made my way through the crowd and got a spot near enough to the stage I could see the band, but far enough away I wouldn’t be bumped into by anyone in the slam pit. Then The Yates Kids played, and it was awesome, just what I needed. I danced my ass off and sang along to all the songs I knew, which was most of ‘em, and I watched everyone in the pit and was happy that there was a pit and that it was mostly women and old punks. Joni, who was also there dancing and singing along, came up and gave me a big hug and then went back to dancing, and I sipped my drink and looked around at all the familiar faces. There were also some faces who notably were not there, and I don’t just mean the dead punks—I mean a couple of dudes who were part of the Kenocore scene who have now been kicked out of bands and banned from most events because word got out they were rapists and abusers. It’s been really heartening to see, actually. The tide is turning—people are less likely to tolerate that type of shit these days, at least as far as I can tell—and what’s been especially heartening is that most of the people making sure these fuckers don’t show their faces have been other (cis, straight, white) men. Back when the King of Kenowhere raped me, well…

Granted, it took me a while to tell anyone (other than Jenny) what had really happened, but… Okay, so. K.K. had a reputation for being a heartbreaker/womanizer type. There were a lot of girls and women in southeastern Wisconsin who “hooked up with” or dated him, and then weeks or months later were like: “Fuck that guy.” I was not the first, nor was I the last. The guys in the scene—his bandmates, other dudes that ran in the punk scene or just hung out at the same bars—they just assumed he’d broken our hearts and moved on to the next girl, and that’s why we hated him. But a while after he raped me, I started talking to the other women that hated him, and discovered that no, he hadn’t broken our hearts. He’d either raped us or emotionally/physically abused us, or some combination thereof. We kinda became a whisper network; we spread little bits of what had happened to all of us in a way that wouldn’t “out” any of us individually, to try and warn other girls away from him before he got his hooks in. (He was really good at turning the charm on so you wouldn’t notice all the red flags, and if you did happen to notice one of the red flags? Well, he’d tell you some sob story about his life that made you think: “Poor little sad baby boy, I will take care of him in a way no other girl ever has, I can fix him, and he will understand me.” And now I’m thinking of Kathleen Hanna’s “True Love:” And then she met this boy (the anti-hero) who had these beautiful sad eyes and looked like a lost and abused little child and he said, “I am wild like you, I am fun loving like you and understand what has happened to you, I will love you.”) I’ll never know for sure, but I can only hope that our whisper network kept at least some women from being hurt by him. But yeah, the guys just never knew. Or didn’t want to know. And when I finally tried to tell some of them what had really gone down, most of them responded with: “Oh. That sucks.” And that was that. They didn’t kick him out of their bands or kick him out of bars or beat his ass or even seem all that concerned about what had happened to me and all those other women.

So, yeah. It’s just heartening to see that the women in that scene are now being believed, and the men are now keeping the creeps and abusers and rapists out as much as possible. (Thankfully, K.K. was also not there, nor were any of the guys who brushed off what he did to me.)

After The Yates Kids’ set, I walked back across the street to the White Lilac. I stopped outside, in the purple lilac dusk, first, to have a cigarette. Micah walked over at that point, and we talked for a while. Micah is the guy who sets up the whole Giant Paddy O’s show every year; that night he was also performing not one but three sets—one solo and two with different bands. Oh, and he’s my best Beagan’s ex. We’ve messaged each other a bit since they broke up, but I hadn’t actually seen him in person since, and that was two and a half years ago. My loyalty is of course to my bestie, but she’s never told any of her friends to cut off contact with him (it wasn’t that kind of breakup), and they were together for such a long time that he and I became good friends in our own right. It was really, really good to see him. After our chat, we both went into the White Lilac, and it was time for Micah’s solo set, as Torrahbull. His solo stuff is electronic and really fucking good; it reminded me a lot of The Prodigy and some other big beat stuff from that era, mixed with abstract hip-hop, and I once again danced my ass off. (Micah messaged me the next day and said the highlight of his set was looking out into the crowd and seeing me dancing.)

Then I just sat at my table, watched some other poets and musicians perform, sipped another beer, talked to people that stopped at my table. A few people bought zines; I made some new friends and talked to more old friends. Lily came by, gave me the gift she had for me—a miniature horse skull replica, because we’ve been trying to get a Mari Lwyd happening in our area for the Yule season for years now, but there’s always been some hiccup or other. (Fingers crossed, it may actually happen this year!) Now that night had fallen, there were no more yellowjackets flying in—there were moths flying in, instead. But moths are significantly less bothersome than yellowjackets. Cody stopped by my table; we traded stickers. I told him that I’d recommended his music to a radio DJ friend in Philly, and he was stoked. He also told me that he’d recently been making connections with some electronic musicians out in Philly, and so might actually end up playing some shows out there in 2025. And again, it was a moment of meeting someone new who has a connection to some of the same places and/or people I do.

Every once in a while, I ducked outside for another cigarette and a moment alone, or to talk to people who were hanging outside. Hank had come over to the White Lilac by that point, and we had a big long conversation about everything from local poetry community drama to politics to parenthood to punk. He told me how his other friend (meaning: not High Life) that had been at Paddy O’s had left after the Yates Kids set, because he thought things were getting “too crazy.” He said: “I mean, he’s from here, but he’s lived in Oregon for a long time now, and I think he forgot what the midwest punk scene is like.” We talked about how midwest punks are a rare breed; how most of us are lifers in the scene even if we don’t go to shows and party hard every week like we did when we were younger. We agreed that Midwest is best and that midwest punks are more hardcore than punks anywhere else. Then we were just quiet for a bit, looking around at the neon signs of restaurants and bars and the lights bending and refracting on the water in the harbor, and it was like a hundred thousand nights before and it was just as beautiful as the first time. I said something about the lights on the water, how poetic it was, and he said: “It is poetry.” There’s not too many people I could have that exchange with without feeling like a huge dork, but Hank gets it.

Then it was time for Joni’s set, and my set, with Honey (as Dead Language Decoder) backing us up. I had brought my tripod so I could get video of the whole thing, but when I pulled it out, I discovered the locking pin was missing. Fortunately, one of the people at the table next to mine had electrical tape, and when I got the tripod to the right height, he helped me tape it into place. Joni went first, and she brought the house down—she’s a fucking amazing performer (as well as a phenomenal poet). When I went up, I said: “I don’t know how I’m going to follow that.” I wasn’t actually looking for encouragement—I wasn’t feeling bad, I was just simply trying to acknowledge how fucking great she was, in a mildly self-deprecating way—but still, a few people shouted: “You got this!” And I did have it. My performance went great, too; I’m not the same kind of performer Joni is, but when I’m on I’m on, and that night I was on. Afterward, we hung around while Honey did some of her music solo. I started packing up, while also talking with more people. Pookie gave me another big hug on his way out, said: “I love you.” (Oh, to be told you are loved by an old friend! That’s the stuff!) One of the other poets who’d performed earlier in the night came up to me, and said she was heading home to immediately go write some new poems, because my stuff had inspired her so much. (That’s the stuff, too—being told my writing inspired someone else is probably my favorite compliment ever. Though being told my writing made someone cry is a close second.)

After my stuff was packed up, I stepped outside for one last cigarette and to chat with a few more friends/say my goodbyes before hauling my stuff to my car and heading home. I talked to Hank some more, and then: oh, High Life was there, too. Turned out he’d been in the crowd for my set. “Hey,” he said, “your stuff is really good.” “Thanks,” I replied. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, “I uh…I do remember who you are. We used to…” “Yep, we did.” “You must think I’m a complete asshole, or maybe just stupid, huh?” “Nah, it was more amusing than anything. Like I said, it was a long time ago.” “Yeah. Oh, but hey—I did mean what I said. I think you’re hot.” “Thanks.” “We’re all going over to The Port for the after party. You should come.” “Wish I could, but I’m kinda beat. Plus I don’t wanna get too drunk before I have to drive all the way back to Racine.” “I get it. Maybe I’ll see you around again soon?” “Yeah, maybe.” Then he gave me a hug and moseyed off to the after party. I said goodbye to Joni and Honey. Honey said: “It’s so good to see you. You need to come out more often.” “I for sure do,” I said, and she hugged me. Then Joni hugged me and said: “I love you. Your stuff is so awesome.” “So is yours,” I said, “It was so good to perform together again. It’s been too long.” “We should do it again soon!” “Yes we should! I love you.” And with that, I went back inside the White Lilac one last time, grabbed my stuff, put it in my car, and drove home.

My whole family was already asleep when I got there (no surprise, as it was well after midnight), but I couldn’t fall asleep. I was still fired up from all the love, and the music, and the adrenaline spike I always get when performing. It didn’t help that through the open window of my bedroom I could hear both an owl hooting in a nearby tree, and a loud accordion from someone blasting norteño music a few streets away. When I finally did fall asleep, I had sex dreams about High Life.

The next morning, I received Facebook friend requests from both Dean and High Life. I accepted both. Dean and I immediately got to chatting. He apologized for not really talking to me when he saw me the day before, but said that he has really bad social anxiety these days, and was currently in the process of adjusting his meds, so was extra on-edge that night. I of course said “no worries, I get it,” because though my anxiety isn’t as social-based as his is, it can sometimes be triggered by social situations, and I’d had my panic meds in my bag at the show just in case. Then we started talking about other stuff, like the Beats—he’s one of the few people I’ve ever known who was into the Beats in as deep a way as I am. In any case, we message each other about random stuff every few days or so, now, and I’m glad he’s back in my life. The first message High Life sent me was very flirtatious, a lot of: “No, seriously, when am I gonna see you again?” And I was very tempted to respond with: “I’m free whenever you are,” cuz like I said, he’s still a cutie, and his band rules, and the sex dreams were hot as fuck, but I decided to play it cool, and ultimately decided that I’m not gonna pursue anything with him. Mostly because it would be 5000 kinds of messy—the Kenosha scene is very small and borderline incestuous (not in the literal sense, obviously), and I banged my way through it Back in the Day, and there was so much drama, and there would probably be even more drama now, and as I’ve said before…I am too old for that shit.

I was feeling good all day, albeit a little achy (I fucked my hip up dancing at the show) and tired, but mostly good. Realizing that so many people remember me fondly, and like me, and like seeing me, and want to see me more often. And then in the evening I got a text from our landlady: “Can I come do a walkthrough of the property next Saturday?” And I went into full-on panic attack mode. I was shaking, crying, pacing, swearing, the whole bit. Because I have had bad experiences with landlords or their lackeys doing walkthroughs. Especially when we lived in the house on Colonial Ave.—our landlady’s daughter was always trying to evict us because she didn’t like the way we kept house or yard, and basically just didn’t like us, and was also a raging bitch. So I was having flashbacks to that and going: “Oh my god, what’re we gonna do, what’re we gonna do?!” And P. was very calm and rational, saying: “It’ll be fine, we’ve lived here over six years and have never had problems with her, and she gave us almost a week’s notice. We’ll just clean and organize as best we can, but she has to understand that we live here.” And though I knew, logically, that he was probably right, I couldn’t turn my panic off, because panic is not logical, and then he got kinda shitty, telling me I had to get my shit together because I was upsetting the kids. And of course I didn’t want to upset the kids, duh, but telling a person in the midst of a panic attack to calm down and get their shit together does not help.

The following week was full of mostly bullshit, broken up with small good things. We had to do all kinds of cleaning and organizing, and my hip injury had gotten worse, so I was in a lot of pain while doing all that. Plus I was still internally panicking about the impending walkthrough, and the kids were both in constant bad moods, and during that week it was Derry’s birthday and I was missing him so hard and worried about him too because he’d had surgery in the time since I’d last seen him, and I wanted to write but had hella writer’s block, and after our one weekend of cool leather jacket weather it had gotten hella hot and dry again (and windy—and hot dry winds make my allergies worse), and ugh ugh ugh. The small good things were trips to the craft store for Halloween-related craft stuff, and making visual art. And I got to talk to Derry—though we couldn’t be together on his birthday, I was able to call him—and he was doing well; the surgery was a success and he was recovering speedily.

And the walkthrough happened, and it was chill. The landlord said she understood why our house was a bit cluttered, and she wasn’t upset about any of the normal wear and tear. She said she was going to have the front porch repainted and repaired (there were a couple boards that were partially broken and needed replacing), and the broken storm door replaced. The only thing she seemed a little concerned about was how overgrown our yard was—not grass-wise, but “weeds”-wise. She asked if we could do some weeding, especially out front, so she didn’t get a citation from the city, and that a week later she’d come back with her husband to haul it away to the yard waste composting place. We of course said yes, no problem. So after she left, I breathed a sigh of relief—I really thought P. had been right; I had been panicking for no reason, and everything was fine.

The next day we went to a local farmer’s market, for fresh apples and cranberry white cheddar and some other treats. I dressed up a bit, for no other reason than that I felt like it, and took a selfie, and the day after that I posted it on Facebook with the caption: “I looked hella cute and autumnal yesterday.” And a bunch of people commented, and one was Ashanti, saying: “Hell yeah you did.” And I responded with: “Miss you, lady,” but the amazing thing was she was typing the literal exact same words to me at the exact same time, and we both clicked ‘post’ within a millisecond of each other. And then she said: “We said it at the exact same time. That means we’ve gotta fix it.” So we started DMing about when we can get together. That was two months ago and we still haven’t yet—we’re both very busy—but I almost cried tears of joy that day when we first got back in touch. We hadn’t talked in so long, and I really thought she hated me or at least had written me off entirely. See, for a while after we met, she was relentless in trying to hang out with me one-on-one, and we only did a couple times—partly because we were both busy a lot, but partly because of some weird feelings/insecurities on my end—and then she just stopped trying, and when I would message her she wouldn’t respond, and yeah, I thought I’d fucked up what could’ve been a really close friendship. Well, from talking to her again I found out that it had nothing to do with me. She’d just been going through her own shit and wasn’t very active on social media (including messaging apps) for a while. Much like seeing all those old friends the night of the Paddy O’s show, it was a reminder that a. everyone has their own shit going on that can keep them from reaching out and b. most of the people I care about still care about me, too.

On the last day of summer, we took the kids to Old World Wisconsin. We drove there on the backroads, through all these small towns, one of which was having their autumn festival that day. The houses and the downtown storefronts were so lovely, and I briefly thought: “I could live here,” and then I saw how the ratio of Trump signs to Harris signs was, well, heavily skewed towards the Trump side. Old World Wisconsin itself was fun—despite the fact that the weather was still very much summer weather (it was 90 degrees that day)—we learned about Norwegian rosemaling and old-school shoemaking, and played a game of sticks and hoops, and P. and I got to try an old-style Lithuanian beer. When we got home that day, we did a bunch of weeding in both the front and the back (focusing on the front), and piled everything in the front yard. And not an hour after we’d finished, our landlord showed up. She did text first, but I wasn’t looking at my phone—but anyway, they decided to come by and haul the stuff away early because it was supposed to rain the next day. And that’s when shit got really weird. She started freaking out about all the “weeds” we still had left, even though I thought we’d done quite a good job of clearing things, and she started freaking out about the clutter that she’d previously said she understood. We didn’t talk much about it that day because they were in a hurry to load everything into their truck, but she seemed really pissed and said that over the next couple weeks, they’d be coming by not only to repaint and repair the porch and replace the storm door, but also to clear out the rest of the yard to their liking. So I was immediately panicked again.

But the next day, the first day of autumn, came with a drop in temperature and some soothing and much-needed rain, and I made more art, and set up my autumn altars, and ran errands, and drove around in the rain while listening to Depeche Mode, and I felt briefly better.

My better mood didn’t last long. After the one day of rain, things got warmer (not as hot as before, but still too warm for my liking) and drier and windy again, and the landlord and her husband were there every day for a week, absolutely ripping every single plant out of both the front and back yards. And every time I tried to talk to her, to ask if there was any help we could give, she’d say no, but then start ranting about something. It was either “the yard looks like trash because you let all these weeds grow and most of this neighborhood is homeowners with immaculate lawns and you’re bringing the property values down,” or “there’s too much clutter in the basement, you just can’t keep it there, it’s a fire hazard, you need to get a storage unit if you don’t wanna get rid of it.” And I still had writer’s block, and the kids were still grumpy, and I couldn’t even take them out to play in the yard because it was full of people ripping plants out. After a few days of feeling like a hostage in my own house and seriously worrying she was going to evict us, I decided I had to talk to her about it. Of course I couldn’t say what I really wanted to say: “I don’t give a fuck about property values, and we purposefully let certain plants grow if they are non-invasive and good for pollinators, not to mention leaving some overgrowth so that the fireflies have a place to lay their eggs. And the clutter you’re freaking out about? It’s in the unfinished half of the basement—isn’t that the part of the house most people use for storing things? And it’s some boxes of papers and some bins of old clothes. It’s not like we have stacks of oil-soaked rags next to the furnace. And fuck off about a storage unit—are you going to pay for it?!” So I phrased all that in the nicest, calmest way I could: “We purposefully let some of the plants grow, because we like to have birds, bees, and butterflies in our garden. I wasn’t aware it was such a problem; I promise in the future we will not let it get like that again. As far as the clutter goes, I am aware that we have a lot of stuff we need to get rid of, and I have been going through it and getting rid of stuff, little by little. So please don’t worry too much.” It wasn’t a lie about going through and getting rid of stuff—in fact I’d taken a huge load of things to the Goodwill the week before she did the walkthrough—and in any case, I must have said the right thing, because she almost immediately calmed down. She apologized, said it was partially on her for not doing the walkthrough sooner and letting us know about the issue with the yard before it got to that point, and also said she’d been stressed because the company she’d initially called for a price quote on the porch job had tried to upsell her and insist they needed to rip out and rebuild the entire porch, for which they were going to charge an exorbitant price. She also said she wasn’t trying to get rid of us, that she likes us, and that she can tell we love this house just as much as she did when she lived here. Crisis averted.

Even though she was still around in the evenings working on the porch through the end of September/beginning of October, I was no longer worried about getting evicted. And my writer’s block cleared. I suddenly had all these ideas, and wrote some poems, and started working on that month’s zines…and then all the weeks of dry winds and allergy bullshit caught up with me, and I got a sinus infection. I was in excruciating pain, and hella fatigued, for a few days, in fact it was so bad I was afraid I might not even be able make it to Chicago Zine Fest on October 5th, let alone finish the new zines. But I guess I’ve gotten better at managing my disabilities than I used to be, because I got in some writing and zine-layout/zine fest prep time every day, yet also took plenty of time to rest and do other stuff to take care of myself, like take long hot baths and drink a lot of tea and eat soup. And I got the zines done, and one of them—Neal & Jack & Me—I think is a pretty good piece of writing. (The other one isn’t bad either, it’s just that that one was a reprint of a story I wrote in 2018, so it’s not brand-new.) And by the day before CZF, I felt mostly better—definitely well enough to go.

[myanxietydisorderhasanxiety]

MY CON EXPERIENCES!

So as someone who has been to multiple cons before, I feel like I have quite a bit to say on the topic. As an autistic person, I feel like I can add some nuance that not everyone experiences, but I’d like to specify I speak for myself ONLY on the autistic experience at cons. Autistic support needs vary widely across the community.

The first con I went to was a local con in 2020. It’s a smaller con, and my friend had invited me to go with her for her birthday. It was definitely a lot more muted of an atmosphere given the fact that we were in the midst of a pandemic, but I’d like to specify everyone I was with took any and all necessary health precautions. Being in that environment for the first time was unbelievable, even for as small and toned-down of a con as it was. It’s nerd culture EVERYWHERE. I was 17, it was my first experience going to any kind of fan event, and I’m sure anyone who’s been to cons before could probably tell I was new at con culture. Everyone we met was friendly and we saw lots of cool collectibles. I’ve been back to that con a few times now, and there was a lot more to see and do when restrictions lessened. I’ve also gotten more into cosplay since I started, so my con pictures have been UPGRADED in a major way.

The biggest (and best) con I’ve attended so far was FanExpo Philly 2023. The pictures above were all taken there, and it was overall just a really amazing experience. I’d never been to Philly, and I asked my cousin on a whim if she wanted to go to the con when I heard a particular guest would be there (10 points if you can guess who I’m talking about), and she said YES. So I took my first solo plane ride across the country and went to a huge con in a city I don’t know. And it was worth it ten times over.

Going to a con that big is overwhelming. There’s multiple show floors in a huge convention center, and the amount of people going to a con in such a major city is about 100 times more than my first con. It was also my cousin’s first con EVER, so it was really interesting to get to introduce her to con culture. (Spoiler alert: she loved it.) The con was bustling all three days, and certain lines were HOURS of waiting. My social anxiety was naturally still present, but there was a sense of camaraderie there that I can’t say I’ve felt anywhere else. We spent so long looking at all the different vendors and shopping in addition to meeting our favorite celebrities. (Seriously, cons are a fan’s paradise. I’m a sucker for Funko Pops for about 3 fandoms and I was SO HAPPY.)

Saturday we had a photo op with Michael J Fox & Christopher Lloyd, and that line was insanity. Definitely the biggest individual draw there especially for Gen X. We spent maybe 2 hours in line, and people didn’t really get snippy like they do at theme parks, we all just wound up talking (and yes, sometimes moaning and groaning about the wait) with people around us for the most part. When we got to the photo op, it was super quick due to the number of people, but my cousin whispered “we love you guys!” To Michael and Christopher and Michael turned around to say something to us. Unfortunately we didn’t hear it because it was so loud but he didn’t turn around for the previous guests we’d seen. I also handed an attendant a letter I’d written to Michael J Fox about what an inspiration he is for disabled people and how thankful I was for his advocacy work.

Sean Astin’s line was less crazy, still packed but less crazy. With him, we were allowed to hug or stand next to him, it was a little more casual, and he was cracking jokes and very friendly. When we went back up to the autograph table (me for a signed 8x10 and my cousin to get her Balrog Funko Pop signed) he was super friendly and just such a nice person. I told him my family said hi, and my mom had been a fan since the Goonies, and he said “next time bring your mom”. So when he came to my small local con in March 2024, that’s exactly what I did. He was just as nice and friendly the second time, and my mom enjoyed it too.

Sunday at FanExpo was my busiest day. We had multiple photo ops with the Stranger Things guests that had all gotten pushed to one day because of some visa issues for one of the guests (poor Joseph Quinn had to do THREE DAYS of stuff in one day). I was pretty nervous, I’m a HUGE Stranger Things fan, my first cosplay was actually season 3 Eleven. We got up to photo op 1 with Joseph and I asked if I could hug him for the photo and he went “of course you can!” Photo op 2 was with him and Grace van Dien, and I’d made friendship bracelets for both of them. She was an absolute angel (I WILL DEFEND GRACE VAN DIEN AGAINST THE HATERS!) and wore the bracelet for our picture and I saw it in the next picture too. Photo op 3 was just Joseph (I’d purchased multiple intending to do it on multiple days and have multiple cosplays). I wound up by myself in line while my cousin went to go get food (we were DYING). I met some of the nicest people in line (we’re Facebook and instagram friends now) and honestly I don’t know when social interaction has been easier. That photo op was the BEST one yet, and had the best story behind it, which if you want, I can share more details of. Suffice it to say, he is an absolute gem of a human being and deserves every bit of success he’s getting, and I’m really glad I got to meet him when he was only famous for Stranger Things. Anyone who thought I was cringy at the time for going to meet him is going to regret not meeting him when they could’ve, especially with Gladiator II and Fantastic Four coming out soon.

Something I’d like to mention in regards to Joseph Quinn, and any celebrities you meet at a con. You need to be respectful of their boundaries NO MATTER WHAT. THEY DO NOT OWE YOU ANYTHING BUT WHAT YOU PAID FOR, which is a picture or an autograph. They’re human beings and just because you paid for a photo op doesn’t mean you get to touch them in any way you want or put them in uncomfortable situations re: posing. I say this because a few weeks after I met him, at another FanExpo, a con-goer tried to touch him in an inappropriate way that was overtly sexual in nature (best approximation from witnesses is attempted groping). This is deplorable, and CONSENT IS KEY whenever you are having an interaction at a con. You can ask, but they don’t owe you hugs, poses, anything. CONSENT should always be the top priority when interacting with celebrities and other guests, no matter what. He was kind enough to give me a hug, but not ONCE did I expect or demand it, nor would I have hugged him if he hadn’t said yes. Paying for a photo op isn’t consent, being famous isn’t consent, cosplay isn’t consent. He was so lovely to myself and other guests and it’s heartbreaking anyone would do something so blatantly sexual and inappropriate.

Rant aside. I LOVE CONS. I love them so much. I’ve met some of my absolute heroes at cons and fan events, and it’s honestly such a wonderful experience overall, at least speaking for my personal experience. I encourage you if you’re curious, go to a con. Get single day admission even and just go get a photo with someone you think is cool. Chances are you’ll have a great time.

[sshbpodcast]

Wake me when Season 1 of Enterprise gets interesting

by Ames

Season one of Enterprise just seemed to fly by, and thank goodness because we’re not finding it all that great, to be honest. Too much of it feels like more of the same stories that previous Treks have already told way better, but with less likable characters, less nuanced writing, and so much sexual objectification that we feel ill just watching it sometimes.

Sure, it’s still probably better than season one of TNG, which had more objectively BAD episodes, but it’s surprising to your hosts here at A Star to Steer Her By just how boring this show is so far. We’ve noted a bunch of times over in our podcast coverage that there never seems to be any stakes because every opportunity for some character (main, side, guest, even background) to get killed, they never do. So grab your phase pistol and see what we had to wade through to get here in our usual bottom and top episodes from the season below and also in this week’s podcast chat (jump to 56:26 for season discussion). Cap’n.

[images © CBS/Paramount]

Bottom Three Episodes

There was a lot to dislike this season and I’m pretty sure we covered most of this season’s dreck in our typically varied responses here. Good work, “Cold Front,” you managed to squeak through somehow despite that terrible airlock scene.

“The Andorian Incident”: Ames If you’ve been following along with our podcast coverage, you’re probably as tired of me hating on Archer as I am of Archer hating on Vulcans, and this is where that sour taste really transpired. It’s a whole episode of our captain going lightyears out of his way to ruin some Vulcans’ day and then patting himself on the back for being justified about being so racist.

“Silent Enemy”: Chris Talk about uneven. What was almost an intriguing suspense episode about the crew being wholly unprepared for the kinds of enemies you find in space is thoroughly undercut by a mismatched B plot that, while cute, is distracting as hell, and by some really laughable alien design. At least Reed gets some pineapple cake.

“Fight or Flight”: Jake Poor Sluggo, we hardly knew thee. Boy, does this show start off with characters it’s just hard to care about. We’ve got Hoshi being pathetic in an “overcoming your fears” plotline so predictable I could have called every beat. And Archer simultaneously being indecisive and whining about his decisions at the same time. And then the metaphor with releasing the slug doesn’t even mesh!

“Fortunate Son”: Jake While it’s unfortunate how little Mayweather gets to do, I can’t say I feel that bad about it considering that everything he does get to do in this episode is annoying as hell. We’d love to see more about his upbringing as a boomer and the culture clash therein, but this episode botches it hard by making all the Fortunate crew assholes!

“Broken Bow”: Caitlin, Chris The whole series really gets off on the wrong foot with a premiere that is simultaneously too little and too much all at once. Between the Klingons, the Suliban, the Vulcans, the flashback scenes with Archer’s dad, the weird time room with the Humanoid Figure, AND introducing us to the whole crew, there are too many things happening, but absolutely none of them are interesting!

“Dear Doctor”: Ames, Caitlin All season long, we’ve been struggling with what we think of the Phlox character, and it mostly boils down to us finding him offputting. So of course the most Phlox-centric episode is in our bottoms list. Certainly helping matters is the fact that both Phlox AND the writers don’t understand evolution at all and use that as an excuse to genocide a people. Oops.

“Fusion”: Ames, Caitlin, Chris, Jake But the one that gets votes from all your SSHB hosts is the episode that sexually exploits the token hot character, as always. Hang on, that doesn’t narrow it down. It’s the one with the mind rapist Vulcan who takes advantage of T’Pol, entirely muddying whatever message about Vulcans this whole season was trying to make. Turns out they’re ALL just monsters, but in different ways, except for one you’ll see in our top episodes.

—

Top Three Episodes

It’s hard to call these “top” episodes of anything, as you’ll see we all pretty much agreed on two episodes this season that were genuinely enjoyable, and each of us frankly struggled to think of a third that we could see giving any accolades to...

“Acquisition”: Chris Listen, we don’t like it any more than you do, but there weren’t enough decent episodes this season and Chris had to include this retread of much better episodes. But you know what: the Ferengi hit us right in the fanservice spot, the veteran alumni are all pros, and aside from all the oomox, it was at least entertaining.

“Oasis”: Jake Back when we were covering season 2 of DS9, Jake put “Shadowplay” on his tops list, so it’s only fitting that he essentially do it again with this carbon copy of an episode. I guess there’s nothing wrong with doing the same idea twice when it’s a good one like this. It’s even got Rene Auberjonois! What’s not to like?

“Fallen Hero”: Caitlin One more “I know that face!” episode coaxing an emotional reaction out of us, which is almost certainly exactly what the show wanted to achieve. In this case, we have to give Fionnula Flanagan some credit for bringing some much needed nuance to the Vulcans, who badly needed it this season.

“Vox Sola”: Ames The final one-off episode that we scraped up to include on this list. And no, it’s not perfect by any stretch, but I have to give it some credit for giving us a truly alien alien, which I’m always a fan of watching our crew interact with. And T’Pol and Sato got to have some scenes together, which is a nice character pairing!

“Shockwave, Part I”: Ames, Caitlin, Chris, Jake Thank goodness for this season finale. Without it, I have no idea how deep into the bench we’d have to dig for other Top Episodes. But I have to hand it to this finale: this was the first time I felt like there were stakes and consequences. And what a cliffhanger! Say what you will about the Temporal Cold War, but seeing a ravaged 31st century scene sure makes things interesting.

“Shuttlepod One”: Ames, Caitlin, Chris, Jake But the one episode I can say we all legitimately liked this season was one of the great bottle episodes of Trek. Proving yet again that less is more, this little character piece leans on the acting chops of Connor Trineer and Dominic Keating, whose chemistry together is lovely to watch. Just super solid all around.

—

Pass the pecan pie, the rocky road ice cream, and the pineapple cake; we’re on for dessert! We’re hoping season two shapes up better overall than this one, so find out with us as we watch along in our podcast coverage over on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts, bounce a message off of Echo One on Facebook and Twitter, and get me a spoon!

[thisisanude]

it hurts so bad it hurts so bad God God God i’m fucked i’m fucked this is so painful i don’t know how to deal this hurts so bad i feel like my body is shutting down i feel like i can tdocsnhthjgg and there’s no solution there’s no fix because there’s no way i could ever 1) come out to my family and 2) leave my perfect boyfriend that my family loves and that i also love and have so many good memories with ???? but why am i so sad why does it feel so bad how am i going to get over this im literally nonstop feeling this awful feeling of impending doom and it’s just getting worse and seeing her feels so good but hurts a lot like so bad and i can’t do this i really don’t know what to do i need to make a choice i don’t want to make it i really don’t want to please don’t make me please don’t i hate this so bad and the guilt of emotional cheating is eating me up so bad actually eating me alive. like i can’t eat i feel bad all the time and to be fair im anxious about a lot of things rn but this is one of the top and nothing makes me as guilty as this. i’ve never felt this guilty before i really haven’t. in front of my boyfriend, in front of my family. not to mention this is how my relationship right now kinda started. like not fully but kinda this time with a lot more nuances. in my past relationship i loved him but i was never in love with him i don’t think. i knew i didn’t wanna be with him forever. and i wanted to break up months if not a full year before actually breaking up. i was just too pussy to do it and i was going back and forth with it but i was questioning our relationship and i wished i was single but in like a lowkey way like if he broke up with me id be ok type of way but i cant break up with him also i still like having a bf IDK. but my current boyfriend i was in love with for multiple years and even tho we’ve had periods in our relationship where it was rough we always came back and i really genuinely always thought we’d be together forever. i mean we’ve been together for 5 years and i feel like our lives are so intertwined like i have so so so many memories with him so many periods of my life where im like heavily with him and so many gifts from him and so many inside jokes and inside fun and i don’t understand what happened i really don’t i’m so lost im so lost i don’t know how this could’ve happened i just want to be honest honestly but i can’t i can’t i can never hurt him hes so precious and i love him so much. i don’t understand how i can love him as much as i do with my newfound issue like im doing the thing that hurts him the most by having feelings for someone else how dare i say i love him. im such a bad person i want to tell everyone they’re right and they need to stay away from me and i dont deserve to be happy and i just want to die honestly this makes me dissociate so heavy that maybe its a good thing that my mri was moved because im gonna be dissociating more heavily now. im not ok at all this is too much i cant handle it i feel so bad i dont know how to be a real person i just want to feel normal i just want to be ok. i keep thinking about spring semester and how good it was like up until april i would say except april was really good but really bad at the same time because that is when i realized it. i really wish i could have both of them i really wish that i was polyamorous but he is really not so thats never going to happen. but this makes me think back and think why did this happen like did our relationship also go downhill without me noticing. and it felt like we were having some upsetting fights not long before then like the one in august and then another 2 in november ? but then december felt really good with him it felt like things were getting better we had another fight in january but i don’t even remember what it was about. and it’s been a long time since then wow i feel like a fully different person. it’s crazy how much things have changed. i don’t know who i am anymore. i really don’t. i’m scared. i’m really scared. i just want to go home and feel normal and feel grounded and

[ohraicodoll]

“You love him, don’t you?”

(gif credit to issylra) Dream of the Endless/Fem!Reader/Hob Gadling Tags: Established Relationship, Reader is unnamed in this story but is OFC: Dahlia from my Fragments series, (would take place after the last chapter of Interwoven), no name used for Reader, 1st POV, Fluff, Standalone, One-Shot

Summary: He looked at them both like he was witnessing a miracle.

“You love him, don’t you?” I asked, leaning against the living room wall and staring at Hob as he shrugged off his jacket. He paused in the action, one arm still caught and loose white linen shirt bunched up. I couldn’t read him when he wasn’t facing me, couldn’t see if he was frozen from disbelief, fear, or incredulousness. But his body was tense as if one small move would cause the floor to shatter beneath him.

“Why do you say that?” he asks and though his voice was light it was so, so careful. I wish he would turn and face me.

I leaned my head back, letting it rest against the wall, and softly smiled, “You get that look in your eye. It’s the same look I see in my own when I look in the mirror around him. Like seeing how it must have been to witness the sun set for the very first time or a star being born. Utter and absolute devastation. He could ruin me and I’d ask for it because it’s worth it to taste that kind of magic, to have his focus on me for just a second.” Hob slowly, so slowly, pulled his arm free from his coat and dropped it to the floor, turning to face me like he was in slow motion. He was trying to keep his face blank but like Morpheus, I’d come to learn the small nuances of emotion in his face. The slight furrowing of his brow and the way one side of his mouth stayed straight but the other tilted down, betraying his worry. “I see it every time you think he’s not looking,” I smiled and whispered softly, “Every time we all have sex, I can see you holding back and focusing more on me so he doesn’t know.” Morpheus and I had been together for over a year and since introducing me to Hob and me becoming good friends with him, we’d all had sex together a few times. It was never anything more than sex, fun between friends, a sign that he trusted both of us enough to do so and I trusted them. But I always felt that connection between them. It was an excuse, and not even a well veiled one, for them to indulge in each other without complication or further examination of their feelings. Except Hob loved Morpheus and I think being so close hurt him sometimes. A taste of what he wanted but nothing more. His lips pressed together and there was a slight flick of his gaze to stare at his feet, long hair falling forward into his eyes as he asked, “Does that upset you?” I wanted to go to him, press my hands to his cheek and tilt his head up because seeing him timid, unsure, didn’t suit him. But I stayed against the wall, feigning ease as I shook my head, “No, I get it. How do you say no to gravity?” He huffs out a dry laugh then, lips tilting into a deprecating smirk as he finally looked up. Those dark brown eyes met mine and that look was there, all magic and wonder and miracles, as he smiled. “And what if he’s not the only one I get that look for? Hm?” the immortal asks with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his lips. His hands were shoved into his pockets but I could see the urge to fiddle with them, to mess with something and keep his hands occupied. It was the only sign he was anxious. The nonchalance of my stance slipped a bit and I chewed my lip as my heart beat sounded through my head, “Well then you’d be an idiot then.” He laughed at that, the noise bursting from his lips unexpectedly and smiling a bit wider before I continued, “Why have an ant when you can have a star?” It was an old conversation we’d had. We were small little bugs compared to the vastness that was Dream and the Endless. Me more so because in comparison to Hob, I wasn’t immortal. I was normal. Plain. Able to walk through dreams, yes. That’s what had attracted Morpheus to me, but I couldn’t do anything beyond that. It was like being average in everything but the school spelling bee. It didn’t make you much more interesting outside of one circumstance. His love for Morpheus made sense. Six hundred plus years, how could he not love the dreamlord? He’d had years to learn and wonder and develop a relationship, no matter if the Endless had put distance between them. But me? I didn’t get it. The look in Hob’s eyes softened and he stepped forward finally, one then two then three until he was only a few feet away, “Nah, I see it a little different. I don’t see an ant, not even close. I see a girl with a big heart. She goes out of her way to make sure everyone’s happy and feels safe and is never alone, even when no one has ever done that for her. I see a girl who even when she was being hurt and was terrified, she still tried to save someone else from that same fate.” I swallowed, remembering that attack in the alley and trying to keep Calliope from being hurt. Remember paying for that. But I also remember Hob and Dream both taking care of me, cleaning my wounds and then staying by my side as I dealt with the trauma. They never left me. “I see someone who has dealt with nightmares and dreams and fae and gods and Endless and immortals and has never backed down,” he continued with a laugh, “and if that idiot ever wakes up and makes you Queen, I feel sorry for anyone who tries to stand against you.” I could feel tears in the back of my eyes stinging, a hard lump in my throat. Now I was the one ducking my head to avoid his gaze. He took another step and out of the corner of my eye I could see his smile widening, eyes crinkling, “If looking at Dream is like witnessing a sunset, seeing you is like looking at the sunrise. You’re both breathtaking.” Hob laughs a little, hesitant, and whispers, “Is that okay? To want the sunset and sunrise? To love both of you?” I took a shaky breath and looked up, unable to help the tear that slid down my cheek as I didn’t look at him, but Morpheus standing in the bedroom doorway behind him. I’d felt him appear a bit before, the slight warm tingling of his power coasting over my skin as he entered the room, and knew he’d heard. Dream wasn’t completely solid, the main clue-in that he was feeling something strong. Coat more shadows than substance and whispers of what would be flame at the bottom of his jacket like in the Dreaming. Stars swam in the blue depths of his eyes, hinting at the twin stars that usually blazed in the blackness when he was back home. Though his face was mostly blank, his eyes were fully on Hob, hands tightened at his side and brow furrowed. Hob could feel him then and looked over his shoulder at the Lord of Dreams, hands tensing. I could almost taste his apprehension, his fear that Dream heard his confession for not only him but for me as well and was displeased. He loved us both. Would Dream reject him, loathe him for the affection he had for me? Would he rage and walk out as he did years and years before at the mere utterance they may be friends? Dream walked forward, regal and very much an ethereal being not meant to walk on this earth, much less the living room of a small upper floor flat. His blue eyes could dissect us, break us apart and see all the pieces that made up who we were and put us back together with a single blink. His eyes turned and found mine and even with the tension, even with Hob’s uncertainty radiating off of him, I could see that same love that blazed from my own. I could only smile at him, my dreamlord. Then his hands were on Hob’s cheeks and he was drawing him in, kissing him like a starving man. I could see the immortal freeze for just a second because relaxing and returning it with the same fervor. Pale skin on warm brown, a black shadow wrapping around the bright light of the other. Pulling back a bit, Morpheus pressed his forehead to Hob’s, those twin stars blazing in the shadow of the other, “While I do not have as eloquent words as you both to proclaim my feelings, I would give you myself to keep, Hob Gadling, if you would have me?” The room lightened as if a thunderstorm had cleared away and gave way to bright sunlight. While still hinting at shadows and flame, Morpheus’ coat solidified around him as Hob’s fingers tightened in the fabric. Hob laughed, loud and free, and pulled him into another kiss while replying against his lips, “Of course I would have you. How could I say no?” I could see Dream’s fingers dig into the man’s back, clinging to him, as if he couldn’t believe he was there of his own free will. That he had found not one loves but two that he trusted wholly. After a bit, they pulled away, both beaming though Morpheus’ was gentle versus Hob’s wide unrestrained grin. Dream’s eyes found mine again and I chewed on my lip, only able to smile back. He deserved all the love he could get, deserved to feel safe and comforted and have support, no matter how powerful or old he was. I’d seen hints of their attraction early, when the idea of all three of us having sex was first brought up. He could have gotten jealous, said no, gotten angry, but he’d been just as eager as I had. I could see it in the way they touched each other, the way their eyes found each other constantly as if making sure the other was still there, fear that they would disappear. I would never deny them of each other. Hob turned and looked at me, untangling slightly from Dream’s arms but hands still clasped in the other’s. And I could see that look in his eyes again, the one from before. Fathomless, like staring at a miracle. But he was looking at me this time, not Morpheus. Both of them, darkness and light, with a hand stretched towards me waiting to see if I would take it. With a small hitch in my breath, I laughed softly, “So greedy, to want both the sunrise and sunset.” And I pushed off the wall, forcing my feet to carry me forward to them. The dreamlord’s hand found mine like always, like two magnets drawn to each other, and I squeezed it while looking up into Hob’s eyes. He raised a brow, playful with light dancing in the brown of his irises and grinned, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The human, the immortal, and the King of Dreams. What an odd group. And with that, I stood on my toes and kissed him, feeling the warmth of his skin and the texture of his stubble against me. His mouth was soft and sweet, pressing against mine with a sigh while his free hand tangled in my long hair. This kiss was different from all the others before. Not sexual or desperate or pushing for more. He kissed me like he was savoring my taste, committing the feel of it to memory. Morpheus’ hand tightened in mine, his other clasped in Hob’s still. My fingers traced the edge of the immortal’s chin, savoring the feel of the coarse hair against them, breathing him in. He tasted of coffee and cinnamon and I’d never get enough. He tasted of home. Breaking to take a breath, he stayed pressed against me and gave me a big grin, thumb tracing my cheek with the hand still in my hair. He kissed my forehead and brow and nose before giving me another sweet kiss on my lips. I laughed. I smiled up at him and caught Morpheus’ eye, his gaze soft and full of stars as he looked at us both. “The three of us are going to be such a disaster,” I laughed, pressing my head to Hob’s chin, “But you two are my disasters.” And it was true. I never thought I would love both of them, have room enough in my heart for two people, but somehow this worked. So we stood there, hands in each other’s, sharing smiles and kisses and love.

[murmuur-vanilja]

RE: Finland

Some people say we never know we're happy until we lose the happiness. That's a sad perspective on life that might hold a bit of truth, but that truth is not inherent to the so-called "human condition", I don't think so. Rather, you might call it a reflection of how the society I live in has overglorified being absent from the present. Waiting on and on for a future that doesn't come, longing on a past that barely was here. In fact, there is something radical to claiming back the free use of your time; resting is revolutionary. So are my introducing thoughts to this open letter I write as I sit in a plane back to my birth country. It isn't somewhere that I'm particularly attached to politically, nor in terms of identity. In fact, as a black person born in Europe and detached from what I consider my culture, I've often felt lost. I thank internet for meeting some people who, although not from the culture I consider my own, showed me a lot about an identity that feels more like home. I feel closer to being at peace, and yet that means I'm angrier than ever. I suppose these are two elements that create an ongoing fight in terms of transmisogynoir; love and rage, radical and pushing against an oppressive policing, both feelings connecting us to years of history.

And so I went to college abroad. Although most people around me might think this has been a negative experience, and that I couldn't wait to go back to somewhere that feels more familiar, I would have to nuance the take. Of course, I've been through literal trauma as I "won" an entirely new phobia, and of course, we could talk about the pitiful state of the apartment I rented, of the sheer amount of whiteness and xenophobia that was seriously aggressive in the way that I couldn't even access to most things, and we could talk about the lack of communication, and we could talk about the racist landlord, and we could mention how the situation of systemic ableism and racism made me unable to care for my neighbour who seemed to be stuck in a home she didn't belong in, and we could mention all of that. But that's not all there has been, although all of that is more than enough to rightfully give in to anger. And so I went to college abroad. I still hate school, in personal ways, yes, but also because we need to abolish it along education [as the unredeemable concept that it is]. Still, currently forced to live one way or another, I appreciate how I manage to hang on. I shouldn't have to, but there is eventually this mixed feeling of pride about survival. "I did it." It would've been easier for somebody else, could've barely been an accomplishment for some people I resent, and would've been impossible for other people I'm closer to. And that's not to say I'm a special individual; it's barely an acknowledgement that under current conditions, there are possibilities that simply don't exist. I'm happy I'm doing well enough not to have to worry as much as some of my friends, and yet I grieve the thought. There are good aspects to the way uni worked here. I was freer in my essays, and those were my very first, I believe. I realised once again and further how much we'd like me not to write what I write. They'd want me to abandon the communities I've been longing for, and finding bits and pieces of on Twitter, making me feel closer to home. They'd want me to say we're wrong, to elevate me into a true academic; to appeal to the white leftist. And so I wrote, but I wrote that they were wrong. I wrote of psychiatric abuse, and I wrote of African genders, and I wrote of intersex liberation, and I wrote of youth oppression. Some didn't like it. For most, I even had to tame my own speech without conceding too much. One called me out on a lack of "proper sources": but academia is white, and there is an ongoing effort for "proper" (i.e. "academically acceptable", i.e. classism that necessarily intersects with everything else) sources to be regulated in dominating ways. Still, I was freer to write, and some appreciated it. I want to keep going that way. I'll make it hard for myself, and I know how I could make it easier and "succeed". But I don't want to succeed; success as we know it is lonely and a betrayal. No, I want to be a failure together. Maybe that's how I'd describe my idea of practising anarchy. Let's be losers, as they call it, because the cores hidden behind those things they discourage are based. Let's be childish, let's be fools. Mostly, it isn't so much that Finland taught me something, rather than it was a context that triggered something in me. My fiction writing started changing too. I used to know what I wanted to write, without knowing what I wanted to give. I know now. I want to give hope and I want to create seeds of radicalism. I can't force people to take them in and water them. I can't, and I don't want to: I've grown because I was challenged, not because I was worshipped. I'm a weird guy treated as a subhuman subject of experiments who can barely exists "IRL"; semi-verbal, still masks in face of eugenism, low physical strength. So I know I won't be the guy who shoots a brick at the government and burns it down. But those are not the only people we need, and that's why we should have each other too. I'll be somewhere else. I'm only at ease with drama [theatre] and writing. Although I'm sincere when I play, it's a role, and role doesn't have to be negative here. So I want to play teaching without being a teacher [without the authority of school, as much as possible]. And I want to write and write, both in uni and in fiction; I want to make that knowledge accessible and unapologetic. I am working on fiction projects, and I genuinely think they're going somewhere good, and every day contributes to shaping it better. I don't want us to ever shut the fuck up. I've grown. And I still grow. That's why I'll never be a grown-up, I don't have that kind of oppressive pretentiousness. Unfortunately, that also means it gets harder sometimes. I'm sorry, I can't be happy about half-accomplishments for the queern't whities we obtained well over 50 years ago any more. I don't long for a past that was never there to begin with now. I'm sorry, I can't be happy about assimilationism any more. I don't long for a future where I betray everyone and will most likely still die because I could never actually be assimilated. There are many things I want to do once I touch land again, in about two hours as I write this. One thing is sure, I'm happier than I ever was, and I want to acknowledge it right now, not after becoming unhappy. But do know that it's not greediness when I say I want more. No, it's our rights, and I'm tired of waiting to be nicely handed them. I'm happy, but not satisfied. Thanks to everyone who has ever been present in my life and influenced me for the better. Thanks to those who are currently here. Today, I smile as I go through clouds and see the sun shine, and yet, may tomorrow the sun be shinier.

June 6th. 8:33-9:32 PM.

[hanasnx]

hey guys i just had a friendship anniversary with both @6september and @xstarkillerx in the last couple days and i just wanna say it’s been such an honor running this blog and the new friends i’ve made along the way. both are exceptional people that i would never have had the pleasure of meeting without this blog tbh it made it possible. it reached for me, and im just enjoying the spoils. the fact that both of these people aren’t just internet friends to me, it’s like i’ve met them in person.

already it’s been a year of taking this account and my passion for fanfiction seriously and giving it a real shot here and i see all the good thats come out of it. i love this blog, i love writing, i love seeing everyone’s support. thank you so much for enjoying my content, it makes all the difference in the world to me. it’s hard for me to be vulnerable like this, it’s hard for me to be vocal about what’s important to me without feeling like it’s performative. but this is my blog, and this deserves to be on it.

mel, you reached out to me saying you wanted to be my best friend. neither of us could’ve known how true that would be, how well we’d meld together. i appreciate you and who you are as a person. all our facetimes and our world building over text is a bonding experience i cherish and think of so often. i think of you and how loving you are. you have such a great capacity for love, mel. so much so it overwhelms you, spills out of you and touches me. i’ve opened my home up to you man, i trust you. i remember how nervous i was when we’d decided to show each other our faces, how worried i was that you’d see me differently bcos instead of an entity on the internet i now had an identity to you. we couldn’t hide behind screens anymore, but i’m so glad we decided to go for it. you’re so beautiful, i love your smile. all i do is try to make you smile. i love the pictures you send me, the efforts to show me where you live and what you love. i remember how the first day you reached out, we’d talked every day since then for months. didn’t take long at all before we exchanged personal numbers bcos of how much trust was there already, how we’d built it up over that course. i felt so comfortable with you, something about you puts me at ease.

donnie, i was so drawn to you and your energy just from anon messages you’d send me. i adored your shamelessness, how unafraid and unapologetic you were. i was ecstatic to see you made a blog of your own to reveal to me so i could interact with you more directly. i remember how i played it so i didn’t come off as obsessed with you and was trying to gain your friendship in an organic way. but all along you were doing the same with me in a funny little dance. i care about what you say, i love the way your brain works. you influence me, and you inspire me. the safe space we’ve created together to let our minds wander has been a creative license i would not trade for anything. pushing me out of my comfort zone even if you don’t realize you do it, all because you give me the space to do it. history has been made and altered in our discord chats, teaching me a level of nuance ive since added to my own writing. the power of subtext is a gift you’ve given me. and the power to know i’ll be understood when saying so little because you understand me past words. the laughter we share every time we talk means the world to me. you make me laugh so much. one of the first real times we talked was a phone call that lasted 25 hours. that was fckn crazy.

idk. just. friendship anniversaries are crazy to me. i feel like i met you both just a couple months ago

[what-gs-watching]

“Sunlight over me, no matter what I do.”

This week on what G’s watching - what G’s listening to. 

This is exciting!

Gang, I told you content is how I apparently digest my feelings, and a big ol’ part of that is music. Always has been, my dad has this crazy extensive collection of albums. When I was a kid he always had something on in the car, or playing from the old stereo in our living room. One of my favorite memories is listening to the Beatles’ White Album with him on long afternoons. He’d let me dance around on his feet, and we’d sing every single one, I was the eight year old who knew the entire thing by heart.

Music is a core fucking memory for me, it’s my dad in a nutshell. I remember one year for Christmas, he gave me a bunch of burned cd’s - all of the Beatles broken up by time period, Cat Stevens, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell,  a set of discs that included the top songs broken out by month between 1964 and 1968, six in total. The tracks, he told me eventually, perfectly encapsulated the way those different seasons felt to him - The March/April disc really feels like springtime.

If you knew my dad, you’d know that the effort he put into it was much  more than his usual Christmas attempts, which were: my mother buying the gifts and then writing his name on the tag. 

So the point is: music can be an incredible thing and it’s a large part of who I am. I could write an entire post about all of that (and one about the Beatles, and one about Paul McCartney specifically, and one about Adele, and one about Bo Burham…see, I’m nuanced)  but I won’t. Right now, at least. 

Because I want to talk about Fleet Foxes. Specifically, Helplessness Blues.

This album came into my life at a weird time, I’d moved to a new city and was working my first ever real tech job and I was living with my sister, trying to figure my shit out. Which involved coworker-turned-friend drama because at the time I was absolutely not the best person, and it was very early 20’s of me. You know, when everything feels frenetic and you aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to be doing with your life, so you’re just…doing random things, all the things. 

Which made me extremely susceptible to the creeping kind of darkness infused with hope the album has. I have a penchant for indie folk bands. I can’t help it. I fucking love guitar and thrumming drums with violins and shit. It just feels real to me. Authentic. Organic.

So it’s no wonder Fleet Foxes pulled me. I had a couple of their other songs on random playlists but had never attempted to listen to their first release. And then one day I was getting my oil changed, sitting in the waiting room and I read a review of Helplessness Blues in a magazine, probably Rolling Stone. I immediately bought it, which wasn’t really like me at the time - I was deep into stitching together random lists on my ipod, pulling tracks from all over the place, but I felt like I had to.  Thankfully.

I don’t know what it is about this album, but it’s the perfect mix of mauldin, shiny, twisted, uneasy, exciting, overwhelming. It feels like there’s a story to it, it’s cohesive and purposeful, but I couldn’t tell you what the narrative actually is. And that’s probably the point. It’s whatever the story is to you, and man this album for me is angst and questioning and accepting. It’s become one of those perfect albums you can listen to, never skipping a track, because they’re always a little different depending on the mood you’re in.

And right now, I'm in a weird mood. I’m lost in my life again, and angst sounds about right, so I put the album  on this afternoon after I’d finished my unemployment application and tried to harass the pharmacy for my husband, did some laundry, some dishes, random life things. I decided all I wanted to do with my Friday was chill the fuck out, blast Helplessness Blues through my airpods, and just, be with myself, and  something familiar. Inside my own brain, but with something comforting, lulling me in the background. 

I wanted to wrap myself up in something, and this was the perfect choice. Apparently one of my coping mechanisms is to just put some music on and let it overwhelm me, turning the volume up as high as I can tolerate, and singing along as needed at the top of my lungs. It’s honestly therapeutic. 

That’s what Helplessness Blues is good for. Because it’s quite a production. You can get lost in the story and it’ll morph into whatever you need at the time. Today it’s a squirming  sense of unease, but also triumph. It’s so good.

I could probably talk about all of the tracks, I’m not going to lie, but that sounds exhausting; they’re still lulling my brain right now and I don’t feel like I could pick out each one well enough, they flow together too well. 

However, The Shrine / The Argument is fucking ambitious. It’s so many different things all at once and it’s almost confusing as one song but eventually it’s really, really not. It’s weird and it ends with a horrible cacophony but then delivers really soft and agonizing violins. It has some of my favorite lyrics from the entire album:

In the morning waking up to terrible sunlight / All diffuse like skin abuse the sun is half its size

When you talk you hardly even look in my eyes

In the doorway holding every letter that I wrote / In the driveway pulling away putting on your coat

In the ocean washing off my name from your throat

Because, who hasn’t felt like that? It’s a really specific loss. How else can you say something like that? 

This is clearly getting away from me, but that’s okay. This is what I wanted to do today. I don’t do this very often, Helplessness Blues isn’t in my regular rotation, because it deserves to be listened to and I don’t always have that kind of time. I’m thankful that I do today though, I’m almost through my second rotation, and it's helping. I’m updating the story that it is, for me. Next time I listen to it, it’ll remind me of this stupid thing I’m going through and all that I am right now, a little bit. 

For example: listening to Blue Spotted Tail was very Crowley and Aziraphale today.  That’s apparently where I am, so now it’s part of the story. 

Why in the night sky are the lights hung? Why is the earth movin’ around the sun? Floating in the vacuum with no purpose not a one…

Poor little Antony J.

 Why is life made only for to end? Why do I do all this waiting then? Why this frightened part of me that's fated to pretend?

So. If you need to feel ways about things (we all do, now and again, right) this album will do it for you. And this is a terrible love letter to it, but just…trust me.

[astralbooks]

Lucha of the Night Forest by Tehlor Kay Mejia

Read: 23/03/2023 - 25/03/2023

Rating: 3/5

Rep: Latinx coded setting and cast, lesbian main character, sapphic love interest, f/f relationship

CW: drug use & addiction, child abandonment, child abuse & neglect, threat of sexual assault from an authority figure, on page death, death of a parent (in backstory), fantasy violence, kidnapping, imprisonment, possession, very brief reference to suicide

Review:

Lucha lives in a town on the edge of the Bosque de la Noche, the Night Forest, taking contracts to hunt the monsters within in order to make ends meet for her and her younger sister whenever their mother fails to come home. When Lucha discovers a magical power within herself, she makes a desperate deal with a mysterious figure only she can see, grabs her sister Lis, and flees into the forest along with a girl who worships a goddess who, according to forbidden myth, opposes the figure that Lucha’s deal is with. As Lucha sets about fulfilling her end of the bargain she gradually comes to understand what exactly she’s gotten herself into, and has to decide how far she’ll go to save the forest and the rest of the world.

A lot of this book is set either in or near the forest, and it was a really cool setting! Lucha’s abilities mean she can effectively communicate with the forest and all that resides within it. Whether the forest is willing to listen to her is another matter entirely, and her control over her abilities and the stability of the link between herself and the forest is something that Lucha struggles with throughout the book.

Something I thought was really interesting about this book was the exploration of the fallout of having been failed by a parent. Lucha and Lis’ mother isn’t there for them, succumbing to addiction instead, meaning Lucha has to take responsibility for her and Lis’ well-being from a very young age and directly leading into the book’s inciting incident. If their mother had been there for them, they wouldn’t have needed to flee. Lucha is angry at her mother for all of this, which is understandable. However as the book goes on she comes to understand her mother’s actions a lot more. I liked how Lucha’s perspective on the situation develops, and I liked that this doesn’t end up swinging to the other extreme and being a case of the abused child forgiving their parent simply because they’re their parent. Nuance!

A key theme of this book is the outright rejection of fate and destiny. Lucha could be seen as a chosen one, but it’s strongly established that she’s a chosen one because she chooses to step up. She could choose not to. She has that option. She’s not the only hope the world will ever have, there will be others with her ability and she could leave the situation for them to resolve when their time comes. I thought this was an interesting take on the chosen one trope that I’m sure people will enjoy!

I liked the note the romantic relationship between Lucha and Pax was left on, but I can see why others might not like it as much. If you like your books to finish with a neat bow and a happily ever after then this one’s more open ending might not be for you.

Considering how important the relationship between Lucha and Lis is supposed to be, and how much of the story hinges on it, I would’ve liked to actually see more of it. The biggest interaction we see between the girls before things kick off in earnest is a fight, and then due to plot reasons they don’t ever get to just exist and interact with each other as they naturally would. I think their bond would’ve been more believable and hard hitting if we’d been able to see more of them actually getting along and being sisters. Similarly, there’s an antagonistic character near the start who’s said to be an old childhood friend of Lucha’s, but the rare sentences we get about their childhood friendship isn’t enough for the reader to feel the true weight of the betrayal that Lucha must be feeling. I just wanted a little more depth from these relationships.

If you’re looking for a book with a creepy living forest or with a unique approach to the chosen one trope then consider checking this one out!

Thank you to Make Me A World and TBR and Beyond Tours for having me on this tour! You can find the full tour schedule here and the rest of my tour stop here

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #649

Top Ten Interpretations of Transformers

Do you know what I love? I love Transformers. I always have; there’s very little of my life where I wasn’t enjoying those big ol’ stompy robots in disguise, one way or another. I have a comic dated February 1985, when I was only just three. It’s been there all along, like Agatha Harkness (who, funnily enough, was also in disguise, and also had a bangin’ theme tune).

Anyway, one of the things about Transformers as a franchise is, really, it’s just a bunch of toys. There isn’t that one central storyline the way there broadly is in most other long-running franchises; Star Wars is (basically) all one thing; Marvel and DC comics have (basically) one core comic book storyline as well as all the various spin-offs and adaptations; even stuff like Turtles or My Little Pony, which have also had multiple reboots and varied continuities, seem to keep a lot of the basics, or at least don’t continuously contradict each other. Transformers, though, has so many different interpretations; if you ask something relatively straightforward, such as “how did the war start”, “why do they transform”, or even “where did they come from in the first place”, it’s impossible to give an answer without qualifying that it’s only true for some versions. What’s Vector Sigma versus the Creation Matrix versus the Allspark? Who knows? Who cares?

As it’s the fab bot-and-convention TF Nation this weekend, I thought I’d take a moment to celebrate my favourites of all these random, disparate, contradictory realities; what with Deadpool & Wolverine slicing up audiences like nobody’s business, it feels like a very good time to journey through the multiverse again, this time hopping from one Transformers verse to another like a giant metaphysical frog.

What am I on about?

Basically, this week’s list is me looking back on my favourite versions of Transformers, from comics to TV and (potentially) movies. I’ve not included toylines, as I sort of don’t think that counts really without a storyline behind it; and I would have included games, but I never got on with what I’d say is the really big “games-only” Transformers story, the War for Cybertron games, so that’s out. So: stuff to read and watch, essentially. And there is absolutely no surprise over what looms large in my psyche, like a giant predatory bird.

That’s all there is to it. Do you really want me to say it? Sigh… okay.

Roll out.

IDW Volume 1 (comics, 2005-2018): Of course it’s this. What else could it be? At thirteen years, this is probably the longest-running and most consistent Transformers continuity; it’s also the best, offering everything from bombastic action romps to complex and nuanced character arcs to thought-provoking examinations on the concepts and tropes of the franchise itself. From the slow-burn opening arcs to the tragi-comic odyssey of More Than Meets the Eye, this was long-form storytelling at its most impressive; a masterpiece of comic art. Spawned careers and upturned central tenets of the franchise: Megatron being a good guy in the most recent cartoon would not have happened without these comics; I don’t think we’d be getting Impactor and Xaaron toys without these comics. It’s incredibly good.

Marvel UK (comics, 1985-1990): I’m focusing here on the UK-originated stories, which began with Man of Iron (first issue I ever got!) and arguably ended with the text story Dreadwind’s Xmas. In here you have franchise-defining arcs that really helped establish what Transformers was to a lot of readers; long-form epics such as Target: 2006 and Time Wars that delved into places the US version of the comic couldn’t go. Looking back, the timey-wimey weirdness, high body count, and focus on B-and-C-list characters really helped solidify the things I look for in fiction.

Marvel US (comics, 1984-1991): even outside of the (IMO superior) UK-generated stuff, the “main” comic series still ruled. This is the cornerstone, the foundation myth of the entire franchise; this is where most of us get our bedrock knowledge of what a Transformer is, I’d say. Writer Bob Budiansky did a tremendous job wrangling so many characters for so long; once British writer Simon Furman took over (essentially marrying the UK style to the main US stories), it went full-bore apocalyptic. Timeless stuff.

Transformers: Rescue Bots (TV, 2011-2016): my favourite animated series might seem strange; but I applaud it for stepping outside the box, delivering a show for younger kids focused on new characters and scenarios. And, delightfully, it developed its own mythology and sense of style; the inhabitants of Griffin Rock grew into a large cast of beloved faces in that organic Springfield sort of way; and the core four ‘bots are just all-timers in our house.  

The Transformers (TV, 1984-1987): I suppose, really, this is where it all began; the original animated series. For essentially a forty-year-old toy advert, it’s aged pretty well for the most part; some stories are silly, some downright horrendous, but the opening More Than Meets the Eye arc still rocks. The theme tune is iconic. And, of course, this is where we get The Transformers: The Movie; something I’d argue is probably the single most important and formative piece of Transformers fiction. Yes, it’s fun in and of itself, and for its interesting production story; but also it was the seed that bore fruit in so many ways across the franchise for decades to come. Til all are one, indeed.

IDW Volume 2 (comics, 2019-2022): when IDW rebooted their whole universe in 2019, I was a bit nonplussed; you only have to scan your eyes upwards a little bit to see just how much I revered their original incarnation of the franchise. However, writer Brian Ruckley (who seemed to steer most of the story) was able to craft an intriguing and slow-burning plot that showed how various schemes and conspiracies led to the outbreak of war. Sharing DNA with IDW’s first run, I feel it lacked a bit of the heart and the smarts, but it was still a compelling tale.

Transformers: Animated (TV, 2007-2009): another great, fun animated series, and another that sort of reimagined the core of the franchise. Here, a small team of Autobots (with an Optimus who is not the big wise old leader) are, effectively, superheroes, operating on Earth like they’re the Teen Titans or something. A slow arc builds as the war intervenes, but the combination of a new dynamic, funnier and more characterful plots, and especially the kinetic and hard-edged design, makes this a classic.

Transformers: Generation 2 (comics, 1993-1994): it took me a while to warm up to this; like when the first IDW continuity ended, I was so wedded to the original Marvel run that this odd and edgy sequel felt out of place. It wasn’t my Transformers, so I didn’t read it at the time. Now, though, I can look back at it fondly as a timely curio; a gruff, bombastic, violent ode to nineties excess, like a parody of an Image Comics version of the franchise. Explosive and propulsive widescreen entertainment, with some great art.

Dreamwave (comics, 2002-2004): they get a lot of stick, quite rightly, for the way the company was run; and also, to be honest, for the quality of some of their early miniseries. But they really did pull it together; the art improved, the spin-off series were gold (The War Within!), and by the time the ongoing was unjustly cancelled (coz the company ran out of money, basically), it looked like it was going to some good and very interesting places. And really, nothing can compare to the thrill I had of seeing that preview issue in a comic book window at university; here was Transformers, looking like my Transformers, back again.

Live-action universe (movies, from 2007): there was a lot of jostling for the tenth spot here; the new comics continuity, from Skybound, is good but I’m still warming up to it; and the animated EarthSpark has some great concepts and designs but I’ve not really seen enough of it yet. So I’m going with the live-action continuity, and quite frankly even I’m shocked. Because what we’ve got here are a series of films that are, for the most part, frankly terrible. But. But! The first Transformers (2007) and last year’s Rise of the Beasts are both good fun; explosive, busy films, maybe too long, but still enjoyable and recognisably Transformers. However, I’ll be honest: this is here entirely because of Bumblebee. I wanted to put that one film on its own but felt it wasn’t fair. Perfectly distilling what made Transformers special, the story of one-girl-and-her-car is poignantly, brilliantly old; it’s essentially E.T. with a giant robot Volkswagen. So watch that, it’s great; and if you enjoy it, watch those other two. Skip the rest, though. They’re shite.

So there we are. I kinda wish I’d managed to watch more than the first few eps of EarthSpark; but to be honest I’ve bust a gut to include Bumblebee, because I genuinely think it’s the best non-comics piece of Transformers media ever produced, so even though it’s part of a stable of films I generally do not like, here it is, propping up the list.

Anyway, hope everyone has a good time at TFN this weekend. And, of course, happy fortieth birthday to Transformers as a whole! And here’s to the next forty. Because, after all… it never ends!