#and the grifters are starting to burn out

[werewolf-cuddles]

So I hear the anti-woke outrage content grift is finally starting to die.

Good. Perish.

[volkswagonblues]

a bibliography for us Daniel Malloy freaks

(a loosely pulled-together reading list about print journalism, New York, the 1970s & 80's, and the AIDS Crisis. Most of the credit goes to @islandbetweenrivers who started this)

On Daniel Molloy, California Boy

The show never explicitly states if Daniel went to college, but since college students were exempt from the Vietnam draft, which ended officially in 1973, it could be interesting to imagine Daniel in Berkeley.

Slouching Toward Bethlehem by Joan Didion

The White Album by Joan Didion

Berkeley Barb archives (link) -- weekly underground newspaper that ran in Berkeley between '65 to '80

The Daily Cal First 150 Years (link) -- student newspaper at Berkeley

On Journalism

Iphigenia in Forest Hills by Janet Malcolm

From her reporter's seat, Malcolm observes that a trial is merely "a contest between competing narratives". (Guardian review)

The Journalist and the Murderer by Janet Malcolm

“"Every journalist who is not too stupid or too full of himself to notice what is going on knows that what he does is morally indefensible," wrote Malcolm in an opening sentence that caused a sensation in the tiny, self-referential world of posh American journalism.” (Guardian review)

The Freaks Came Out to Write: The Definitive History of the Village Voice by Trisha Romano

“The Voice’s origins were proudly amateurish. One early contributor was a homeless man recruited from a local street; equipment consisted of two battered typewriters, an ink-splattering mimeograph machine and a waste paper basket for rejected submissions. Morale spiked when a staff member discovered that dried pods used in fancy flower arrangements contained opium, which was boiled up in the office when the time came for a coffee break.” (Guardian review)

Note: The Village Voice was THE alt-weekly newspaper and it was run out of Greenwich Village in NYC. Lots of incredible writers start there and then move onto the Times, Vanity Fair, etc. Very much the sort of crowd a young Daniel would be mixed in circa 70's and 80's.

The Night of the Gun, by David Carr

David Carr redefines memoir with the revelatory story of his years as an addict and chronicles his journey from crack-house regular to regular columnist for The New York Times. Built on sixty videotaped interviews, legal and medical records, and three years of reporting, The Night of the Gun is a ferocious tale that uses the tools of journalism to fact-check the past. (amazing rec from @archive-z)

Note: imagine if Daniel did this and then fact-checked his way into remembering that vampires existed

Rogues: True Stories of Grifters, Killers, Rebels and Crooks by Patrick Radden Keefe

Keefe can paint complicated portraits of victims and vigilantes alike while covering their lonely pursuit of justice. He intuits why a Dutch woman who has exposed the crimes of her gangster brother might lie about her present whereabouts. He understands why a man who lost his brother in an aeroplane bombing might spend the rest of his life trying to find the culprit. Again and again, Keefe surmises that even the most detailed of investigations can only speculate about human motives. (Guardian review)

Note: the sort of deeply human longform profiles that feels like the sort of writing Daniel does, based on his masterclass clip and what he reveals in his interactions with Louis

On New York, New York (in the 70s)

Notes from Underground, by Eric Bogosian + Perforated Heart, by Eric Bogosian

In four billion years the sun will explode. But before that we'll run out of fresh water and before that we'll all die of some mutation of AIDS that's spread by coughing. It's not my fault anyway. I can't think about this any more today. I'm going to masturbate.

Note: The OG. What else is there to say.

Ladies and Gentleman, the Bronx is Burning: 1977, Baseball, Politics, and the Battle for the Soul of a City by Jonathan Mahler

In the long sweep of American history, of course, 1977 is not exactly 1865, 1941, 1968 or 2001. Yet from porn shops to gay bathhouses, from Yankee Stadium to City Hall, from the blackout to Son of Sam, from Rupert Murdoch's New York Post to the rise of SoHo and Studio 54, the city was living through what Mahler convincingly calls "a transformative moment . . . a time of decay but of rehabilitation as well.” (New York Times review)

Remain in Love: Talking Heads, Tom Tom Club, Tina, by Chris Franz (2020)

Frantz’s account of the early days, when the Heads lived in the pre-gentrified Lower East Side of New York, an almost literal war zone. While searching for a loft to live in, they viewed one building that was on fire. One spring afternoon, Frantz walked over to the now-legendary club CBGB to ask for a gig. The place smelt of “beer, roach spray, dog doo [the owner, Hilly Kristal, had a free-roaming saluki] and Chanel No 5”.

Winter’s Journal, by Paul Auster

Note: To me, Auster is one of the closest real-life Daniel Malloy analogues: born around 1950, literary career in NYC, moved to Paris in the 1970s for a few years, troubled middle-class background. Novelist though, not a journalist. There’s an anecdote in this book about a car crash that feels like a deadass Devil’s Minion fever dream. Crazy stuff. One of my personal favourites

On the AIDS Crisis

And the Band Played On, by Randy Shilts

The book chronicles the discovery and spread of the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) and acquired immune deficiency syndrome (AIDS) with a special emphasis on government indifference and political infighting—specifically in the United States—to what was then perceived as a specifically gay disease

The Journalist of Castro Street: The Life of Randy Shilts, by Andrew E. Stoner

Biography of Randy Shilts that’s very helpful for imagining Daniel in the early 1980s newsrooms covering Karposi’s sarcoma

How to Survive a Plague: The Story of How Activists and Scientists Tamed AIDS by David France (2017)

It’s not easy to balance solid journalism with intimate understanding of a subject, and even harder to write eloquently about a disease that’s killing your friends and loved ones. France pulls it off, in his own words (his description of finding a college roommate’s panel in the AIDS Memorial Quilt is heartbreaking) and in letting his articulate sources speak for themselves. (SF Gate review)

Timeline of AIDS (link)

Overview of HIV (link)

And some films, just for fun

The Panic in Needle Park (1971): Drama film directed by Jerry Schatzberg. Al Pacino is a heroin addict and small-time dealer in Manhattan who falls in love with another addict.

Serpico (1973): biographical crime drama film directed by Sidney Lumet. Al Pacino is a hippie cop (yes, I know, its part of the plot) with one foot in the 1970s bohemian art scene

American Graffiti (1973): teen movie set in 1973 Modesto ("I'm just a shitty kid from Modesto"--Danny Malloy)

The Taking of Pelham 123 (1974): More grimy 1970s NYC stuff

All the President’s Men (1976): THE ABSOLUTE JOURNALISM MOVIE??

Star Wars: A New Hope (1977)

Cruising (1980): 1980 crime thriller written and directed by William Friedkin. Al Pacino is a cop (again) but this time he goes undercover in NYC gay leather clubs

Almost Famous (2000): Set in 1973, it chronicles the funny and often poignant coming of age of 15-year-old William, an unabashed music fan who gets the chance to write for Rolling Stone

Spotlight (2015): More journalism movies! The true story of how the Boston Globe uncovered the massive scandal of child molestation and cover-up within the local Catholic Archdiocese

everyone say thank you to @islandbetweenrivers for starting this, I just polished up our google docs and posted it on tumblr.

Also if anyone has something to add please let me know!

[rynnthefangirl]

Things Ford can and should be blamed for:

Holding a grudge against his brother breaking his project for 40+ years and never once checking on Stan to make sure he was okay after Stan was literally made homeless at 18.

Completely falling for Bill’s lies just because he fed his ego, and subsequently building a portal to the nightmare realm that nearly destroyed the entire world.

Ignoring Fiddleford’s warnings and then causing Fiddleford trauma that led to him frying his own mind in an attempt to cope with it all.

Trying to still preserve his research even after realizing Bill’s true plans instead of just playing it safe and burning it all to ensure nobody can ever complete Bills work.

Making very little effort to reconcile with Stan upon returning to Gravity Falls, giving in to his pettiness and bitterness and not acknowledging all that Stan did to save him.

Projecting his own experiences onto Dipper, and trying to push Dipper onto a life path that would be very detrimental to his social and emotional development.

Not telling Stan and Mabel about the rift to ensure that they know to be on guard against Bill’s attempts to get it.

Things Ford should not be blamed for:

Being upset with Stan for costing him his dream school and believing that Stan may have done it on purpose. Not sticking up for Stan in the moment as he is reeling from what he believes to have been a huge betrayal.

No using his research grant money-- which is specifically for doing scientific research-- in order to financially support his brother.

Giving Stan the journal to go hide away and not prioritizing Stan’s feelings and wants while in the midst of a psychological breakdown due to Bill’s torment and threats.

Being angry at Stan both for pushing him in the portal and also reopening the portal, thereby creating a rift that Bill can use to invade their world.

Wanting to shut down the Mystery Shack and take his house and life back.

Messing up the Zodiac circle (my Stan twins hot take).

Things Stan can and should be blamed for:

Assuming things would be okay with Ford’s project and not informing Ford about what happened.

Dismissing Ford’s valid anger and hurt after losing his shot at West Coast Tech and instead making the situation about himself and their treasure hunting plans.

Again making things about himself when Ford tries to get his help with hiding Journal 1. Not putting aside his own feelings when he sees how distressed and mentally unhinged Ford is, instead provoking him and starting/continuing the fight that leads to Ford being sucked into the portal.

Breaking the zodiac circle by pettily insisting on a thank you when the fate of the world is at stake, and then punching Ford when Ford responds pettily in kind.

Things Stan should not be blamed for:

Becoming a criminal grifter in order to survive after being kicked out and disowned by his own family.

Not reaching out to Ford during their 10+ years apart because he doesn’t know how he’ll be received. Also being hurt and angry that Ford never reached out until he needed something.

Taking Ford’s identity so that he can keep his house and work on the portal.

Creating the Rift by bringing Ford back (Ford being angry is understandable because of how big a threat Bill is, but the warnings were written in invisible ink and he didn’t explain the full situation to Stan, so that fault really isn’t on Stan).

Trying to keep the kids away from Ford.

Being angry at Ford for continuing to hold 40+ year old grudges, rebuking Stan’s attempt at reconciliation, and refusing to thank him.

[terapsina]

Now that the writers and actors strike is about to begin being felt (and as we wait for those greedy billion dollar companies who are refusing to negotiate fair pay and conditions to give up) here's 10 of my favorite (all around best) fully finished older series you should definitely check out if you haven't watched.

I mean it, these are the shows with continuously great writing and a satisfying endings that manage to actually deliver on their promises.

-----

1. Leverage - (containing 5 seasons, or 77 episodes) - trailer here.

Hitter, Hacker, Grifter, Thief and Mastermind. Heists and cons. Stealing from the rich and giving to their victims. They provide... leverage.

Meant for anyone who enjoys bad guys being the best good guys, who will burn down the lives of evil CEOs and then gloat in the background. Very satisfying.

Hands down the best example of a found family trope I've ever seen on screen. Barring none.

2. Killjoys - (containing 5 seasons, or 50 episodes) - trailer here.

Space Bounty Hunters. Another case of found family trope. Bisexual space princess assassin. Quippy sentient ship. Green alien goo. Evil lesbians (but like... in a good way). The warrant is all.

More seriously though, it's a story about three killjoys and the bounties they go after. Initially. And then they have to save the entire Quad from some very terrifying... stuff.

Contains one of the best friendships I've ever seen on television.

3. Orphan Black - (containing 5 seasons, or 50 episodes) - trailer here.

Found family trope but with clones.

Low level grifter sees a woman who looks exactly like her kill herself and plans to take over her identity long enough to cash out. Except then there's two other women who also look exactly like her. And apparently they're all clones and someone's killing them.

Enter a global conspiracy. Human experimentation. Lots of clone shenanigans. Some serial killings. And a few murders 💖.

4. Person of Interest - (containing 5 seasons, or 103 episodes) - trailer here.

Okay I'm beginning to see how I might have a found family trope issue.

Former CIA agent gets recruited by a reclusive billionaire computer programmer who developed a... machine that can predict acts of terror before they happen. But it also predicts 'irrelevant' acts of violence that will result in someone's death.

Unless someone interferes.

I'd really like to spoil some stuff to get you all to watch this one. But I'm going to maintain self control and just mention that early on they get a dog named Bear. Bear is a very good boy. Watch it for Bear.

Also for excellent commentary on rights of privacy, government surveillance and what does 'greater good' even mean? But mostly Bear.

5. 12 Monkeys - (containing 4 seasons, or 47 episodes) - trailer here.

The very best time travel show out there. What starts out as a confusing mess of causality basically exploding, by the end of the series all makes complete and total sense.

(when that final timey-whimey loop slid into place and revealed the entire pattern it was like a choir of angels started singing in the back of my head. It was freaking glorious).

Anyway, a man from a post apocalyptic future travels into the past to stop a plague from decimating nearly the entire world population.

He has the name of the man who released the virus and it's supposed to be a single trip. One trip. One bullet. Simple. Done.

Except then things keep escalating, and escalating until time begins eating its own tail and it might start looking like the end of the world might be a better ending than erasing all of time and space from reality.

Because when our guys screw it up, they screw it up GOOD.

And oh yeah... found family.

6. The Good Place - (containing 4 seasons, or 53 episodes) - trailer here.

A self-proclaimed Arizona dirtbag opens her eyes and finds out that she's dead and got accepted in the Good Place. Except that as soon as she arrives the Good Place starts glitching, and she really, REALLY needs to become a better person before she can be found out and kicked out to the Bad Place.

Luckily her assigned soulmate was a professor of ethics and moral philosophy.

One of the funniest, most thoughtful and clever comedies I've ever watched. Ever. The characters are delightful and by the time the final minute rolled around I had sobbed my heart out multiple times (which, as we all know, is a sign of the very best comedies out there).

As for the question of whether or not this too contains Found Fami- Yes! Obviously, yes.

7. Avatar: the Last Airbender - (containing 3 seasons, or 61 episodes) - intro here (couldn't locate the trailer but it's basically the same thing in this case).

The four nations lived in harmony. Until the Fire Nation attacked.

It's been a hundred years since the beginning of the war when two kids from the Southern Water Tribe find a boy frozen in ice and wake him up. A boy who's able to bend all four elements... though not very well.

Enter multi-nation flying road trip (thank you Appa, we love you most of all) as they try to find teachers for the Avatar and save the world.

Includes found family (shut up), amazing fight scenes, the most heartfelt and vivid characters ever, and the best example of a redemption arc actually done well.

8. Love Between Fairy and Devil - (containing 1 season, or 36 episodes) - trailer here.

This one gutted me. I'm saying this as a compliment. But it had to be said. Completely destroyed me. I just haven't been the same.

A love story between an Orchid Fairy and the leader of the Moon Tribe that starts out with her accidentally releasing him from millennia long imprisonment and then takes you through the caleidoscope of all possible human emotions (it's a body-swap comedy through the first part, then a romcom, then a dramatic romantic tale, and finally a tragic love story).

But it's such a satisfying slow burn.

And it carries this... humanity through the whole thing that makes it so visceral.

If you're a romantic who's very tired of instalove and characters dropping all their morals because 'ooh, attractive person' then you've got to watch this. Because this story does NOT take the easy road there.

(my more extensive rec for this series can be found here)

9. Star Wars: The Clone Wars - (containing 7 seasons, or 133 episodes) - fanmade trailer here (it was better than any of the official ones).

This series did so much. Introduced Ahsoka Tano, and made us love her. Gave names and faces and souls to the Clone Troopers (okay, it's the same face but you know what I mean), to a point where their endings during Order 66 destroyed me just as much as the ending of the Jedi Order. And somehow made me both love Anakin AND be a million times more angry with him.

There are some arcs in this series that might be a bit weaker. But there were some... god, there's a reason I love Clone Wars more than any other series or trilogy in this universe. And I'm not even a little ashamed to say it.

Must watch for Disaster Lineage shenanigans; for the vod'e; AND for the Jedi (who did their best okay? They always did their best 😭💔).

(and on the subject of found family... do I even need to comment)

10. Nikita - (containing 4 seasons, or 73 episodes) - trailer here.

A rogue assassin that escaped Division - covert government agency that takes recruits out of prison, fakes their deaths and then forces them to become spies and assassins - has come back to take it down. Brick by brick if she has to. With guns and explosives too when that works better.

Contains soooo many cool fight scenes. Is full of incredible characters you'll fall in love with (and hate with) very quickly. And most of all has an incredibly complex relationship of mentorship and friendship between two women that holds both great admiration and betrayal, real care and love as well as rage and hatred, forgiveness, mutual respect and an unbreakable kind of bond that so very rarely involves even one female character on TV, let alone two.

(as usual, found family tropes up the wazzoo).

-----

In conclusion. We all know there's going to be a large space between seasons of our favorite shows now (and some shows that aren't going to survive it). Let's fill that space with some excellent TV we haven't had a chance to see yet.

And direct the blame for the wait towards the right place (i.e. the studios).

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Longing

~ Van Der Linde gang/Male!Reader

~ Platonic

~ 2.1k words

Request :3

....................................................................................................

Two thousand, three hundred fifty-seven days. Six whole years since you’ve started working with the Braithwaites. Six years since your friends– your family, left you behind. You were nothing more than a grifter now. Picking up odd job after odd job for money; working at every beck and call at the hand of Catherine Braithwaite.

In a sense, you owed her. All those years ago, you had gone on a heist with the Van Der Linde gang. You were in charge of planning everything out. From the positions of everyone in the gang, to the escapes, to the successes, and the probable failures. Unfortunately, somehow, there was an outcome you never even considered.

They knew you were coming. To try and help your family make it out alive, you had to play the hero. Take the downfall and let them all escape with the promise of following them immediately after. 

Unfortunately, you were caught. You hadn’t the slightest clue on how long had passed of nothing but hell. Beaten, stabbed, cut, shot, kicked, bitten, starved… all until the Braithwaites found you after you barely managed to escape– your life hanging on by a thread.

They took you in for a price. They would watch over you until you were stable again as well as provide you a stable income if you worked for them. They were the equivalent to Satan’s hemorrhoid covered in burning moonshine embodied, but you didn’t have much of a choice. Adapt or die.

Day after day. Night after night; you were the property of the Braithwaite family. You had fallen from bad to worse. You knew some of the names of the family you had loved so dearly, but their faces escaped you. That was devastating to you. You weren’t even sure where to consider searching for them. You weren’t sure if your sacrifice had meant nothing and they all died anyway. Often spending your days drinking to be able to focus on the task at hand.

To your dismay, one of the devils that had crawled out of Catherine’s rotten womb had come to find you again. You had never cared to remember their names. They were the scum of the Earth and not worth remembering– though, they thought the same of you.

Dragging you back into that wretched manor by the scruff of your neck and, thankfully, you didn’t have to head inside too far. Catherine was sitting on her wrinkled ass in the front room as she watched her sons pace and ramble at one another. Her gaze is drawn to you as soon as you’re shoved inside by her third son.

“Ah, you’re back… good.” She mutters, though her tone is hardly friendly. “Yeah, yeah.. What’d you want?” you grumble in response. Glaring at her son briefly as you adjust the collar of your shirt before folding your arms over your chest, looking back towards Catherine.

“I thought I told you to watch that tone of yours, boy. Bartholomew here would have no problem sending you right back the way you came all that time ago.” You roll your eyes with a frustrated sigh, but you don’t argue nor call her bluff.

“Now then. Couple ‘a vermin took some of my shine. I want you to go hunt ‘em down and get it back.” Catherine all but demands before waving you off like some mutt, but you don’t leave quite yet. “How the hell am I s’posed to find ‘em?”

She stares at you like you’re the stupidest man she’s ever met before she sighs in annoyance. “Saw ‘em heading out of town.” one of her sons chime in, once again poking into a conversation where they aren’t wanted. You glance over towards him, considering your options for a moment, before looking back towards Catherine, staring down the bridge of her nose at you.

You grumble an acceptance to the task under your breath and turn on your heel to leave the room. Pulling your sidearm out of its holster and checking how many bullets you have in the chamber, not bothering to look up as you head outside. The Braithwaites’ doormen doing their jobs and holding things open for you.

Stuffing your gun back into its holster, you walk down the steps and over towards one of Catherine’s horses. She hates you borrowing them, but you don’t have much of a choice. Your own horse is still remaining near the parlour house you were dragged from.

Gently extending your hand open palm towards the horse so as to not scare it and allowing it to smell your hand. Your other hand working to untie the reins from the hitch rail. You weren’t the most knowledgeable on horses, but you knew enough to get around and manage them properly.

Guiding your hand over the horse’s mane as you stick your boot into one of the stirrups. Bringing your body weight over the saddle and tucking your other boot into the stirrup on the other side. With a pat to the horse’s neck in praise for not bucking you off, you command the horse into a trot and controlling where it heads with both hands on the reins. Your body rocking with the steady gait of the horse.

Assuming this was just another case with the Lemoyne Raiders, you had your guard up more than usual. You’ve had to deal with them more times than you can count. Mostly on the behalf of the Braithwaites, but dealt with nonetheless.

As you ride through town, you’re sure to take your sweet ass time. While the Braithwaites pay you, it’s not nearly enough to ensure a quality job gets done. She’ll be lucky if it gets done in the next few days.

Just as you’re about to head into a clearing just outside of Rhodes, you’re stopped by a rugged looking man pointing his gun at you. Taking quick notice of his attire, your eyes fall onto the deputy badge he’s wearing before looking him in the eye again. “What can I help you with, friend?”

“The hell’re you doin’ out here, friend? You ain’t got no business here” The man responds gruffly, though he seems slightly confused by your appearance. You glance away from him briefly towards the clearing before making eye contact with him. His voice seems familiar, but you can’t quite pinpoint it.

“Out looking for a couple gentlemen who robbed the Braithwaites. Don’t imagine you’ve seen ‘em, sheriff?” You respond calmly, to which he grunts. His eyes seem to be picking you apart like a vulture on a carcass as if he could see to your very soul. His stare unwavering as he slowly puts his gun back in its holster.

“What’s your name?” The man asks warily, though it’s not quite a question. More so a demand before he kills you where you stand and steals your horse from underneath you. “L/N. Y/N L/N.” you answer without a fuss, but the man seems put off by your name.

“Y/N..” he echoes, as if testing your name on his tongue. A look of recognition crosses his face as he looks up towards you. Beckoning you down from your horse with a wave of his hand, to which you follow his instruction. Slinging your body weight to one side of your horse before stepping down onto the ground. Keeping one hand clasped around the reins at all times.

As the man steps closer, you step back cautiously, yet there’s only so much space you’re given before you run into the horse, peacefully grazing on the grass. He seems completely dumbfounded by you. Staring at you doe-eyed as a grin slowly spreads across his lips.

“You don’t recognize me, do ya?” He asks. You make a point to look the man up and down as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. You can’t shake the feeling of familiarity he radiates. So similar yet far different than your memories. “Am I supposed to?”

He chuckles and reaches up to push the brim of his black hat up, exposing a bit more of his face. The dopey grin on his face is contagious, causing you to smile slightly, despite your confusion. “Morgan ring a bell?” you practically feel your heart drop into your stomach at the realization. He made it out alive. Thank the Gods.

Without even thinking, you step closer to him and pull Arthur into a tight hug, causing him to laugh and hug you back just as tightly. “I thought we lost you, kid. The hell happened to you all these years?” his voice is slightly muffled by your shoulder, but you understand him perfectly.

It takes you a bit longer to answer. You never thought you’d see your old gang again. Seeing Arthur feels like a damn miracle. “Long story..” you mutter simply. He looks more weathered than you remember, though you’re sure he barely recognized you too. Your face littered in scars from being held captive for so long. “The hell are you doing working with the law?”

Arthur gives a hearty laugh and pats your back before letting go of you, causing you to do the same. You’re not at all concerned on where the horse ran off to. To hell with Catherine. Someone gets a free horse today. 

“Dutch ‘n Micah got a plan to steal from the Braithwaites and the Grays for a bit of gold.. It’s a whole deal.” He waves dismissively before resting his hands on his gun belt. “Well now I know who I’m s’posed to be lookin’ for” you joke with a chuckle. Scratching the back of your neck as you look down the road in the direction of the cursed manor you’ve just come from.

“Is.. y’know- everyone else fine?” you asks hesitantly as you look back towards Arthur. You’re not sure if you want to know the answer. Arthur sighs heavily, his expression turning slightly solemn.

“Yeah. A couple of us made it out here. It’s been hell without you, I’ll say that much.” He chuckles bitterly as he glances over your shoulder before suddenly getting an idea. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to see ya again.” he invites.

Feeling your heart begin to race, you nod a bit quicker than you meant. Arthur nods towards a direction behind you as he steps past you, silently telling you to follow. You feel like a lost child as you follow after Arthur. Awkwardly stuffing your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. Your eyes darting across the clearing you intended to go into in the first place. 

You can just barely hear chatter among several people. Upon seeing the camp set up, you can feel all sorts of forgotten memories coming back to you. Remembering the drunken nights you’ve shared with your family. The petty arguments. The excitement of inviting new members into the gang. Since you parted, there’s a lot of new faces you don’t quite remember.

Arthur leads you right up to Dutch’s tent, clearing his throat to draw his attention, causing Dutch to look up from the book– of which you can only imagine is Evelyn Miller. “You remember Y/N, don’t’cha?” Arthur asks quietly as he puts a hand on your shoulder, nudging you further into Dutch’s tent.

The man himself is almost silent. Slowly closing his book and setting it down on his cot before getting up and approaching you as if you’re a dangerous animal. For a moment, you swear you see a hint of a tear in Dutch’s eye.

Before you even register what he’s doing, he pulls you into a tight hug. Surprisingly tighter than Arthur’s own. Catching both of you off guard by the sudden action. “It’s good to see you again, son.” Dutch says quietly

“It- It’s good to see you too, Dutch” you respond as you slowly wrap your arms around Dutch’s back and giving him a short pat. It takes him a moment, but he finally pats you back and lets go, putting his hands on your shoulders and looking you in the eye. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him smile..if ever.

A long moment of silence is shared between the three of you before Dutch pulls his hands back down to his sides, gently tugging on the ends of his vest as he awkwardly clears his throat, looking away from you.

“I s’pose I should show you ‘round camp. Introduce ya to everyone you missed.” Arthur mutters behind you, causing you to turn around with a small nod. There’s an undeniable fear and excitement that comes with seeing everyone again. You can’t wait to meet the rest of your family after all these years.

....................................................................................................

its finally done </3 I hope you like it !!

[bitchesgetriches]

hi bitches. i'm a 21 year old chronically ill girlfailure who doesn't have a driver's license and is almost completely reliant on my parents. i've been burnt out from school after a bout of severe depression which worsened my adhd symptoms as well as my dysautonomia

my dad got me a personal finance book for christmas once and i lost it. i'm admittedly a bit skeptical of personal finance spheres because so many of the people in there are usually geared toward cishet grindset attitude grifter type men.

anyway, my question is, how do i start building up a foundation for personal finance? how do i get a job as someone with a disability (and apparently a personality that bosses hate)?

This is SO weirdly coincidental, but... my dad once got me a personal finance book too (it was Dave Ramsey and it deserved to be stabbed and burned) and "cishet grindset attitude grifter type men" is literally the opposite of our target demographic!

Anyway, I feel you baby. While we don't have all the answers, we're slowly working our way there. Which is why we have a lot of advice for you over on our main site, broken down by topic. But I think you should probably start here:

The Financial Order of Operations: 10 Great Money Choices for Every Stage of Life 

How To Start at Rock Bottom: Welfare Programs and the Social Safety Net 

Good luck, honey. We're rooting for you.

Did we just help you out? Join our Patreon!

[stanleypinesgf]

Falling for Mystery - Chapter Five

Falling for Mystery Masterlist Warnings: Depictions of panic attacks, Stan smokes a cigar, I think that’s everything so I hope you enjoy! Please note: this is a slow burn fic with eventual smut and mature themes, 18+ only and please check warnings at the start of chapters!

w/c: 1,532 “Ready for your first day in the glamorous world of tourist traps?" Stan's voice held its usual playful tone, and despite my nerves, I couldn’t help but smile.

I shrugged. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

He clapped his hands together, the sharp sound making me jump a little. “Good! First, you’re gonna help with the customers. Sell the experience, alright? People expect something amazing here, and it’s our job to make sure they believe they got it.”

I nodded, though inwardly I wasn’t so sure. “Selling the experience” sounded vague, but I figured I’d catch on as I went. Or at least, I hoped I would.

As the day wore on, I quickly learned that “selling the experience” involved a lot of improvisation. Stan had me giving mini-tours of the Shack’s bizarre attractions but it was mostly a case of upselling trinkets, and handling the register. The place was busier than I’d expected, with a steady stream of families and curious travellers coming through. Some were easily impressed, wide-eyed at every dusty old ‘artefact.’ Others were more skeptical, grilling me about the authenticity of the exhibits. That’s where the real challenge—and, surprisingly, the fun—came in. Watching Stan seize any and every opportunity to spin the story in his favour never seemed to get old; his enthusiasm for his craft, a true grifter at heart, was undeniable.

"Remember, kid," Stan said, pulling me aside after a particularly tough customer had grilled me about the authenticity of one of the exhibits, "half of this business is confidence. If you act like what you’re selling is worth a million bucks, they’ll believe it."

I laughed, wiping my hands on my jeans. "I think I’ve got a long way to go before I can pull that off."

Stan shrugged. "You’re a quick learner. Stick around, and you’ll get the hang of it."

Despite the oddness of the job, I found myself enjoying it more than I thought I would. The customers, the weird exhibits, and even Stan’s gruff but charming personality made the day fly by. But as the hours passed and my adrenaline wore off, that tight knot of anxiety I’d been holding onto all morning began to unravel.

By the time the last of the tourists headed home for the night, I was physically exhausted, but something else had settled in the pit of my stomach—something heavier. My chest felt tight, my thoughts racing again, picking apart everything I’d done that day. Had I messed up? Was this going to work out, or had I just made another bad decision?

I told Stan I was going to take a break, needing a few minutes to myself before closing up for the night. He gave me a nod, not pressing. I slipped outside, hoping the cool evening air would help clear my head.

As I sank down on the porch steps, my breath started coming quicker than I liked. I tried to slow it down, but the more I focused on it, the worse it got. My heart pounded in my chest, hands turning clammy. My throat felt tight, like I couldn’t get enough air, and for a terrifying moment, I thought I might pass out right there on the porch.

I hadn’t had a panic attack in months, but now it was hitting me like a freight train. Everything felt too close. Too loud.

I didn’t hear the door open, but suddenly Stan was there, standing in front of me. His brows knit together in concern as he took in my state—my shaky hands, my shallow breaths. For a second, I expected him to crack a joke, brush it off with his usual nonchalance. But instead, his voice softened in a way I hadn’t heard before.

“Hey, kid. You alright?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Embarrassment surged through me. Of all the times to have a meltdown, this had to be the worst.

Stan crouched down beside me, his expression unreadable but his presence solid and grounding. His usual demeanor was replaced by something gentler, but not too much. “Breathe,” he said, his voice low and calm. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and slow. Don’t overthink it.”

I tried to follow his instructions, focusing on the rhythm of his voice. It was rough around the edges but strangely comforting. I closed my eyes and tried to match his steady breathing. After a few moments, the tightness in my chest began to ease just enough for me to catch my breath.

After what felt like forever, I felt a hand on my shoulder—not heavy, just firm enough to remind me that I wasn’t alone. “You good?”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I was totally okay yet. Still, the worst of it had passed. When I opened my eyes, I found him watching me, his gaze softer than I’d expected.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling foolish. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Stan cut me off, his voice casual, returning to that gruffness I was used to. “You’d be surprised how many people I’ve had to talk down after a day at the Shack. Place’ll get to you if you’re not used to it.” There was something unspoken in his tone, like the Shack got to him too, more than he let on.

For a brief moment, his hand lingered on my shoulder, just a second longer than necessary. I told myself it was nothing, just a friendly gesture. But the way his gaze held mine for a second longer made me wonder if maybe I was imagining things.

I snorted, the hint of a laugh breaking through the haze. “You’re just saying that.”

“Maybe.” He smirked, standing up and offering me a hand. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet. “But listen, kid. You’re doing fine. Better than most, actually. Don’t overthink it.”

His words caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to be… well, kind. Not like this, at least. There was warmth beneath the gruffness, something I hadn’t noticed before—or maybe I had, and I’d just been trying not to. After all, I barely knew him, right?

I gave him a half-hearted smile, still a little shaky but grateful. “Thanks.”

He waved it off, though his eyes lingered on me for a second, softer than usual. “Don’t mention it. Now, how about we close this place up and call it a night?”

Later that evening, after most of the lights had been turned off and the Shack was quiet, I found myself back on the porch, taking in the cool evening air. The stars above were scattered across the sky, the pine trees swaying gently in the breeze. The kind of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Stan joined me not long after, lighting a cigar and taking a long drag as he leaned against the porch railing. The rich scent of cigar smoke drifted into the air, mixing with the pine. He glanced at me, his expression more relaxed than usual.

"You did good today, you know that?"

I flinched inwardly, unease curling in my stomach. "Thanks," I muttered, the words barely making it past the lump in my throat. Compliments had always been double-edged. You never knew what would follow.

Stan’s grin faded slightly as if sensing the shift. But he didn’t push, didn’t ask why I looked away. Instead, he turned back to the sky, silent and steady beside me. The knot in my chest loosened, just a little. Maybe this was different. Maybe he was different.

“It wasn’t what I expected, but… I think I needed this,” I admitted quietly.

Stan raised an eyebrow, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Yeah? What’d you expect?”

I hesitated, unsure how to put it into words. “I don’t know. I guess… I wasn’t expecting to feel like I belonged somewhere.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched the stars flicker overhead. Then, he gave a small nod, as if he understood more than he was letting on. “Well, sometimes life throws you a curveball. You either hit it, or it hits you. You gotta make the swing.”

I chuckled, the tension in my chest easing a little. “That’s your life philosophy?”

“Something like that,” he said with a grin, taking another drag of his cigar. He glanced at me again, his eyes softening just a touch. “Anyway, get some rest. Tomorrow’s another big day.”

For a moment, I considered saying something, anything, to keep the conversation going. The words got caught in my throat. Instead, I simply nodded, giving him a small smile. He met my gaze for a beat longer than usual before turning back to his cigar, and I wondered if I was imagining the shift in the air between us. The comfortable silence stretched on in a way that made me feel a little more at ease. Despite the rough start to the day, there was something reassuring about Stan's presence—like maybe, just maybe, I could handle whatever came next.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I didn’t need to leave. Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[byrdstrolls]

As You Wish

(teehee, this features a lot of guys! tythus from @moonlit-trolls, the lady of the lake from @celestialtrolls, and finala from @roetrolls!)

(Also please be so nicey to me I haven't managed to write anything in three months)

Dear Diary, 

Five perigees into my leave from the fleet, a strange calm has overtaken me. I’ve found the eye of the hurricane, or some layer of insanity that hurts less than the first. I’ve started to have lunches in the cafe down the street, on the patio. Dangerous, I know. But I am a pack animal, by nature. I could lock myself in this apartment only for so long without breaking. Sitting there, it’s like being surrounded by people while being alone. Even if I talk to no one but my waiter, it’s better than nothing. There have been close calls, inconsequential ones. 

But still too many. I do not think the worker at the place suspects a thing, or would even know what to suspect, how to suspect correctly. I feel like an open wound. But enduring in my silence, none of them can tell. Of all people to have this affliction, it could kill me most surely. I do not trust my fellow troll as far as I could throw one. Now every stranger I meet holds my soul in the palm of their hand. I could die tomorrow. I could not die for sweeps. But what kind of living am I even doing anymore? I am so bored. 

The terror has become second nature to me. I learn quickly around fear. I touch a burning stove, I pull back my hand. My only guiding light, relief, is my research. It would be so easy to fail. But I would try a hundred thousand times on the off chance I could have back my life. Even so things move…

…torturously slow. I need to understand what happened to know how to fix it. But I don’t even know where to start. I have wiled away so many hours reading, finding books to read in the bibliographies of other books. But I don’t know what I’m looking for. I don’t know how to discern esoterica from nonsense, skill from parlor tricks, grifters from sages. 

The uniform does not help. One can hardly poke around the city dressed like a fleet officer asking around for magic trolls before those very people start climbing out the back window! It’s too hot for it anyways, even in the cold season. Curse this thing. I will wear it to my funeral. But as I said at the beginning of this entry. Things are just as bad as they have ever been, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. I woke up early yesterday, and watched the sun set from the window, sky dancing in fragments through this tiny place. And I felt a certain stillness, and a strange gratitude, that no matter how humbly I lived now, how much I missed other people and my hive and ship and privileges, things could have been worse. I made it nearly half a sweep. 

I have been very lucky. 

I just need a little more luck now.

.

.

.

.

.

Midway through their lunch break, Leftie peaks over the desk of their stand at a figure who has fixed themselves at the front of the alleyway. At first they thought they were exceptionally huge, but on a second glance, they are just significantly huge, and have on an absolute monster of a coat. Probably fleet. They glance at their own signs, the sandwich in their hand, and then pointedly scot over their chair to face the opposite direction. 

“Excuse me-” The cerulean says, taking a step forward. 

“Excuse me” Leftie retorts. “What does this say?” They say, pointing at the sign on their stand. 

“It says closed, back in thirty minutes, but-” 

“Exactly” The purple replies. “Leave me alone” They order.  

“Nonononono” Viscos mutters under their breath, immediately turning away, walking down the street, they throw up their hands in frustration. 

“G-dammit” They mutter, pulling out their journal and crossing Lefties name off a list. All that poking around, and they had failed so quickly, decisively, and immediately. 

.

.

.

.

.

I shouldn’t have come here, Viscos thinks, but the same protestation entered their mind in a variety of places, from gas stations to libraries to restaurants. So it’s a little more difficult to take it seriously now, even with its precedent. An entire church sect is something more dramatic than some small time magic user. But maybe it was time to be more dramatic, it’s nearly been a half sweep after all, maybe they are this desperate. They can always leave, until they can’t. 

“I understand you are not willing to share the details of your affliction with me.” The hulking mass of the purpleblood says, his plague doctor’s mask tilted ever so slightly downward to stare at the fleet troll. 

“But is there anything you could deluge… anything at all? How does it affect the body? What organs? How did it begin?” Tythus asks. 

Viscos stares up at him for some time. 

“No,” They say. “I can’t tell you that.” 

“As… impossible a task as you have proposed” The man pauses. “To cure a curse without being told what it is, I would try for you.” He says, templing his hands, then pointing them downward. “All I would ask is you stay some time on our commune, working, to repay your debt to me”

“...here” Viscos mutters vaguely, glancing out the apothecaries window. With all these other trolls? 

“Could I serve my time after I’ve been cured?” The cerulean proposes. 

“I… need some kind of assurance you would not run off and take advantage of my kindness. Besides, to figure out your, interesting little puzzle, it’s best for the two of us to get to know each other, right?” 

Viscos stares into the dark black eye holes of the mask, thinking. They had made it this far, farther than they had with other witches. Maybe it was the time to throw caution to the wind. But the reasonable, paranoid voice in their mind that clutches caution so close to their chest their knuckles whiten, calls it here. 

“Then” They say. “I do not think we can work together.” They say, taking one last inhale of their cigarette holder, and leaving the room.

.

.

.

.

.

The next visit is also frustratingly short, or, as it was with Leftie, never really starts in the first place. They are trying to find the domain of the lady of the lake. They can see the peaking lights of hives in the distance, hidden near the water through the flurry of snow, but everytime they try to walk towards them they lose their way, and find themselves back where they started. Ever the pragmatist, they had tried to map the area, on a notepad. With leather gloves and shaking fingers, they marked down monuments and turns as they could, but even the most astute of their markings made no sense. It was as if the landscape itself was changing every time Viscos turned their back. Eventually, it became too cold even for them, and their mother of all coats, to endure, and they went back to the apartment, defeated.  . . .

. .

When they found a witch who was travelling, they thought meticulously on where to meet her. The apartment was out of the question, obviously. They did not want to easily be found again if things went horribly wrong. They could meet at a cafe, but they didn’t want to be overheard. Somewhere public enough to instill a safety that came with being out in the open, but private enough to dissuade curious listeners. They toiled over this for nights before resolving to reserve a study room at the public library. 

They’re sitting there now, foot tapping at the floor with a restless impatience. Their coat propped up on the chair. Every one of these meetings feels like russian roulette. The woman's first words upon entering feel like the sound of a bullet clicking into the chamber. 

Finala opens the door to the room gently, offering a friendly wave and smile, but it’s not long after she steps into the room that she pauses, a brief concern welling up in her eyes. 

“Oh…” She exhales. “I see. You’re cursed.” 

Viscos stands up immediately, having prepared to dance around the subject of their affliction, and unsettled by how quickly and seamlessly Finala had noticed. 

“How did you know that?” They say, guarded. 

“I have a sense for such things.” She says, raising her arms in surrender. “If it eases you, I don’t know the specifics, but I might be able to help you were you to fill me in”

Viscos stares into her eyes, unsure what they’re searching for. Their paranoia battling with their desperation, and the paranoia wins out in the end. The cerulean picks up their coat, scrambling for the door. 

“Please don’t leave” She says gently, not even knowing what she’s just done. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

And just like that, they stiffen, rooted to the spot, cursing their luck and their foolishness, turning back to glare at the woman as if she had just done something horrible to them. 

Finala traces the look in their eyes for a moment, thinking. 

“I see. It’s something to do with speech then.” She deduces. “Then I won’t speak until you tell me how to avoid it. If you’d rather simply take your leave, feel free. But know that I will not say another word to you without your permission.” 

If only it were that simple, for them to be released with a ‘feel free’. Viscos once again wills their feet forward, but their body doesn’t listen to them. They stand there, time dragging on. Trying to think their way out. It’s only after the first minute or so they begin to realize Finala is serious about not speaking. She’s still standing across the room, mouth shut, waiting. Was there some way to tell her without telling her? Viscos eventually sighs, walking over and sitting back down in the chair. 

“I can’t… be given orders” The cerulean says, gesturing vaguely. But it’s enough to piece the puzzle together regardless. The realization hits Finala all at once, and works its way backwards through the conversation that preceded it. They had not had a change of heart, she realizes. They had literally been unable to leave from the moment she told them not too. She stares at the cerulean, eyebrow raising as if asking if this was permission to speak. 

“You can speak,” They say. “If you don’t tell me to do things.” They add, as a condition. 

“Poor thing… I can only imagine the strife this has brought you” She says, taking a step closer. She pauses, thinking for a moment, and begins to speak slowly. “I’ll consider my words carefully- wouldn’t want to trigger the effect.” She turns to the side. 

“If… I told you to rest assured that I have no desire to abuse your curse, would that force your hand?” 

“Yes” They answer. 

“Well. Then if you so please, you may choose to rest assured that is the case. Is me telling you not to leave, still in effect?” 

They’re in this deep, Viscos thinks. If they’re fucked, they are already fucked. Might as well not mince words. 

“Yes,” They say. “It can only be cancelled out by another, contradictory direct order.” 

“Then, I order you to leave when you see fit.” She says. 

Viscos pauses. Surely, something like all this had been what they wanted to hear, yes? Was this not the best way this could have gone? They had not made it this far with any of the other witches. But there is no relief in it, all they continue to feel is frustrated with their own vulnerability. They stare at the ground for a long moment, before sighing, rolling up the sleeve of their uniform, to reveal a sigil, that almost looks tattooed onto the skin, a symbol of four wings, a crown, and esoteric scribbling, that had appeared, immovable, on their forearm since the moment they were touched by magic. 

“Do you know how to fix it?” They say, fighting to keep the waver from their voice. 

Finala pauses, delicately taking the arm in her hands, stepping closer to look at the sigil. 

“I’m not entirely familiar with this.” She says. “But… this mark is… it seems like someone worked hard to tie this spell specifically to its caster. You’d likely need that witch to remove it” She admits, knowing that’s likely not what they want to hear. 

Viscos gives a long sigh. Why’d they pick a meeting place where they couldn’t smoke? Their fists open and close around a lack of cigarettes. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t say that.” They exhale. 

“I’m sorry. I assume you and who made it are still on uneven terms?” 

“Worse” Viscos sighs. “She’s dead.”

[the-phantom-author]

I just found your account, and as a Hasan enjoyer, I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE your writing and stories 🥹💜

For the request, hear me out on this!!!

Pre-relationship: you’re a gaming streamer who’s streamed with Pokimane/Ludwig/Sykkuno etc (not super familiar with who Hasan games with since I’ve mostly watched his politics/true crime stuff). You mostly stream cozy games, but have been known to pop off on Valorant, Among Us, and Dead by Daylight when invited to play.

Since you’re a gaming channel, you don’t talk about much outside of that, but you’re actually super knowledgeable on politics/leftism/current events/history and other more serious topics Hasan covers. Very few members of your audience have picked up on it, and your streaming friends never go in depth on it since they usually get caught up in gameplay/don’t know as much about it (nothing malicious ofc!!!)

One day, Lugwig decides to host another Among Us stream and he invites you and Hasan to join. You and Hasan haven’t officially met at this point. Sure, you’re mutuals on social media and have common friends, but you have never talked to each other and aren’t really familiar with the content the other makes.

During the game, Hasan makes a comment on an ongoing political problem (“This is worse than the don’t say gay bill! How dare you betray me!” or something similar). You add onto the joke in a way where he just KNOWS you know a lot about the topic. The rest of the stream has both you and Hasan making similar jokes, to the point Lugwig jokingly bans you both from making them.

After that, you and Hasan start talking wayyy more. You guys start texting each other, watch the other’s content, and pop in to the other’s stream from time to time. One day, Hasan invites you to react to a right-wing grifter and everyone gets a whole new look into your knowledge on subjects Hasan covers. Not only that, but the chemistry between you and Hasan shines through; keeping up with his points, same type of humor, etc etc.

From there, just a slow burn friends to lovers where everyone can see you both just fit together well and AHHHHHHHH CUTE SHIT 🥹🥹🥹

Thank you for reading this, i am brain rotted by Hasan 😤✨

NONNY!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!!

This is the cutest. The slow burn strangers to friends to lovers.

The way I know Hasan would love to show you off. Like he knows that you don't think that your stream is the best place to do political commentary, but his is so he loves having you on his.

[transgenderer]

Do NOT get into hindu/buddhist bullshit, virtually everyone I know who did started trying to unlock their jhanas, took ayahuasca or similar, got their brains burned out, and went from smart to either mercurial grifter or drug addict.

Sometimes all religions are just fake, especially the ones that tell you what to do instead or what not to do.

sorry anon i already do psychedelics occassionally :( but also im not getting into beliieving hinduism lol, i just like learning about other peopel's beliefs :)

[beauty-and-passion]

TMA - Chapters 41-50: Everyone is Michael

Hello people, welcome back to the beginning of TMA season 2! Ten more chapters are waiting and I am ready to find out if this season is gonna start with a bang or not.

I have high expectations.

<< Main Masterlist < Previous post 

_______________________________

MAG 40.1 - Season 2 Trailer

Oh, a trailer! And it was… absolutely incomprehensible and cryptic af. All I got is that a trapdoor should’ve been locked, which translated from author-to-reader means: “The trapdoor is open and some weird supernatural shit will come out of it during the season”.

Well played, Mr. Sims. Now I really want to know more.

_______________________________

MAG 41 - Too Deep

Ooooh, statement of Jonathan Sims? And it’s about the recently discovered tunnels! I love that we start season 2 directly from where we left in season 1: Jon is recovering, Jane Prentiss is recently dead (I suppose they burned her, considering the ashes) and there are a shit ton of tunnels to explore.

Also, Jon is now paranoid. Great, that’s exactly what he needed.

Jokes aside, this is an amazing choice from a writing perspective, because it’s perfectly justifiable. Jon got assaulted by Jane Prentiss and her worms on July 29th, now it’s September 2nd. It’s been a little more than one month, of course he’s still haunted by the idea that Jane (or other things) might be alive and spying on him.

Even if the feeling of being watched is not just paranoia. I bet everything that it’s Big Brother’s fault for that.

And just to confirm my words, it seems that the Archives have been built on part of this ex Millbank prison, which was built by following the idea of the Panopticon. You know, the prison centered around the idea of making the prisoners feel like they’re always watched, thanks to the central tower.

I love the idea of the Panopticon: it’s extremely cool and I’m very happy to see it here too… but it also proves I am right and Big Brother is some supernatural shit who watches everyone and has something like one million eyes or whatever.

The goddamn weird tunnels. And what about that incorporeal voice telling Jon to leave, right after inviting him to go down? I am extremely curious now, I want to know more! Who was it? Big Brother? Another supernatural shit?

Ah, so Jon will now add supplements to the statements, hide them from his staff just like he hid the existence of the second tape recorder and will put these parts away with precise instructions for his replacement, in case he dies. Great, so he’s this paranoid. Basically one step away from being pathological.

Fine, from one side, I can understand him because he faced some heavy shit not too long ago and he cannot trust anyone. So his sentence “Trust can get you killed” is understandable.

But I also watched Gravity Falls and I’ve learned that “trust no one” doesn’t help, especially if there is a demon watching/haunting you. So please, Jon: please. Be safe. Don’t pull a Dipper Pines on us. Don’t force me to start calling you Jon Dipper. Or Jipper.

And trust someone before some bad shit happens. You’re trying to find Gertrude Robinson’s killer and we all know it was Elias (don’t “first suspect” me and yourself, we both know it was him). So, since Elias already killed one person and he’s in cahoots with the Lukas family, you REALLY need as many allies as possible.

_______________________________

MAG 42 - Grifter’s Bone

Here we are, back with simple, meh statements. This time, it’s “weird supernatural band kills with their weird supernatural music”. It’s a shame we don’t see how they do it, I would’ve loved to see the whole process. But I also understand that leaving this to the reader’s imagination is a good choice to make something scary.

Also, Alfred Grifter looking up after the massacre and asking “Encore?” is probably the most badass move of the series until now. He might be some minor supernatural shit, but that was a real power move. I respect him a little bit after this.

Glad to notice Jon’s skepticism is back too, but after the end of season 1, now I know why he does it and I understand. Also, his skepticism doesn’t seem as “stubborn” as before and that’s another great writing choice because it shows how all these supernatural shits are affecting him.

Also, since Jon is in Paranoia Land now, I suppose that emphasizing skepticism helps him hide his true intentions, which are… sigh, controlling Martin. Seriously, can this poor guy take a vacation? First the worms, then Jane Prentiss, now Jipper. Martin can’t even be competent, that his boss will question it - all while insulting his poetic skills. The paranoia made Jon even more of an asshole than before.

What? Martin is worried about the others finding out he’s been lying? Lying about what? Jane Prentiss? His supposed incompetence? His poetic skills? His need to go on vacation? In any of these cases, don’t worry, Martin: just take your stuff and go as far away from this Institute as possible.

I still dream something like this for Martin.

_______________________________

MAG 43 - Section 31

I feel Basira will be a recurring character from now on. I mean, she is currently working on Gertrude’s case and she is a Section 31 - i.e. she dealt with supernatural shits before. But she’s not the only one: we also have Alice “Daisy” Tonner, who came in contact with “spider husks” and, for me, that means one thing only: “Spider Mom & gang”. So I bet these two women will probably be involved again with any other supernatural shit happening in this Institute.

It was also very cool to find out the name of the guy from MAG 12: Diego Molina. And I remember that, when he and Gerard were brought to the hospital, Gerard asked if Diego had “a small book bound in red leather and a brass pendant with an eye design”. The eye pendant is probably related to Big Brother, while the red book basically confirmed it was one of Leitner’s chaos books. I already suspected this considering Gerard was after that, but glad to see an implicit confirmation.

Speaking of the supplement, Jon gained access to the tapes in Gertrude’s room and I’m glad about that because we will surely find something cool and scary. But I’m also sure that’s the easiest way for Jon to get himself killed, so I’m a bit scared for his life.

Also, how weirdly cute is this part?

“I only ever spoke to Gertrude once or twice during her time as archivist. I-I was very new. I don’t remember what her voice sounded like.”

Jon sounds so young, here. Almost like a child. I mean, I imagined he was in his thirties or something, but I actually have no idea how old is he. Is he younger? How old is he?

Also, it’s just nice to see this little moment of him being so… soft and human, with his predecessor. He barely knew her, he barely spoke to her, he probably looked at her and saw just an older, stern figure. But now, he’s in the same position. They became a lot closer than they ever were. It’s fascinating - and there’s a lot of potential for angst too, so I’ll brace myself for it.

_______________________________

MAG 44 - Tightrope

A statement recorded by Gertrude! it was such a pleasant surprise to finally hear her voice! And she sounds amazing <3

As soon as I heard it was a statement from a guy in Algasovo, I felt it was connected to something I already knew. I remembered there was a circus mentioned in season 1 and, after a little bit of research, I found it: MAG 24, Цирк другого: the Circus of the Other. Ringmaster Gregor Osinov and organist Nikolai Denikin - whose granddaughter recorded the abovementioned statement.

Sure, here it’s called Другой Цирк, which is correctly translated as “Another Circus”. So my question is: which is correct? Did the circus change its name? MAG 44 is from the 70s, while the photo mentioned in MAG 24 was from 1948. Maybe the circus was called Цирк другого, then it changed its name after Denikin left and became Другой Цирк. Anyway, it was very interesting to read and I was so sure it was the smae circus mentioned before (despite the different names). So when Jon mentioned Gregor Osinov, my smile grew bigger than ever :D

Speaking of Jon, he asks some very interesting questions: Gertrude knows a lot more than it seems. And she didn’t finish recording everything in the archive. Why? Was that her way to oppose Big Brother/the Lukas family/the “crimson curse”? Maybe Big Brother can “eat” these statements, so by stopping her recordings, Gertrude was voluntarily leaving it hungry, as a sort of “fuck you, I won’t get eaten by you” kind of thing.

Or maybe she just wanted to not do her job anymore, thus provoking the Lukas family to fire her for not doing anything. Or maybe she was just too busy trying to find a way to escape, to record statements like an insane you-know-who who keeps recording stuff because he wants to find out the truth even if the truth can get him killed.

Did someone find Jon’s tapes? Or is he in full Jipper mode and maybe the drawer wasn’t even ajar? In any case, now he’s hiding them too, which reminds me of Gertrude and her secret hidden library and I don’t like the parallel at all. I don’t want to see Jon dead on a chair, in a room, surrounded by his secret library.

_______________________________

MAG 45 - Blood Bag

Another meh statement, even if this time I’m quite perplexed by the weird turn of events.

I mean, once Dr. Thompson sold his syringe, there was a sudden spike in heat, the ‘haemoglobish’ became real blood and the mosquitoes decided to wait for their moment to kill the doctor. They’re a lot of weird consequences and they don’t seem too connected either - especially the heat. Why is there always some heat involved?

While speaking of the mosquitoes planning revenge… yes, this is the most plausible thing. These little bitches always plan revenge on everyone.

So, the doctor’s buyer is “Indonesian, I think, or Samoan”. It’s Salesa, isn’t it? Yep, Jon confirms it. Well, I suppose he will be another recurring character. And if Gerard can smell Leitner’s book, Salesa can smell any supernatural shit and make a profit from it. In this case, I suppose the syringe was a real lucky charm or whatever, considering how everything degenerated once the doctor got rid of it.

“Can’t stand mosquitoes. Horrible things.”

You and me, Jon. You and me. Glad to know that, even if he’s in full Jipper mode, he can still be very relatable.

I know Jon was super paranoid with Martin, but he might have a point about Tim. I mean, a guy with this resume decides to work in a place that isn’t so appreciated by normal people? And he doesn’t seem too interested in the supernatural either. Why is he here, to bribe people to get info and do whatever the fuck he wants? If that’s the reason… honestly, mood. I loved him before, I would just appreciate him even more for the power move.

Jonathan Sims, Master at Hiding Things, gets caught by Martin in 0.2 seconds because he’s so clever to record his paranoid thoughts in the middle of a working day, in a place where everyone can enter. A genius.

But now I’m curious to know where he will go to record these statements. I can almost see him, all crammed up into a closet, while Martin searches for him with a cup of tea in his hand.

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MAG 46 - Literary Heights

Oh gosh, I LOVE this chapter.

First of all, as soon as Michael Crew was mentioned, I immediately checked the previous chapters and here he was: MAG 17, the Boneturner’s Tale. Also, if my last theory is correct, Michael Crew and Supernatural Micheal are the same thing. And you know what? I think this statement confirmed it. But one thing at a time.

Second: my man Leitner! Ex Altiora my beloved! We finally know where it was and what it is! It’s a poem and I ADORE the plot. It’s such a perfect mix of weird, suspense and desperation… uuuurgh, I’m so mad I can’t read it, because this plot can be developed into a fantastic story.

And now, let’s put together all the pieces we have:

Michael Crew is interested in the Leitner.

Michael Crew has “a branching pattern of white scar tissue” on himself.

Jon reminds us that, in MAG 4, Mr. Swain said there was a “woodcut of the dark night sky, with the branching, arching design of the Lichtenberg figure” inside Ex Altiora.

This drawing isn’t mentioned by Mr. Knox here.

Lichtenberg figures have a branched shape, similar to the shape of lightning discharges, and appear on the surface/inside insulating materials during dielectric rupture. But they can also appear on lightning victims.

They are also “natural phenomena which exhibit fractal properties”.

In MAG 4, Mr. Swain says Michael Crew got struck by lightning when they were kids.

Michael Crew is surrounded by smells associated with lightning and electric discharges.

Michael Crew has been followed by a tall, thin figure, “its limbs angular and branching”.

Supernatural Michael has angular and branching limbs.

Supernatural Michael Is associated with fractals too.

The figure also “crackled and fizzed, lit by a strobing white light, as though the lightning was within the room itself”.

When Michael Crew reaches the bell tower, the prays something with the words “altiora,” “vertigo,” and “the vast”. then he says “I’m yours”, leaps through the open window and disappears.

Now, here’s my explanation:

Micheal Crew was followed by a supernatural shit. This supernatural shit was the same immense figure mentioned in the poem of Ex Altiora.

Micheal probably came into contact with it when he was a child and got struck by the lightning. Since then, he started to resonate with Vertigo/the Vast just like Jane Prentiss started to resonate with the Hive.

(Also, since Jane Prentiss’ supernatural shit was “the hive”, I think I’ll call this one “the vast” because it was a bit odd that he specifically said “the vast” with a definite article)

So, since Michael Crew came into contact with the Vast and started to resonate with it, he was accompanied by smells associated with lightning/electric discharges and he started to search for all kinds of magic books, trying to find a way to properly connect with it/being consumed by it, just like Jane Prentiss did with the Hive.

In Prentiss’ case, she connected through the wasps’ nest and got “consumed” by the Hive. Michael Crew tried to do the same by using different methods mentioned in the books, but failed. He had to find something stronger to connect to the Vast. And that something turned out to be a tale featuring the Vast itself, told by my man Leitner.

So Michael got it and waited for a storm. And as soon as the storm came, he ran towards it, calling for the Vast. And when the Vast appeared, it looked like that figure similar to an actual lightning.

Michael sang/prayed for it (please notice how Mr. Knows refers to his words like a chant first and a prayer later, just like Jane Prentiss talked about the song of the Hive. These little shits truly talk through songs) and closed his invocation, by saying “I’m yours”, which can be also read as “I give my body to you”.

And so, he jumped. And by doing that, he gave his body to the Vast and the Vast became him. And that turned him into Michael the Supernatural Shit, also known as Best Boyo of this series.

If all of this is true, then:

it’s very cool

his name isn’t Mr. Distortion, but Mr. Vast. Still cool, but Best Boyo is better :P

And if this is true, that also means my previous Leitner theory was completely wrong. His books don’t turn you into the protagonist: his books are about the real, actual supernatural shits living in this world and by getting the right one, it’s easier to connect to the supernatural shit in question. They’re like… facilitators, in a way.

That also puts into question Gerard’s work. What is he actually doing, by searching and destroying all Leitner’s books? Maybe he’s saving the world, because without books it’s more difficult to connect to these supernatural shits. But destroying the books doesn’t mean getting rid of the supernatural shits themselves and these books might actually be useful to recognize all supernatural shits and “catalog” them. I don’t know, I need more info about these two guys and what they’re actually doing.

And yes, there’s also Spider Mom taking possession of the hidden tunnels of the institute and she’s probably the one who opens the door and maybe she even walks around in her human form and that’s very cool too. Just… how fricking cool is this statement?! I think it’s among my top favorites, along with MAG 2, MAG 5, MAG 20, MAG 26 and MAG 39.

(Now that I think about it, I should probably do a top of my favorite statements once I finish the whole series. It would be fun.)

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MAG 47 - The New Door

Holy shit. Just holy shit.

I thought this was just a simple statement. A statement featuring a tall blonde guy. And yes, I was 200% sure it was Michael. But I just though he appeared and did some weird supernatural shit.

For a while, he did it: he made a door in that house, Mrs. Richardson got lost inside it for three days and escaped just because one of the mirrors was “empty” and didn’t reflect Michael. So she did what everyone who met a supernatural shit did: she went to the Institute. My theory about “hiding behind a bigger predator” seems even more convincing.

I loved the little moment when Mrs. Richardson asked Jon if he believed her and Jon admitted that yes, he believes her. It’s a tiny exchange of words, but it’s enough to show the massive change in Jon from season 1. Before, he would’ve been more stern and showed more skepticism (fake or real whatsoever). But now, after all he went through, he’s showing a softer, more empathetic side. Jon is truly evolving as a character.

And speaking of characters, time to talk about the real shit and time to overanalyze everything:

*

Michael’s voice is perfect

First of all, I ADORE Michael. Sorry Tim, you deserve the world, but Michael’s soft laughs and the way he gently mocks Jon because he’s this powerful supernatural shit while Jon is just a mere human it’s just too adorable. His voice is too adorable. And the distortion effect makes him very creepy - but still extremely adorable. I love him so much.

*

Domains?

This part about domains is very fascinating and, in a way, it confirms my theory about the supernatural shits having territories like mafia bosses.

But it seems like they don’t simply take a place and own it. It’s a bit like they are these places. As if these domains are an appendix of them. So I suppose Michael doesn’t simply “make doors pop up”: he is the doors and the corridors. such a cool concept, it makes these supernatural shits look even more eldritch and… well, supernatural. Love it.

But also: if my theory about Big Brother is correct, does that mean Big Brother isn’t just hidden in the Magnus Institute, but is the Institute? Mmmh, I need more details.

It’s also very interesting how Michael refers to Mrs. Richardson as “the Wanderer”. Since it doesn’t seem like Mrs. Richardson is a supernatural shit, I suppose that “the Wanderer” is a name to identify the people who enter the domain of a supernatural shit and become food. But since calling them “food” isn’t nice, Michael (and maybe other supernatural shits) opted for a more sophisticated name, like “the Wanderer”.

Also, Michael reconfirms he’s a poet and I love him so much.

*

The concept of identity (and maybe my theory already failed?)

That’s another interesting part. Michael considers itself a “what”, because “it requires a degree of identity I can’t ever retain”. And this connects to its domain: since it’s so huge and can “overlap” reality by creating new spaces inside it (inanimate spaces), it was probably easier for Michael to identify itself as a “what” rather than a “who”.

But this distorted appearance made me think: wait, probably my brand new theory about Michael as Mr. Vast is completely wrong.

If Michael’s power is being distorted and making weirdly long, distorted corridors (that confirms Michael was probably the voice who told Jon to leave, when he explored the tunnels in MAG 41), that doesn’t line up with the previous statement, where the Vast’s power was related to lightning and to being this colossal figure.

At the same time, Michael laughs with a weird, distorted effect as if it’s more people in one figure and this detail seems coherent with my theory.

So I think there are two possible solutions now:

my theory is correct and Michael can both be hugely vast and very distorted

my theory is wrong and Michael Crew just offered himself to another supernatural shit

Or maybe the correct option is:

3. Mr. Sims is the biggest troll of all mankind and he made a series in which every supernatural shit is named Michael and this explains why everyone is named Michael and why Michael is such a familiar name. If this is true I would respect him even more.

Jokes aside, I really need more information now. Especially I need Michael (this one at least) to talk about itself and its powers. And maybe all other Michaels should talk a bit about themselves too. At least enough to confirm if my theory is right or wrong.

*

A war?!

No, wait, you cannot drop this bomb, tease us like this, then leave. Stay here and explain!

Okay, so the Institute is important. It should stay where it is, because losing it would bring imbalance in the hidden war that’s going on - between supernatural shits, I suppose.

In MAG 41, Jon said the Archives stand on an ex-prison, built around the concept of the Panopticon. This could explain why this place is needed: a place from where you can spy on everything and everyone is a great leverage in a war.

My question is: what are the sides of this war? I suppose that one side is Big Brother and maybe the weird supernatural fog of the Lukas family, but the other? The supernatural meat? And the spider gang? On which side was Jane Prentiss with the Hive?

And what are they all fighting for? To take over the world? To eat as many humans as possible? Or maybe the “All Michael theory” is correct and since all these shits are named Michael, they decided that the last one standing will officially take the name Michael and all others will have to choose another name? All while Best Boyo Michael decided “fuck this shit, I’ll keep this name anyway because it’s just a name and my identity is more than this”?

You know what? I love the All Michael Theory. It’s stupid and yet it somehow works. If it’s true, it would immediately turn the whole series from dramatic to comic, but I love it.

_______________________________

MAG 48 - Lost in the Crowd

Oooh, a statement settled in Italy! Never visited Genoa, but now it deserves a visit. After all, I already think about this goddamn series every time I see a spider and have to kill it, so why not going to Genoa and fearing weird supernatural shits? Apparently, they love to go anywhere. Was this one taking a vacation?

Speaking of vacations: honestly, I never expected to see my man Gerard, rebel punk and goth, chilling in Italy with a bright shirt on. I hope you’re also wearing some nice shorts, Gerard. And no combat boots. Or sandals with socks. The Italian fashion police can be way worse than any supernatural shits.

So, my man went to Mrs. Nunis, told her she was “marked” and told her to think about her mother. To remember her. To, you know, feel less alone. I immediately thought about Naomi and how she too felt alone, when the mysterious fog tried to “eat” her in MAG 13.

But this time there wasn’t really a fog: the sunny day simply became overcast. So maybe the fog isn’t supernatural but… the clouds are? But then, what about the weird fog from MAG 33? Or maybe, the fog simply hides the real supernatural shit, which is this weird faceless crowd. And this time the fog was on vacation too.

Or maybe Italy’s weather is too warm for the thick UK fog, so the fog dispersed and left only the crowd. I’ll admit it, it would be hilariously funny if a supernatural shit is simply an atmospheric element end you can get rid of it by traveling far enough or by using, idk, an electric fan.

So one question remains: what was Gerard doing in Italy? Was he truly searching for a Leitner? Or maybe he was really taking a vacation? I like to think it’s the second one: unlike Jon “Trust No One” Sims and Martin “Self-preservation is overrated” Blackwood, my man Gerard knows when it’s time to get the fuck out and take a vacation. So he left all the supernatural shits and books to chill on a beach, take a cafè and eat some real food.

Great choice, Gerard, Genoa is a beautiful place.

Speaking of the supplement, Jon realized Michael was warning him about Sasha! But unfortunately, thanks to Not!Sasha’s evil powers, Jon cannot understand what the problem with her is. Damn you, evil imposter! Give Sasha back!

Jon “Jipper” Sims, Master of Secrecy, after being caught by Martin in 0.2 seconds, got caught both by Martin and Tim again and they both immediately realized Jon was spying on them. So they reported him to Elias.

See? See where “trust no one” brings you, Jon? Please, stop spying on them like a creep. why don’t you start spying Elias, instead? He’s the most suspicious guy that ever walked on this planet, why the fuck are you wasting time with your team when you have him?

_______________________________

MAG 49 - The Butcher’s Window

I read the title and I immediately was: “The meat is back, isn’t it?”

But it’s not just the meat, it’s our old friend Jared! And he does incredibly weird creepy things! And I like them, because they’re creepy without being gorey. You know, it’s just too easy to use gore: scaring without gore is harder and I appreciate it.

Also, what the fuck is the weird… underground superleech he’s feeding? Is that the boneturner? Is this the name of this supernatural shit? After all, every supernatural shit seems to have a name that starts with the definite article: the hive, the vast, the boneturner.

And if we add up all the things we discovered until now, that means that Jared became the Boneturner/the body of the Boneturner thanks to the Leitner’s book that “facilitated” the connection and, since he became that thing, that thing also became him. So the underground creepy superleech is still part of him and by feeding it, he’s feeding himself too.

You know, the whole process of feeding it was creepy, fine, but it made me smile too because… come on, it looks like a guy throwing snacks at his dog. That’s funny.

But not as funny as the mental image of this weird superleech I got, that resembles something like this:

This is a sea lamprey. It’s not a leech, but it’s the closest animal to represent what I imagined. And yes, this is a real living creature on this planet. You’re welcome, glad to know this will haunt your dreams too.

A-ah! We finally got more info about Elias! I knew it was weird that he managed to go from filing clerk to head of the Institute, but I had no idea he became head of the Institute just in five goddamn years. What did he do, did he kill everyone else? Did he kill James Wright too? Did this man also “die on the job” as Gertrude?

Also, how absolutely, insanely funny is it to think that Elias was a pothead? I read it and I was like… what? This guy?! I always imagined him like a posh guy and now you tell me he was smoking crack or whatever? That’s too funny, I love that and it would be hilarious if that’s the reason why he killed everyone else: not because of the Lukas family, not because of the supernatural shits: just because he wants to hide his past.

_______________________________

MAG 50 - Foundations

Oooh, another old statement addressed to Jonah Magnus! I suppose that’s how the Institute started: with this guy walking back and forth inside his house, surrounded by creepy stories. A bit like Jon now. And nope, I don’t like this parallel.

The story itself is very meh. It’s not really creepy nor scary, just “mysterious guy appears outside an office” and “fingers on a stone uuuh”.

This statement probably served to remind us about Robert Smirke’s existence. Jon probably forgot, but I remember that in season 1, he said Tim mentioned him an architect he was obsessed with and this architect was Robert Smirke. So I suppose this guy is important.

We also have Sir George Gilbert Scott now. When Mr. Kempthorne said Scott’s projects had odd symmetries and seemed claustrophobic, they reminded me of the underground tunnels of the Institute. Is it possible that one of these guys is responsible for the construction of the ex Millbank prison? I suppose only time will tell.

I died laughing when Tim thought Jon was hitting on Basira. How he went from “That woman is weird” to “Good job boss, get her”. He’s the best, I love him.

_______________________________

In conclusion

Oh my, what a start for season 2! We have more Michaels than ever, too many theories and lots of mysteries I still can’t grasp.

I want more. I want to know more about Michael, I want to find out which theory is correct. Is Michael Crew one of the many identities of Best Boyo Michael? Is Michael vast and distorted or they’re two different Michaels? Is every supernatural shit named Michael? Is Elias just a pothead trying to survive in a world full of supernatural shits? Is Gerard still on holiday?

We’ll meet back soon with ten more chapters.

>> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

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[ilikethisacompletelynormalamount]

Halfway through their Actors on Actors conversation, Brie Larson and Andrew Scott discover something they have in common: Neither of them is a trained actor. Larson brings up the subject almost hesitantly, to explain why she has difficulty talking about her craft. “I didn’t go to school for it,” she says. “No! I didn’t either!” Scott replies. Excitedly, Larson says: “I knew I liked you!”

Despite any self-professed deficiencies about discussing acting, Larson and Scott insightfully talk about how they each got their start at a young age, and then dive into their current television projects: his remake of “Ripley” on Netflix and her Apple TV+ limited series “Lessons in Chemistry,” which Larson also developed as an executive producer. Both shows originate from books — Patricia Highsmith’s classic thriller and Bonnie Garmus’ 2022 bestseller, respectively — and though their characters are very different (Tom Ripley is a grifter turned murderer; Elizabeth Zott is a thwarted physicist), both stand apart from society, looking in from the outside...

RIPLEY LESSONS IN CHEMISTRY ACTORS ON ACTORS

BY KATE AURTHUR

ANDREW Scott & BRIE Larson

ANDREW SCOTT: I was reading that you were shy as a kid.

BRIE LARSON: Not anymore. I’m totally fine now. I’m totally confident and cool.

SCOTT: I really related to you when I was reading that, because that’s why I started as a kid. I think there’s a slight myth about actors — that they’re very outgoing or sort of precocious. So did you ask to start acting?

LARSON: Yeah. My parents were chiropractors, and I was super shy. I wouldn’t let it go. Of course, it’s changed the course of my life in so many ways. But at a time when I was so shy and had such a hard time expressing myself, at 6 years old, I was basically given, like, “OK, here’s a script for how you have a conversation.” The actual fiber of how I understand how to have pleasant conversations with people is based upon weekly acting sessions.

SCOTT: I used to go to these drama classes on a Saturday, and I would be fully shaking before you go in. And then you’d have to get up in front of your other 7-, 8-year-olds, and do an improvisation, or say a poem or something. I don’t feel like it’s an overstatement to say that I think it’s completely changed my life — not just my career. I had a really bad lisp when I was a kid, so I had to do elocution lessons. I had to go, “He sees seashells by the seashore,” and I just completely got rid of it.

Do you feel shy now?

LARSON: I had to face myself in so many different ways; that’s part of the thing that I actually seek now. I mean, I’m so grateful that I had so much rejection growing up. It’s wild! I very much had a slow burn in my career. I’d get close to things, so I knew that I had something, but I wasn’t booking, or I’d book one job a year or something — just enough to give me hope. It gave me so much experience so that when I was given the opportunities, I was truly ready for it. I never had a time on set where I was like, “Oh, gosh. This is bigger than what I understand.” It was always, like, well paced.

SCOTT: Absolutely. People who get an awful lot of scrutiny at an early age, I think, find it harder to experiment a little bit. So it’s good that I was unemployed for so long.

LARSON: It turns out I’m so happy that it seemed like it wasn’t working out for me! Look at us now! But, yeah, when I was stalking you online, I was like, “Wow, it feels similar.”

SCOTT: Just to wrap that shyness thing up, somebody said a really brilliant thing to me, which was, like, “There’s nothing wrong with being shy. Be shy. It’s a nice thing you go a little bit red.”

LARSON: I blush very easily. It’s horrible.

SCOTT: So “Lessons in Chemistry.”

LARSON: Let’s talk about our shows.

SCOTT: She’s singular, but it’s not shyness. She’s actually quite forthright. It’s beautiful stuff. And you’ve been involved with it for …?

LARSON: I think it took two years. Maybe longer. But I think it was about two years when we started working on it to then actually filming it.

SCOTT: Are you so proud of this?

LARSON: Yeah, I think so. I’m proud of what we achieved in the time that we did. I don’t have a connection to when it goes out in the world; it just feels like then it’s not about me anymore — it’s just images and feelings. I am proud of how much we said in the show. I felt like we got a lot in it, and a really amazing group of people that worked on it. And I loved playing her.

SCOTT: Were you looking at the edit and all that kind of stuff?

LARSON: All the time. And nonstop.

SCOTT: Did you find that you were able to …

LARSON: … detach? You have to. I’m just like, “Of course I didn’t do it all right.”

SCOTT: I think there’s maybe a fear that people are going to say, “We need another close-up of me, please.”

LARSON: I felt very committed to finding what things weren’t working. Especially with a character that I also felt was very different from me, and how little she emotionally expresses.

SCOTT: I love that about it.

LARSON: I struggled with it a lot, and I felt very lost with it. I am just very used to my understanding of when something’s working — when it feels very true and I’m just in it. And I would be in it with her, but I felt like the part of me that would want to cry, for example, was being pushed. She’s always twisting the knot inside, and won’t give it to anybody.

When you’re playing Tom Ripley, what does it feel like to lie when he’s lying?

SCOTT: Well, I tried to make him lie as little as he could get away with, so that he lies in order to get himself out of a situation. And he murders to get himself out of a situation. He’s not bloodthirsty. I mean, he could have not murdered, I suppose.

LARSON: Yeah.

SCOTT: We all make that decision.

LARSON: Yeah, no, it’s a choice you make every day.

SCOTT: I suppose any of those things about him being a liar or sociopath, I found unhelpful. The kind of stuff that Tom Ripley, I suppose, is famous for as an iconic literary character — “Is he a psychopath?” or “Is he a murderer?” or whatever. But the murder-y parts — we shot it for nearly a year, and they only took up a few weeks.

LARSON: He’s mostly not murdering. I have a question about playing a character that has existed in many different iterations and forms. I feel like you have experience with that, because you do theater as well. Do you have the same approach every time, in terms of researching and watching previous versions of it? Or do you just block it out?

SCOTT: Absolutely, I block it. Because, No. 1, I adored the film “The Talented Mr. Ripley” — the Minghella movie with Matt Damon and Jude Law and Gwyneth Paltrow and all those amazing people. But mercifully, I hadn’t seen it in a very long time. One of the first conversations I had with Steven Zaillian, our writer-director, was “Why?” And he had such a singular vision for it. He wanted it a very particular way. I was worried that I was too old and blah, blah, blah — I had just a very specific idea that was based on the film.

I had to remind myself that that film was also a reiteration of something: There was another version with Alain Delon before. There were loads of different ones. So it has been reinterpreted a lot. And I feel like it’s very important that he said, “We want to age the characters up.” And he was talking about this very particular kind of noirish black-and-white vision that he had. And that made me feel very comfortable. And I always think that it’s important, because it happens in the theater so much — if it was a Shakespeare character, thousands of people have played one character. I always find that really interesting. I think the response, I suppose, is to be respectful, but not too reverent. What’s the point of doing it if you’re going to do it exactly the same way? So I didn’t look.

LARSON: What do you think about some sort of Ripley universe — into the Ripley-verse? Just all the Ripleys.

SCOTT: Like Marvel? Sort of like the Fantastic Four? Is that a thing? Oh, and they all get together?

LARSON: Yeah, Ripleys together. I’m just curious. I got a couple studios interested, so I just …

SCOTT: You do? So kind of you! You make things happen. Are you not tired? You’ve been setting up projects for me? God, you’re kind.

LARSON: No, I’m writing a part for myself as well.

SCOTT: You’d be a good Tom Ripley! 

[shizucheese]

Hello everyone! Welcome to this week's edition of "Shizu's Red String Board Madness Corner," where I once again embrace the Eye in all it's glory! As always, if you want to see my descent into madness in full all in one place, you can find the weekly reblogged post here. All Hail the All Seeing, All Knowing!

Today is 2/12/2024. Episode 5 came out 4 days ago, I just didn't have time to listen until today.

“Talkers”

Norris (Voice: Martin?/ Alex)

Episode 1: “Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret [Email]”. The Stranger? The End? The Dark? The Lonely? The Flesh? Arthur (Nolan?).

Episode 3: "Infection (full body" -/- Arboreal [Journal entry]". The Spiral? (Paranoia? Auditory, visual and olfactory hallucinations) The Lonely? The Corruption. The Flesh? (Callbacks to the Flesh Garden from S5)

Common Themes: Hearing the voice of a dead/ missing loved one?

Chester (Voice: John?/ Jonny)

Episode 1: “Transformation (eyes) -/- Tresspass [chat log]”. Magnus Institute, The Eye. (Involves a forum; the Web?).

Episode 5: "Disappearance (undetermined) -/- Invitation [Internet blog]". The Eye (Movies. Movie name: "Voyeur" "Must be seen to be believed"...). The Web? (Another website?). (Very reminiscent of Mag 110: Creature Feature.) The "poor old guy" at the theater is totally an Eye avatar, right? Kinda gives me "Simon Fairchild when he was first introduced" vibes.

Agustus: (rare?)

Episode 4: “Collection (blood) -/- musical [letter]” The End. The Lonely? The Slaughter.

Letter writer thinks passing on his violin might allow a part of himself to live on in his nephew. Very Jonah Magnus of him.

Music teacher hears “faraway music”, then goes crazy and throws himself out of the carriage and dies. Reminiscent of Mag7 and the Piper? The merchant’s wares include dice (Mag 29?). Got the violin from him (took his blood?). Effect of the violin reminiscent to Grifter’s Bone (Mag 42).

(Oliver Bardwell lol very funny guys)

Non-Talkers (?)

Episode 2: "Transformation (full) -/- dysmorphic [video call]". The Spiral? The Flesh. The Stranger. Ink 5oul (avatar/ entity?)

Notes and Thoughts:

So, so far both of the Norris statements have involved someone missing a loved one and tentatively some Lonely themes. Both of the Chester statements have been very Eye themed, and both involved websites; possibly some Web action going on as well (if this is actually John, that'd make sense given his history with the Web...). Between that and the fact that while they always start off sounding more robotic, Alex is definitely slipping more into his "Martin" voice and Jonny into his "John" voice as they get further into a statement whenever they read one, I think we can officially safely say at this point that it's not just Alex and Jonny playing Norris and Chester just to fuck with us. That being said: is this actually John and Martin? A portion of them that got trapped while the rest of them is somewhere out there, incomplete? Or is Something Else using their voices?

Idk if I've ever shared this theory on Tumblr before but until I'm told otherwise, I'm going to remain convinced that the Mangus Institute in this world burned down because Martin's Suggestion was Fire.

Is it just me or, when Alice was trying to stop Sam from filling out the forms, was there some level of desperation to her voice? Is her constant dismissal of the paperwork Sam fills out really just because they have so much work to do? Or is there something else going on? What is she hiding?

[snickerdoodlles]

oooooh 📓 for word of honor? :D

ohhh yes, i have so many woh ideas i did absolutely nothing with. let's seeeee first up is *spins wheel* ✨LEVERAGE AU✨

this is quite literally all of my notes for it:

summary: Wen Kexing, head of a rag-tag group of grifters trying to do good (well, karmic) deeds, gets introduced to his own boyfriend while on the con. Luckily, his A-Xu is going along with it without a fuss, but Kexing is so dead when he gets home.

Con: ?????

Squad: wkx, a-xiang, & department of the unfaithful

wkx: mastermind

A-Xiang: thief

Qianqiao: GRIFTER

Fumeng: head of a hacker collective. originally she started it to collect info on unfaithful men and expose them, wkx helped broadened her scope

A-Xu's at the party for chengling. channels all his many, MANY years of working for the prince to not laugh in wkx's face when they're introduced

sneaks his menace of a boyfriend off to the side to be like "you either need to come clean or exit stage right right now because the kid is here and you know he's a terrible liar"

wkx proceeds to flirt obnoxiously and outrageously. physically he is on the con, mentally and also physically he is roleplaying a seductress trying to seduce a married man with zzs.

a-xiang's complaints could be heard across the city without coms, fumeng is planning is death. qianqiao is the only one who finds this both charming and hilarious.

zzs: what do you need me to do wkx: kiss me zzs: i meant for your grift wkx, pupils blown wide: KISS ME

husbands boyfriends off to do sneaky things (???), get caught by security. zzs takes them all down before wkx finishes his first flirt.

wkx didn't need the help, he's the team's emergency killer hitter, but. so fucking hot. he needs zzs to fuck him against the wall IMMEDIATELY but also. what.

wkx: i thought you said you worked insurance! zzs: no, i said i was the insurance guy wkx: ...is that code for assassin? zzs, amused: did you think i actually worked insurance?

honestly biggest thing was that the reveal isn't angsty. wkx has been worried how he's going to break his ~life of crime~ to the love of his life for months. zzs could have known nothing about it prior to this and he'd help wkx burn the city to the ground no questions asked.

this never really went anywhere because i couldn't settle on a plot beyond ✨Shenanigans✨ but i did figure out that their client was Gao Xiaolian (because she is the cutest) to destroy zhao jing for driving her dad to suicide.

[[ ask me about fics im not writing ]]

[inionnarequiem]

Monsters Among Us

[Decedent]- There was a price to pay for curiosity. His shoes would have to be replaced for all the soot and much caked into the soles the second he stepped off the carriage, but he was here now. The industrial district of his beloved city, despite its spoils, was an insult to beauty. At least, to the naked eye.

Billowing smokestacks paint the sky dark even at the height of summer, and the fires of Britain's all-consuming empire burn its spoils like sacrifices made to pagan gods. Dorian felt his lips twitch at the thought; Charles would bristle at such a comparison.

Ah, his dear Charles Walpole. If he knew that Dorian was deliberately disobeying his direct order to seek out those others like him... well, that was for later Dorian to worry about. Besides, he had a strong hunch this particular individual wouldn't kiss and tell.

Victoria Maguire, sometimes Kirkland.

He finally got the name after a cursory glance at some of Charles's unopened mail one delicious evening. The sudden way he went stiff and contrary the second Dorian said the name spoke volumes. It was rare that Charles let individuals knock a chip into his perfect visage, that infallible fortitude legend even among mortals. But this person, this woman. If just hearing her name would provoke such a reaction from a creature of Charles' ilk... what was she like in person?

That question brought him all the way down here, to the Eastside docks. Beggar, harlot and grifter alike eyed him like a prime catch., their filthy faces hiding nothing of the greedy gleam in their eyes as he walked past. No matter, his destination was an easy one to find even in this chaos.

Belfast may be where Britain's ships were crafted and christened, but it was in other ports like here or in Liverpool that their final checks and first crewmembers were confirmed. If Maguire was in London for any extended business, she would be here.

As he approached the nondescript brick building, a few Irishmen filed out, no doubt finishing their shifts for the day. Their expressions were jovial in a way that stood out against the surrounding gloom and despair, even if the youngest one, no older than 16 no doubt, eyed him like he was some creature bringing ill-omen.

Dorian merely tipped his head politely, and the boy started, looking away and rushing after his fellows quickly. Once he stepped inside, his gaze drifted up through the dim light to the glass window panes in the back. The light was on and a few shadows milled about. So she had company already.

"I simply cannot understand why you insist upon this- this lunacy!" a voice shouted out, male and gruff with age. A few of the workers arriving for the night shifts gave slight pause before heading to their stations. Meanwhile, Dorian slowly ascended the stairs, ear straining to hear inside.

"The same reason why you insisted upon gold trim for the first class cabins instead of silver- because I said so," a distinctly feminine voice replied calmly. A melodious accent clearly from Belfast, but with an edge of polished pronunciation that cut through tension like a knife. Dorian paused, a slight pang in his chest as he grappled with the idea of confronting his second living embodiment of this Empire.

Just how different were there? And, on a more thrilling note, how similar would she be?

"Miss Kirkland—!"

"Maguire, Mr. Crosby. If it's your goal to intimidate me you could at least put in the effort of getting my name correct," a few chuckles came from the room while this poor Crosby fellow sputtered.

"I will not stand for this insubordination!" A pause.

"Then sit." Gone was the smile from that voice and that pang in Dorian's chest spiked. There was a small scuffle and the sound of a chair moving, and in the dim light a flash of brilliant red morphed by the glass came into view. The door suddenly opened and a big, burly fellow stepped out, shutting it quietly behind him. He caught sight of Dorian, eyes narrowing.

"I'm expected," Dorian whispered, reaching into his coat pocket for his calling card. The man took in, looking at the name displayed for a brief second before his eyebrows pinched. For a tiny moment, Dorian thought he may have to employ more persuasive measures before the man nodded.

"Just wait there, she'll be ready fer ye in a tick," he grumbled, turning his back to the door and crossing his arms. Inside it had gone deathly quiet, although that glorious red form glided around the room; a spectre circling its prey.

True to the loyal dog's word, a few seconds later there was a knock from inside and he stepped aside. A well-dressed, visibly shaken older man stepped out. It seemed like he couldn't get down the stairs quickly enough, but he did pause to give Dorian a double take before practically running off like a scared pup.

He merely smiled, glancing up at the burly guard. The man sighed, "a moment," before leaning his head inside, "ye got a visitor?"

"Lucky me," the woman's voice sighed, much clearer now that the door's open, "who is it?"

"Said he was 'ex pec ted,'" he snorted, drawing out the word. The woman chuckled.

"Send him in Connell, and grab yourself a pint."

"...Alright, suit yerself," The man shook his head before shoulder past Dorian, "go on then."

"With pleasure," he purred, delighting in how the man's nose twitched slightly. Without further ado, he headed inside, removing his hat to hang it on the coat hook.

There stood the woman, back turned to him as she watched out from her office window over the warehouse floor. Wispy curls of cigarette smoke floated from her left hand, held casually at her side. Two glasses of bright amber liquid sat on the desk, freshly poured. In the dim lamplight, the bright mass of red he had spotted before proved to be the woman's very own hair.

Truthfully, Dorian thought that sort of colour only existed in fairy stories. Ones told to warn good English children that those of the Emerald Isle still worshipped their pagan gods in secret and would sacrifice naughty children if they didn't clean up their act. Despite being tied up in a neat bun, save for a few loose curls that hung at the sides of her face, the light reflected off her tresses in a manner that made him suspect if it was made of primal fire.

Or perhaps dyed in blood.

The cut of her suit jacket was odd, masculine almost in the shape of the shoulders and cut in the tails. In comparison, her skirt was plain and stiff, not a single hem of a petticoat in sight. Curious, he thought.

"It's rather rude to stare, Lord Gray," she spoke softly, her accent breaking through his pause. Dorian tilted his head before she said louder, "Padraigh, Niall, you can go."

Much to his shock, two men dressed in black emerged from the shadows in the back, nodding their farewells to her as they left. Had they always been there?

It was only after the door had shut, leaving them entirely alone, that Victoria Maguire turned to face him.

If Dorian had thought that her hair was crafted from fire and blood, her eyes were a mixture of emeralds, forests, and curses. Much like Charles, upon first glance, her face was youthful with nary a wrinkle or spot to say otherwise. A light dusting of freckles across the nose and cheeks, while usually a mark against beauty, added to this deceptive mask of innocence.

But not those eyes.

Where Charles's eyes were dark pits where virtue went to suffocate and demons melded in their hellish communion, her eyes shimmered with hidden secrets that would render poor souls to oblivion and delight in how they cried for mercy. They were fairies and specters, dances and battle cries, beauty and rage. Dorian had once had a fascination with precious gems, long ago. If one could find a gem that would even come close to half the luster her eyes burned with, he would covet it in the same room in which he kept his very soul.

Dorian began to understand why Charles hated her so ardently.

"You're still starrring~" she sing-songed, a playful smile on her delicate pink lips. Dorian smiled, a brief feeling of loathed embarrassment quickly squashed down before he replied.

"My sincerest apologies, Miss Maguire," he said, placing emphasis on her name. Her smile grew slightly in amusement, but she remained silent, "I must admit that I find myself a tad out of my depths here," He smiled in a way that would almost seem sheepish to the average person, but this woman was anything but.

"That's putting it rather politely, Lord Gray," she replied, eyes narrowing slightly as she took a long drag of her cigarette. His eyes found the box for the brand on the desk, and his brow quirked; pricy. Victoria let the smoke billow out in a soft exhale before extinguishing the remains in the stone ashtray on the desk, moving to her chair and nodding to the one opposite, "please, have a seat."

Dorian took his seat gracefully, finding it surprisingly comfortable despite the rough conditions of her office. She gestured to the full glass closer to him, but he held his hand up, "No, thank you. Hard spirits are not quite my usual taste."

"Oh, a shame. This is a rare vintage men in your circles would spend a hefty sum to procure a single bottle for their cellars. I just have... special privileges given my position," She sent him a quick wink as she reached for her own glass, sipping it gingerly. He thought briefly that she was teasing him, thinking about how much Charles dragged her name through the mud. But then again... did she have a reason to lie?

Curiosity won over prejudice, and Dorian ended up taking a sip himself. There was that harsh burn of course, but it was quickly soothed by a delightful smoky aroma and... honey? He peered down at the glass, pleasantly surprised, "Well, I concede to the expert."

"Charming, I'll be sure to tell my brother that." So they were siblings after all. How was that possible? Victoria tilted her head curiously, those otherworldly eyes boring holes into his, "You know, generally conversation tends to flow better when one is asking questions. And you look like you have those in abundance. Ask."

Dorian paused; she was an audacious creature. He could count on one hand the amount of women who would be so bold, and none who did so with the confidence this one carried. No, confidence wasn't the word for it; dignity. That's it. He was... intrigued.

"You knew who I was before you read my card or saw my face; how is that?" An easy place to start. Her smile widened slightly.

"You're a peculiar gentleman, Lord Gray. And... I'm not just talking about chamber maid gossip, although I've heard plenty about that as well," A brief chill ran down his spine at her answer, even though it was nothing he hadn't heard before, "There was one bit of gossip that did catch my attention, however. Our own Charles Walpole, rubbing elbows at one of Lord Dorian Gray's exclusive soirees. I could scarcely believe it until I heard it a second and third time." Her gaze drifted to some spot in the distance, but Dorian was disturbed.

His servants were all sworn to utmost secrecy, and those that failed to do so were quickly dismissed or... travelled to be closer to family without warning. Where was she getting this information from? As if sensing his thoughts, her gaze snapped back to him and she let out a soft chuckle. As melodious as a bell and twice as chilling.

"Don't fret too hard Lord Gray, it doesn't suit that pretty face. If your intention is to find my sources, you'd be wasting your time. No matter how much of it you suddenly find yourself having," The chill became a dagger in his chest, his hand clenching his glass tight enough for his skin to go white. She laughed once more, shaking her head, "you misunderstand; nothing mortal has wagged their tongue in my ear. Your immortality is safe with me."

"How?" He asked after a beat of uncomfortable silence, tension settling into his shoulders. She took another sip, gathering her words.

"What's been your experience with magic, Lord Gray? The true kind, that is."

"Not all that extensive, I'm afraid. Why, do you mean to tell me that tea leaves and crystal balls have whispered my secrets into your ear? I've heard this yarn before," he sighed, relaxing a little as he reached into his pocket to pull out a small silver cigarette case, "may I?" She nodded her assent, but just as he put it in his lips—

The lamp flickered and flared, a flame soaring from the receptacle to the tips of her fingers. It danced as she brought it to her lips, igniting the cigarette he failed to see her take out for herself. Her eyes met his, and something charged passed between them. "Allow me," she whispered, her voice almost sounding like it came from inside his mind as she reached her still-burning fingers over towards him. Gingerly, he leant forward, catching the end of his cigarette just enough to ignite it.

His gaze locked with hers, the dual ribbons of smoke swirling and intertwining sensually between them. Even if Dorian knew that his soul was sealed in vibrant pigments and lacquer, when Victoria Maguire looked at him it was as if those eyes pierced through all matter and logic to see the heart of it. Even more peculiar, when he truly allowed himself to look, he felt something like kinship with this woman.

Desire, yes of course. Desire to see if this wild creature who played with souls like a cat would its prey could possibly break or beg with the right pressure. Victoria flicked her hand once and the flame on her fingertips flew back to the lantern, the spell broken but not its effects. No, even if she were to show such aspects, he feared that it would be but another weapon in her arsenal.

Victoria had taken submission and made it into the chains that tormented her jailors.

"All right," he conceded, a proper smile forming, "you have my attention, Miss Maguire. Are all of you capable of such feats?"

"Capable? Perhaps. Willing and able? That's an entirely different story. Walpole spurns it at every opportunity; finds it too feminine and wild for his sensibilities. But the fact remains that the strange and unusual exists, whether we acknowledge it or not. You and I for example; mortals can entertain or dismiss whatever they hear about creatures like us, but while they eventually move on with their short wee lives... we linger." Her eyes grew distant for a moment, the light of all the centuries flickering in but a moment. Dorian wondered, if he were able to live as long, if one day his own eyes would look like that.

"But Charles will not entertain such notions... unless perhaps, it directly suited or affected him." He concluded. Victoria nodded in approval.

"Got it in one. The Heart of the Empire's great machine wouldn't dare entertain stories of ghouls and goblins," she chuckled dryly, "not even when said ghouls haunt every brick in that mausoleum he calls a house."

"But what of the others? Are they all like London, or do they still cling to their wild roots?" He pressed, leaning forward now. Victoria frowned a little, looking down at a spot on the desk.

"As of this moment, the only other being in our estate that truly connect with the old ways are myself and Wales. Arthur—England, that is—tries, but it drives him to drink more than anything." Now, it may have been a trick of the light, but for a second Dorian thought that she looked almost sad about that.

"Ireland and Wales—" "Ulster."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My heart is bound solely to Ulster, my dear Lord Gray. Ireland is represented by someone else." Dorian frowned at the revelation; such vitriol and scandal around only a fragment of a nation. He tried to recall his history, remembering now how at one point, nine lords in the north allied with Spain to combat their British conquerors. Nine years for nine lords to finally flee and for plantations to re-write the fabric of the land.

And yet, here she was. Conquered but not broken. Defying mortal social norms and leaving them speechless in her wake. Ruffling the feathers of even the infallible London with the ease of merely breathing. Dorian didn't admire many people these days... but this woman, this strange creature. One that blurred the line between Beauty and Beast and carried the wrath of the seas in her veins. She was worth admiring.

"My mistake," he simply said by way of platitudes. Victoria's expression returned to its coy state.

"'To err is human," she replied, holding her glass up.

"To forgive, divine," he finished, clinking the edge of his glass against hers. They both drank to that. Victoria glanced up briefly at the clock and clicked her teeth, brows furrowing.

"It seems that time has slipped away from us, but I don't fancy going home quite yet. Could I instead persuade you to join me for an evening stroll, Lord Gray?" An innocent enough question, but it was loaded with risk; if word reached Charles, no doubt he would feel the brunt of his anger later. Her too, no doubt.

But then again, that was what made this whole meeting fun.

"I'd be delighted, Miss Maguire."

"Please, call me Victoria. This road we walk is a lonely one, and far too long to get hung up on titles," her eyes glimmered as she stood, moving around to her coat rack to grab a cane and hat. He smiled, observing how even her choice in fashion defied what mortals deemed appropriate while still being technically in line.

Oh, he very much liked this woman.

"Very well... Victoria."

@brittunculii

[uniteds]

Honestly can’t see Amorim working out on the long run so yeah why not? Why not bring Mourinho back for a second run? Like yeah he’s gonna be toxic but we might as well start looking like a football club again if he gets to work. I don’t think Amorim has the coaching experience and the knowledge to help us climb out of the depths of the pit we have sunk to. Do I want him to succeed? Yeah the same way I want every new manager to do so. But he really doesn’t fucking know what he signed up for nor scrape the surface of the shitty state the club is in. Probably won’t know what fucking hit him when things go south eventually. He MIGHT prove me wrong but at this point I just don’t think he will make it.

we had vibes with mourinho 😔 honestly even ole who i thought was out of his depth for most of his reign must feel so vindicated now.

the thing is that i do think amorim will succeed. i think he has that young mourinho ism in him that’s gonna burn the place down and build something after. the only issue is that what we end up with might be unrecognisable as united and that’s where he lost me. it’ll all be forgotten if we become a winning team again, but the way he approached rashford, the way he weaponised the media, the way that carrington record his dangerously close to ending, the way he continues to show grace to people who have enabled grifters who don’t even support united to use united as a money scheme is WEIRD. the media part, especially, is just peak weirdo behaviour.

and a lot of our fans, local or otherwise, have been taken by it. i tend to be pro manager, but there’s something about how amorim approaches the media that makes it clear that he knows that it’s his weapon and i hate it. mourinho did the same thing, but i think i just have less patience for it here because we aren’t even winning or playing well to justify it. i also truly think that, considering how racist and charged the media is and has been running hit pieces on every major black footballing star since the dawn of time and has now turned to rashford, you have a responsibility has a manager to not enable that. deal with it behind the scenes. not only did he enable it, he politically USED IT to get ahead in this war. and for what? rash is leaving, amorim has his job until the start of next season. it just is unnecessarily degrading and cruel and i don’t like it. fans that treat his media schtick as a funny quirky little thing and not for what it is are also weird as hell.