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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 3 months

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Montage - a Malevolent fic

Kayne doesn't like happy scenes.

It's a good thing he does like his little sister.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

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“This is cute, doll, but happy scenes make for good montages, not whole episodes.”

“Just a while longer, brother? Please?”

“Eh… all right. For you, doll. They get one month.”

“Thank you.”

“Who’s the best big brother in the world? I am!”

Parker found the section on Eldritch God Mating Practices on day three. He and Sunny immediately borrowed a dozen books.

Which they read.

Committed to memory.

And absolutely laughed themselves silly.

“Tabby,” the Keeper said softly, after the humans had gone to bed. “I need to be extremely normal for a few minutes.”

“Oh boy,” Tabby said, sitting up from where she’d been dozing in an armchair.

“He’s so little,” the Keeper squealed, rocking back and forth with her delight. “Hastur told me he was small, but he’s so—he’s so small!”

“I can’t see him, Keeps,” Tabby said, frowning. “How small we talkin’?”

“Cup your hands,” the Keeper said, and then promptly reached over and began shaping Tabby’s fingers. “Smaller—there! He’d be snug, right in there!”

“Oh, fuck,” said Tabby, eyes huge. “...Liddol.”

“Liddol,” agreed the Keeper, and they giggled into the night.

Arthur began to fear he’d forget how to walk.

Well, he was walking sometimes. Biological necessity and stubborn insistence granted him time on his own two feet. But other than that, he was carried, pressed close.

He hated the fact that he did not hate it.

Magic was weird. Gods were weird. All of this was ridiculous. If Hastur actually fucking spoke once in a while, Arthur might have put up a fuss. But Hastur did not, and so Arthur allowed himself to be… how did Tabby put it?

Woobied.

That word, Arthur was fairly sure, did not exist, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of one better.

He just kept talking to the quiet god. “Let’s try that show the Keeper talked about. Baking for charity, right? Have you ever baked?”

Nothing.

“I think we should watch it,” Arthur said.

Silent, Hastur willed the screen to show them a bake-off.

The world outside might not have moved. Time may not have passed. But in here, everyone knew Faroe’s birthday was tomorrow, and ten was a big deal.

It was the first time Hastur had spoken in a week and a half. He did so to Faroe, holding Arthur (who looked so fucking patient) against his side. “What do you wish for your birthday, precious one?”

She didn’t know how to answer that.

She wanted everything to be all right.

She wanted Kayne to die in a fire.

She wanted to be so strong she could protect them all.

She wanted her dad. “Can we go somewhere? You and me? A special trip?”

“When we leave this place? Yes. We can.”

She threw herself into his arms, into his tentacles, in full rejoicing that she’d never be too big to play this game.

Arthur turned his face toward Hastur. “Knew you were still in there.”

Hastur just held Arthur tighter.

Parker expected some level of eyes on them. The Keeper (or Keeps, as that girl with the funny hair kept calling her) was a god of knowledge, and this was her house; it made sense he’d feel some eyes here and there.

He didn’t expect the eyes to belong to just people—the acolytes or scribes or whatever they were.

In the privacy of their room (graciously granted by the Keeper) he and Sunny discussed it. There didn’t seem to be any threat involved. They really didn’t want to leave Arthur alone without backup, either. So together, they chose to spy back.

Sunny cast a spell to listen in on the ones watching. Then, casually, Parker headed into the public area with some tea and a book on the challenge of mapmaking in the Dreamlands.

“It certainly corroborates the stories we’re hearing from the field,” said a human some distance away, voice hushed. Her eyes darted their way, as if confirming they were too far to hear. “A forgotten one makes sense.”

Uh-oh.

“He doesn’t really fit the standard, but I think you’re right,” agreed her companion, moving a stack of scrolls off of a table and onto a rolling cart. His fins, short and newly grown, glistened in the light. “No one has seen a forgotten one with this level of symbiosis in at least a thousand years, much less two from the same god… but only one’s host is getting stories written about him.”

Stories? Eh?

Parker turned a page for appearance’s sake.

“I see where ‘the Golden Tongue’ came from,” the woman said. “It’s blink and you’ll miss it quick, but shows in little flashes. I’m more surprised at the content of the stories, given their progenitor. The King in Yellow is not known for, uh. Charity work.”

“Well, we humans tend to have a way of eliciting change—including affecting the nature of Forgotten Ones.” The finned man laughed, low. “Who knows? Maybe the Golden Tongue going home even motivated the King to make a few changes of his own. So where are we filing these, again?”

The two scribes walked off, still chattering in their hushed tones, and Parker was deeply confused. “Was that really about us?” he whispered.

It was, but I don’t… I don’t understand it. Maybe… maybe that’s why Larson got so weird about calling you Saint. Maybe these stories are… something.

“Huh,” said Parker, who hadn’t thought they’d done enough to be known in a fancy place like this. “Weird.”

Yeah. Weird, said Sunny like he didn’t think “weird” was a beautiful enough word, but then he let it go.

Tabby made Faroe a cake. It was yellow with asymmetrical pink florets, and proclaimed in uneven lowercase writing, you are a ten years old.

Faroe found it hilarious.

Arthur, when told, found it hilarious.

Parker sniggered like a big kid.

Hastur absolutely did not get it, but allowed the humans their fun.

It tasted great, and even Hastur joined in singing her happy birthday.

There were presents. She got a runed wooden dagger that matched hers, a box of chocolates. a fluffy sweater with little goats and yellow signs on it, a set of books about someone called Nancy Drew, and a promise of a song written with Arthur for her on harp once they got back home.

Faroe decided not to tell her dad that she preferred private parties just like this.

“It ain’t good to sit all day,” Parker told some of the researchers over tea a couple of weeks in. “Your body gets used to whatever you’re doing, see? So you wanna be strong and fast, you gotta work at being strong and fast. Hey. You guys… uh. You collect knowledge, right? You could study, uh. How long it takes you to get stronger and faster. Right? You wanna join me?”

And that was how he ended up leading a whole string of wide-eyed researchers, like baby ducklings, through a series of mild cardio and strength workouts.

Faroe had never encountered jeans before.

Tabby had suggested she try them. Faroe had never encountered anyone like Tabby before either, but the jeans at least gave her something to focus on. The sizing, for one, was all wrong, but Tabby was (presumably) twice her age and had loaned her the pair, showing her how to properly fold the waistband so it wouldn’t pinch on application with a belt, and how to cuff the pant legs (which, to Tabby’s great displeasure, only needed to be minorly adjusted).

“Hell yeah. Now you just need a shirt, and you’ll be the coolest ten-year-old this side of the Dreamlands,” Tabby said. She found one, of course. It had a goose on it, and the goose held a knife in its beak, and beneath it the text proclaimed, Peace was never an option.

Faroe loved it.

She felt a bit silly in an oversized shirt and oversized pants, but Tabby gave her a thumbs-up, and Faroe decided that she did look very cool.

Parker thought she just looked like a person, not a queen, and that was trippy as hell.

Arthur demanded increasingly detailed description from John for a solid twenty minutes before he was satisfied.

Arthur had almost died. Not here, in the Scriptorium. In the mines of Addison, beneath the Larson estate, and John had sewn the gaping wound in Arthur’s stomach up with a fucking fish hook and some thread, and Arthur had almost died, and John was not okay.

He remembered sobbing, remembered begging Arthur not to say something, remembered dragging their limp body to the bag, remembered—

The Keeper hadn’t expected John to remember. She said so, after Arthur had fallen asleep, and checked in on him with a gentleness that John had neither expected nor wanted.

He told her to fuck off. She did.

Hastur hadn’t even scolded him for it. Hastur hadn’t made a single fucking sound.

So John yelled at Hastur next, and cried, and Hastur said nothing at all, and John was not okay.

John wanted to talk to Arthur, but Arthur would only ramble about John saving him, and that made John feel worse because he didn’t remember doing it, and past John was a hero, but he was someone else.

John wanted to talk to Hastur, but Hastur wasn’t saying anything, and John was scared that they’d broken him, and if the King in Yellow could be broken, what did that mean for John?

John wanted to talk to Sunny, but getting him alone was impossible without Hastur right now (woobification), and besides, something weird had happened with Sunny at the end, though John hadn’t really paid attention at the time (busy drowning in the memory that Arthur nearly died) but Parker had gone pale and shaky and disappeared and hadn’t reappeared until the following morning, so who the hell knew what was going on there?

More than anything else, John wanted to go home, and knew he couldn’t, and so instead just kept his hand pressed flat against Arthur’s chest to feel his heartbeat and tried not to be sick about the scar that lay a few inches below.

The Scriptorium was different.

Initially Faroe believed it must be the power differential; the Keeper did not need to abide by most sensible forms of protection because she was an Outer God. She did not need to restrict access to her attention because no one would be so foolish as to risk her wrath by wasting her time.

Or maybe, Faroe thought, it was because she could be like that, but wasn’t. The Keeper was… so nice. Seemed to be so nice. Was obviously terrifying, as all gods were, but… so nice?

So Faroe felt until a rude asshole showed up on day twenty-three, causing a fuss, demanding things from her researchers, and ignored three increasingly stern warnings.

Then he got turned into a book.

Into. A book. With screaming. Begging. Bargaining. Blood.

Faroe had grown up in the court of a Great Old One and been long accustomed to all manner of violence and gore, but this… this was disturbing.

The Keeper was an Outer God, and this was her domain, and she’d been merciful and patient… but this guy threatened her people. Faroe thought she understood that. Threatning a god’s people was just a bad idea.

She began to consider just what kind of queen she’d have to someday be, if she were going to keep whoever her people were safe.

It had been twenty-nine days. Hastur sat in front of the Keeper’s media setup, silent as humans from some alternate universe sang and danced.

Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers

Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby!

A world outside. Well. There sure was one.

He sighed slowly. His plan—complex, branching, outrageous—had suffered some serious pruning over the last month. Wisdom, he’d taught Faroe, was knowing your own limits. Hastur rarely ran into his; well, he had here.

Discovering hesitation in himself alone was cause for concern. His reaction to all of this was cause for concern. Arthur’s mortality was cause for concern.

He had to talk to the Keeper. He hadn’t, all month.

He knew he had to thank her, and he really didn’t want to. He knew he had to trust her, and he really was afraid to. He knew he had to ensure she’d continue helping them after he was gone, and that, he had to do.

She kept reassuring him he’d paid for all this extra… extra, but that was a dangerous idea to accept. What else did he have to give, though? Certainly nothing of equal value. He’d keep sneaking her books, for certain. Leaving them with a researcher, if she kept trying to sneak them back.

He could… offer her the Librarian’s services. Her assistants were nice, but the Librarian would blow them all away.

Might be dangerous to dangle that, though. The Librarian would be crucial in helping John and Arthur and Faroe moving forward. He couldn’t risk her deciding to take it.

And then there were Sunny and Parker. What to do about them?

Placing Sunny in the court’s eye was… a complicated idea. Sunny had not been introduced at all. Hastur was already in the middle of altering public perception and memory. He’d already pushed it with John and Arthur. So Sunny and Parker could not be brought in as if they were already involved.

He’d have to bring them in separately. Not as replacements, but as support.

Assuming they’d allow it. Parker still just wanted to go, and Sunny was dead set on being absorbed. The key to Parker was Sunny. Therefore, dealing with that was step one.

We'll see the shows at Delmonicos

And we'll close the town in a whirl

And we won't come home until we've kissed a girl!

“You in there?” said Arthur, who checked once in a while.

You’re supposed to be asleep, John groused.

“Yes,” said Hastur, who hadn’t answered before.

Arthur gasped. “Hi!”

This idiot. “Greetings,” Hastur said back.

“You’ve been so damn quiet,” said Arthur.

“It is time to return to the world,” said Hastur.

Arthur stiffened. “Now, wait just a damn minute—”

Hey! Not yet. You’re fucked up. What are you gonna do, sit in court and stare at people until they go away?

And inspiration struck. Struck like lightning, struck in a flash, illuminating the path forward. “No,” said Hastur. “I am going to teach you to lead Carcosa.”

Arthur made the most glorious faces. Hastur committed them to memory. “Uh,” said the human.

Who? Me? said John.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “This month has given me time to think.”

“About what?” said Arthur.

Hastur stood. “Let us go see the rest of our family, shall we?”

What the fuck are you up to? said John.

“I’m just glad he’s talking,” Arthur muttered.

“I had a lot to think about,” Hastur said mildly, and floated from the room.

Behind him, Dolly sang.

Dressed like a dream

Your spirits seem to turn around

That Sunday shine is a certain sign

That you feel as fine as you look!

He found Faroe practicing her mental magic, hovering a little longboat through the air and making it move as if in a storm.

He found Parker coaching researchers through pushups, Sunny cheering them on, sweating from his own exertions.

He found the Keeper waiting for him, because of course, she already knew.

He brought his family together, and told them it was time to go back.

“Already?” said Faroe.

Yes.

So soon, Sunny said.

Parker nodded. He knew.

John had protests. You’re still not stable! It’s rushed! Arthur’s heart isn’t okay yet! No!

“John, calm down,” said Arthur (expected), which did exactly the opposite of that (also expected).

Fuck you!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Arthur, and they began to argue.

Good. While they shouted, Hastur took advantage. “Keeper,” he said softly.

“Hastur,” she said.

“Whatever you may claim, I sincerely doubt I’ve paid enough for a month of succor,” said Hastur.

“Not quite a month,” she said, a smile in her voice. “As always, I am forced to remind you that I am the one who sets the payment; and I’ll have you know it’s been paid in full.”

“We never discussed housing, feeding, and assorted entertainment, especially not for Yang and Sunny, so I fail to see how it could have been paid for. I don’t care for outstanding debts—- especially my own.” Hastur’s voice was low.

You’re not taking this seriously!

“You’re not taking this like an adult! We can’t keep hiding here. Just because we’re going to leave without drama—” Arthur said.

Yeah, they’d be at it a while longer. Hastur waited.

“On the contrary; your marked graciously provided me with a rather insightful memory, which paid for the month of respite you’ve since needed. As he was the one to request my involvement, I feel it is a fitting payment.”

Well, that was… possible. Hastur couldn’t deny that happened. He hadn’t been part of it. “May I ask what memory?”

“Arthur? May I?”

“And you aren’t the only one who—pardon, what? Oh. Sure. Tell him anything.”

John growled. Not anything, Arthur!

“He shared the memory which brought you to us,” said the Keeper, “which consisted of his near-death experience in the mines beneath Addison, and of the creature who brought him to such a state.” Her voice was so pleasant, as if even just the memory hadn’t brought Arthur to the brink of death. “I assure you, he and I discussed the possibility of what he may feel before we undertook it. I received his full consent.”

“That much was clear.” And it had been weaponized. Hastur had no doubts about Arthur’s involvement in that little scheme. It was probably his idea. “Very well. I accept this settling of our debt.”

We shouldn’t go anywhere! You probably aren’t even aging in here! John declared.

Arthur sighed. “John. We’ll solve it. It’s going to work out.”

But if we go back out there…

“What? What, John?”

John’s mutter was too loud. Everyone will see he’s fucked up.

“I doubt it,” said Arthur. “He’s too good a liar.”

“He is not fucked up!” Faroe declared. “You take that back, John!”

That reinforced Hastur’s new idea so well, it was like he’d written the script himself. “Come, my family. It is time.”

“Hey,” said Parker, putting his hands on Arthur and Faroe’s shoulders. “You good?”

“Yes,” said Arthur.

John was silent.

Faroe scowled.

I… I think maybe we should work the rest out on our own without an audience, don’t you? said Sunny absolutely innocently.

John gasped. Fuck. Yes. Fuck.

“Let’s go.” Arthur took John’s hand. “I’m ready.”

More suitable than John. Hastur was glad he had no facial expressions to give him away.

Faroe leaned against Hastur. “Do I still have to have a public celebration?”

“Yes. They can be more for our people than for you, if you prefer,” said Hastur.

She looked up. “What does that mean?”

“What’s the difference between the galas and the jubilees?” said Hastur.

Her eyes widened. “One is for your people, and the other is for you. It’s about where the praise and focus land.”

“Yes. This can be for them, more than you.”

“I’d like that.”

“How’s that work, exactly?” said Parker, who hadn’t attended either.

“I’ll explain,” said Arthur, “when we’re home.”

Hastur looked at the Keeper. “Should we return at the usual time next week?”

“I believe that would be wise. After all, Arthur and I have hardly had a chance to talk.” Her gaze lingered on the human in Hastur’s arms. “I have yet to solve your conundrum, Hastur.”

Tabby came around the corner and hopped onto the nearest table, combat boots swinging. “Your friends wanna go home now, Keeps. Quit stalling.”

Faroe smiled and waggled her fingers at Tabby.

Tabby blew Faroe a kiss.

The Keeper sighed at her. “I am not stalling. I am answering questions. That is my job.”

Tabby gave her an incredibly exaggerated look of doubt.

“You are free to go, Hastur. All of you. As I told you, your debt is paid; and, if nothing else, I am glad you’re feeling more yourself. But…”

Tabby sighed. “Keeps.”

“I also implore you to remember, Hastur,” the Keeper said evenly, placing one hand directly on top of Tabby’s head and using it to push her onto her side, “that my door is always open.”

Tabby gave her a look.

Hastur saw his opening and dove. “To them. Not only to me.”

“Would you like the door I loaned your people to become a permanent fixture?” Her voice was sweet, curious.

“Yes.” Hastur didn’t hesitate at all.

“You may want to move it, then. A third floor supply closet is an odd place for a door to a library.” She laughed, airy, fond. “A drop of blood on the knob will make it permanent, then. I’ll know to keep it open on my side.”

“I will ensure its placement. Thank you.” His bow was graceful, all tentacles curling as if posed for a portrait of horror and beauty, crown glinting just so.

John was so suspicious. Why does he want that?

“It’s a good thing,” Arthur whispered back.

“And you will linger to speak with me after Arthur’s next visit,” the Keeper said, friendly and kind but firm. “I rather missed seeing you last time, you know.”

Tabby turned to stare at the Keeper.

Faroe turned to stare at the Keeper.

Parker glanced between the Keeper and Hastur.

“As you wish, great one,” Hastur said, still bowed, sounded completely calm about this—which, coming on the heels of a month of silence, was moderately concerning.

Why the fuck? Said John.

Later, Sunny soothed.

Hastur held Arthur and Faroe close (and Parker did not come near enough to be grabbed).

“Parker?” said Faroe.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Will you come back to meals?”

Sunny made a small noise of surprise.

“I won’t let him do it again,” she added.

Hastur stroked her hair. “Nor shall I.”

Faroe looked at her father with adoration, then at Parker with hope.

“Almost seems like an apology, eh, Sunny?” Parker said.

Sunny sighed dramatically. I think I can put aside my feelings, just this once. For her.

“We’ll come, kid.”

Faroe beamed as though given an extra present.

“It is settled,” said Hastur like some dark deal had been made, and flew for the portal out.

Larson was having a pretty good day.

It was true the King in Yellow had disappeared an hour ago, but he likely had good reason. All the others were gone, too, and that made it so nice to walk these halls.

To walk, and sneer, and nod knowingly at those he passed. He was one of them now, the elite, the approved. Perhaps he’d step forward today in court, make himself more known, more seen—

“You have both done well,” he heard, froze, and peeked over the balcony rail.

There was the King. The damn goat danced around his feet like he’d been gone for a month, not an hour, pressing one of its faces into Faroe’s hands. The King held Arthur (and Faroe, and that close, there was no doubt of relation), and was talking to…

No. No!

Parker eyed the King with disrespect, with defiance, with that squint-eyed insouciance that so marked every conversation with this Saint. “Didn’t do much.”

“I disagree. Sunny, your wisdom… shone. We will speak more of this later.” And Hastur left, carrying his Lesters like dolls, Nibbles prancing at his feet and bleating annoyingly.

Parker watched him go, frowning. “Huh.”

I don’t like that, ‘Sunny’ said quietly.

“How come, sunshine?”

Yes. How come, you pitiful little shred?

He’s up to something again, said Sunny, who then sighed. I don’t know that he actually… processed much of what we were trying to say. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.

The Saint sighed (like it was a burden—like the King in Yellow, a Great Old One of impossible age and power—was something he had to deal with). “I think you’re right. Dunno what switch got flipped… though he’s not wrong about you.” Parker began walking away.

Oh, stop, the Scrap said, low and embarrassed.

“Nope. Just true. Even that guy sees it. You are something special,” he said (that lickspittle), and they were around the corner and gone.

Larson turned away, leaning against the wall and clutching at the cold marble. Why? Why did this have to happen? He’d made such progress! Why?

That piece of shit. That Saint. It wasn’t enough that he was a thief. Wasn’t enough he didn’t know his fucking place, didn’t know deference, hadn’t learned his lesson. He had to try to take the King away, too.

Parker and the scrap’s shared laugh floated back around the corner.

Someday, the Saint would pay, and it would be brutal, and it would be cruel, and Larson would take great pleasure in doing it himself. So much pleasure.

Someday.

Larson stormed to court, teeth bared, and almost forgot to give knowing nods to his fellow accepted elite.

“That was lovely.”

“Montages, huh?” said Tabby. “Eye of the Tiger, or whatever?”

“Heh, heh, heh. Sometimes, just sometimes, I like how you think. That’s reeeaally not good for you.”

“Kayne.”

“Don’t worry, sis. She’s yours. I won’t touch her.” The sound of stretching, a back cracking, bones popping like some orthopedic nightmare. “Back to our regularly scheduled program. Good luck to the contestants, eh?”

“Yes,” the Keeper agreed, quiet and serious. “Good luck to them, indeed.”

#malevolent #malevolent fic #surrogate series #surrogate fic #surrogate malevolent #arthur lester #faroe lester #john malevolent #parker yang #sunny | yellow malevolent

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stokan · 7 years

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The 20 Best Things of 2016

Fun fact: Many good things actually happened in the year 2016. It’s true! It wasn't all death and Trump, although as you’ll see, those two factors hang heavy over even the best of things. But just like every year, 2016 still managed to produce its fair share of great art, cultural triumphs, and viral delights. Leaving out, obviously, things from 2016 that it seems like I’ll probably love but have yet to experience (OJ: Made in America, Search Party, 20th Century Women, Fences, etc.), and TV shows I’ve already written about in years past (OITNB, Transparent, You're the Worst, Veep, etc) here are my top 20 favorite things from 2016, listed in no particular order:

1. Beyonce - “Formation” video

How upset old white people were about this should give you some idea of just how great it is.

When I was growing up, the biggest music video from the biggest female pop star of the day involved her dancing around suggestively in a Catholic school girl outfit. Trump may have won the election, but progress still remains undefeated.

2. Kendrick Lamar’s Grammys Performance

(Of course this isn't anywhere on the internet for me to link to. Because Neil Portnow.)

Kendrick’s performance was the performance that Kayne always thinks he is giving. It’s a performance that made everyone else who took the stage on Music’s Biggest Night seem like talent show contestants.

I don’t want to tell artists how to use their fame, but this is how they should use their fame.

3. Last Week Tonight - #MakeDonaldDrumpfAgain

SPOILER ALERT: He didn't make Donald Drumpf again. In fact the viral success of this piece and lack of any resultant effect on Trump whatsoever does raise some big questions about the effectiveness of comedy in actually changing anyone’s mind about anything in 2016. But yet, like death from a thousand paper cuts, it definitely drew a little blood. And even though I really wish John Oliver had stuck with guns and only referred to Trump as Drumpf for the rest of the year, it was still a more thorough and effective attack ad than anything the Clinton campaign managed to put together, and that was basically their whole job. John Oliver can never be president, but the world is going to be a better place as long as he keeps trying to help decide who will be.

Also, says everything about 2016 that this piece now feels like it came out ten thousand years ago.

4. La La Land

Hey, remember joy? And love? And having hopes and dreams? Well La La Land sure does! The best and worst thing you can say about it is that it’s a pre-Trump movie. Maybe the last one ever in fact. But for my money, Damien Chazelle’s quest to Make Musicals Great Again is exactly the tonic we need right now. And it seems fitting the Oscars after the death of Debbie Reynolds are going to be headlined by a colorful and happiness-inducing musical about show business, complete with its own dream ballet. Sometimes the best way to reinvent an art form is to just do it the same way its always been done, only better and at the right time.

5. Olympic Swimming

When the Olympics began I barely cared. I was raised on the Olympics, but in 2016 there’s so much else going on it felt like maybe time has passed the Olympics by. And then the swimming started. And Ledecky destroyed all challengers. And Phelps proved that calling him the greatest swimmer of all time is still underrating him. And Simone Manuel made history. And Lochte Lochted. And Anthony Ervin spun an all-time Olympic athlete backstory into Olympic gold. And for a week there was nothing in the world more compelling than watch people swim laps in a pool.

So turns out the Olympics are the Michael Phelps of sporting events - the second you think they’ve slipped a bit is when they have you right where they want you.

6. LVL Up - “Pain”

Point: Rock and roll is dead

Counterpoint: “Pain” by LVL Up

7. Stranger Things

I hate the 80s. I hate supernatural shows and horror-based shows and “genre” shows in general. I hate homage as the starting place for a work of art. I hate culture’s obsession with nostalgia and youth. And yet I loved Stranger Things. It felt like nothing else on TV while feeling like so many other things all at once. It’s the show Lost wishes it could have been, and what JJ Abrams wishes he had made instead of Super 8.

Also: I hate that there’s going to be a season two. I hate that dialogue around the show seemed so #TeamBarb when clearly any sane right-thinking person is #TeamNancy all the way. I preemptively hate all the imitators Stranger Things is going to spawn. And I hate the Stranger Things backlash that’s inevitably coming and coming hard. But right now, in this moment, let’s all embrace a wonderful television ride and not worry about the demigorgons in the woods coming to put slugs in its mouth.

#KeepHawkinsWeird

8. Flossie Dickey

Sometimes you find true love where you least expect it. Like in an interview with a 110-year woman at a nursing home.

9. Sam Donsky on The Ringer

(Speaking of soul mates…)

In the age of Trump it’s more important than ever that we have writers brave enough to ask the tough questions. Like: Who would win the Oscar for Best Baby? What is the best night any celebrity has ever had at Madison Square Garden? And why does David Benioff always thank his wife by her full name?

From analyzing the Kim/Kayne/Taylor tapes like they're the Zapruder film, to asking 74 questions about a film no one saw or liked, 2016 was the year Sam Donsky officially made himself into this generation’s Woodward and Bernstein, if Woodward and Bernstein were mostly known for dissecting dumb pop culture on the internet. We may never fully understand why Trump won, but, also, what’s up with Chris Pratt’s vests?

10. Black-ish - “Hope”

A perfect piece of writing and a perfect argument for the continued existence of network TV.

That being said though, 40 years ago this would be a classic TV episode people would talk about for generations. Now, it didn't even get nominated for an Emmy. Maybe network TV is just beyond saving.

11. The People vs. OJ Simpson

It’s almost a cliche at this point to point out how many societal issues the OJ Simpson case touched on, but watching this miniseries unfold was a great reminder that looking at the the past is usually the best vehicle for exploring the present. To choose just one example, the scene where the jurors argue over what to watch on TV is a perfect encapsulation of how something like a Trump victory could some day be possible. And if Marcia Clark isn't a perfect Hillary Clinton avatar then I don’t know who is. My only complaints about a perfect eight hours of television are that it wasn't longer and that Sarah Paulson and Courtney B. Vance aren't eligible for Oscars.

12. Samantha Bee’s Donald Trump Conspiracy Theory

Look, I don't want to say that Full Frontal with Samantha Bee is the best and most important show on TV. That is has the best joke writers in the business. That it has the righteous anger and indignation that this year called for. That it’s going to be our guiding light for the next four years. And that it’s proof that giving The Daily Show to Trevor Noah was one of the dumbest decisions in recent television history. All I’m saying is that some people are saying that, and who am I to disagree? If I was going to make claims that outlandish, I guess the first pieces of evidence I would direct you to are this already iconic Donald Trump conspiracy and the show’s Harriet Tubman segment. But I’m not one to make accusations about things using facts and evidence. I’m no expert; I’m just a guy. A guy standing in front of samanthabee.com asking it to to love him.

13. David Bowie - “Lazarus” video

The ultimate mic drop.

They say Native Americans used to make use of every part of the buffalo. David Bowie was like that, only the buffalo was his life.

14. SNL

“Farewell Mr. Bunting”

Having enough trust in your audience and your vision to attempt this sketch is super inspiring. Getting people in 2016 to wait through two and a half minutes of build up in a viral video before it pays off feels like a miracle. And getting the feeling back in my face when I finally finish laughing at this is going to be really great.

“Black Jeopardy” This is what comedy can do when its at it’s best. It cuts to truths about America more clearly and cleanly than 1,000 think pieces ever could. Are comedy sketches eligible for the Nobel Prize in Literature now?

“Hillary Clinton/Hallelujah” And this is what comedy can do when it’s not comedy at all. When historians 200 years from now want to know what the days just after the election of Donald Trump felt like all they need to do is watch this. The best thing SNL has ever done.

15. Songs That Made Me Unsure Whether I Should Be Sad, Dance, Or Both

Christine and the Queens - “iT”

I have absolutely no idea what this song is about. All I know is it sounds like the feeling of being alive. Between this song and Marion Cotillard’s eyes the French really continue to have the whole beautiful sadness thing figured out.

Eleanor Freiberger - “My Mistakes” The best Rilo Kiley song of 2016. The world can change however it wants; as long as it keeps giving me new versions of the exact song I’m totally good.

Mike Posner - “Took a Pill in Ibiza” The exact opposite of me is an EDM-influenced song about taking drugs in a nightclub in Ibiza. Yet here we are. Turns out that existential melancholy translated into Douche from the original Neurotic Intellectual is still pretty damn relatable. And yes I realize this song came out in 2015, but this will always be the sound of 2016 to me.

16. Moonlight

Moonlight feels like a miracle. That a serious drama without any name stars about a poor, gay, black man coming of age could be made at all, yet alone breakthrough into the popular consciousness. That a cast this natural and flawless could be found, like an album where every song that comes on makes you go “no THIS one is my favorite!”. That there are two different sets of three actors so similar and so good that when I see them together doing press it hurts my brain because I can’t process that they were not ACTUALLY the same person at three different ages. That two people making small talk at a table in a diner could have a whole audience on the edge of their seats. That a no-name director with one prior little-seen credit could create the most powerful and well-made movie of the year. None of these things seems possible or plausible, and yet they're all true. This movie is a miracle. And its success gives me hope. To quote critic Dana Stevens, in the pitch-black year of Trump, Moonlight was a “crack in the wall that allowed light to shine through”.

17. Atlanta

In 2016, what even is TV? It’s basically anything now. And it’s everything. It’s whatever it wants to be. And no artist has yet risen to meet the challenge and possibility of our post-Louie world better than Donald Glover has. In 2016 Atlanta is TV, and TV is Atlanta. There are no rules. There is only what you can dream up.

What will season two of Atlanta be? It could be literally anything and no one would bat an eye.

18. Chance the Rapper - Coloring Book

Chance the Rapper is so millennial it hurts. Chance the Rapper definitely has strong feelings about safe spaces and Bernie Sanders. Chance the Rapper has never even considered doing something ironically. Chance the Rapper makes Lin-Manuel Miranda look like a cynical pessimist. Hell, Chance the Rapper named himself Chance the Rapper. And as a millennial, Chance the Rapper is the future.

And the future sounds amazing.

The future is like if Old Kanye had been raised on new Kanye and was actually good at rapping. (As the old saying goes: every generation gets the Late Registration it deserves) The future is like if Picasso painted with emojis. The future is earnestness being the new aggression. The future is Future being the past.

Hip-hop is dead, long live hip-hop.

19. “A Closer Look” on Late Night With Seth Meyers

I almost left this reoccurring segment off my list of the best of 2016 because it’s become such a constant part of my life that I assumed it had been around longer than just this year. Who knew when Jon Stewart retired that the new iteration of The Daily Show would be called Late Night With Seth Meyers? Or as I call it: Essential.

20. Revisionist History Podcast

Facts and knowledge really took a beating in 2016, but turns out both are still great if you just re-examine them rather then throw them out all together. Perhaps looking more deeply into our assumptions about the world can help us better understand human nature and the reality we all share. Who knew?

Of everything I experienced in 2016 this podcast is the thing I reference most frequently. I’m fun at parties.

#la la land #Kendrick Lamar #moonlight #a closer look #revisionist history #formation #snl #make donald drumpf again #samantha bee #chance the rapper #atlanta #stranger things

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