Да, я никак не угомонюсь и буду видимо еще орать об этом долго. Еще немного о том, что они сделали и как многих людей это поломало и уничтожило морально.

An Open Letter to the Magicians Showrunners from a Depressed, Queer Fan Who Uses Fantasy Fiction as an Escape
It’s been four days since the Season Four finale of the Magicians, and I’m still reeling. I feel, deeply, that I have lost a vital part of what keeps me afloat on a day-to-day basis.

I expect this to sound hyperbolic to you. Hell, I expect it to sound like an exaggeration to most people who come across this letter. I expect you to read this and think, “It’s just a TV show. Get over yourself.”

Trust me. If I could, I would.

I have dealt with varying levels of depression most of my life. I get spurts of happiness, sure, and sometimes I’m okay for a few days or weeks, but most of the time, despite being semi-well medicated and functional, I struggle.

So I use coping mechanisms. I plan vacations. I make memes. I write. But you know what I’ve used the longest? The one I always go back to?

Fantasy fiction. When I am at my lowest, this is where I turn. When I can’t deal with how random and awful everyday life is, I immerse myself in impossible worlds that help me make sense of the chaos around me.

The Magicians has, for three years now, been my main means of escape. It helps that it comes out in January, when my seasonal affective disorder is almost unmanageable. I can get through errands and work and deal with a slew of issues because if I make it until Wednesday, I can see what happens on the Magicians.

The Magicians lets me escape. Does this remind you of a certain character you created?

Дальше читать здесь. Откровенно, больно, каждое слово в точку.

УПД. Простите, красная пелена гнева застилает глаза. Вот, вот этот посыл, который нам внезапно дал 4 сезон и 13 серия в частности.

If The Magicians is a story about stories, which we all agree it is, then what story, precisely, do you think Quentin’s arc tells? Because the story I watched said: fight as hard as you want, it doesn’t matter; your destiny is suffering, and guilt over your suffering, and misery, and despair. No one will ever see you. No one will choose to help you. No one will ever come for you. Your ongoing trauma matters to no one. No one will ever even notice you’re hurting. There is no escape, and you have no future, and your best and most powerful act will be your complicity in your own death, whereupon all these things that don’t actually need forgiveness, like your illness and struggle and trauma, will be magically forgiven — and that is cartoonish, and terrible, and pointless, and untrue, just —

— fuck you, man, if that’s what you think my story should be.

отсюда