#and there are definitely palpable differences between it and Sherlock

[plottingalong]

started listening to sherlock and co and it's quite good really, the only problem being that it's roughly 5% too similar to bbc Sherlock for my liking.

[fuckyeahfightlock]

Contretemps (12k, E), posted 17 MAY 2013

Sherlock (TV)/Doctor Who (2005), 1317 hits, 57 kudos

Summary:  Sherlock's got a secret. Donna might be pregnant. John wants to buy a big bed and sleep in between them.

Grade: A

Favourite Line: “Hush, Sherlock, I don’t care, I don’t care. . .”

What I Would Do Differently: I think Donna refers to Westminster when she means Marylebone. So, not much at all.

Notes: Post-Reichenbach reunion sex with scar-reveals and manifestations of Sherlock’s PTSD, Donna so terribly sad, her awful mother, her wonderful grand-dad. I love it all. One thing I was struck by, rereading, is that Donna’s pain is palpable without being histrionic--well done, me. Also, I think this is around the time I discovered that one key to compelling fiction is to keep raising the stakes. It builds tension and gets the reader invested in caring about the characters. Stakes definitely rose in this story, vis a vis the series. I wish more people had read these, though I understand why they didn’t. Think of Donna as an OC???

[bottleofspilledink]

God’s Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter XII

Eve arrived at school at exactly seven in the morning, a whole hour before class was supposed to start. She had gotten there in record time too, legs sore with how eager she was to leave the house.

You see, Eve had miscalculated her father’s arrival.

Severely.

Rather than arriving as she had slept, he walked through the door just in time for breakfast. Shirt crumpled, hair ruffled, a sated look in his brown eyes. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. They were too tired for that. Yes, long gone was the happy couple trying to make it all work. In their place, the shell of who they once were, wilting husks with only overwhelming sadness and a want for temporary pleasure filling it.

Breakfast was somehow worse than dinner. Far from suffocating, she felt as if she were choking despite how well she chewed her serving of eggs. The dining room, already nowhere near welcoming before, seemed to taint everything in it, the sour mood permeating it seeping into her orange juice, making it taste as if it had gone bad weeks ago. (It hadn’t, though. She even helped her mother load groceries into the refrigerator. The juice had been there for no more than two days.)

Eve sat on that on a wooden courtyard bench, the very same one she sat on just eleven days ago, legs sore from how fast she pedaled, aching almost as much as she ached to get out of that horrid hou-

“Shut up.” Her mind echoed. It was painful, how hard she hard to try to stop herself from saying things she shouldn’t, from doing things she shouldn’t. “You should be grateful you even have a family. You know how people here feel about broken homes and single moms…”

“Eve!” Elizabeth came up from behind her, slender arms wrapping around her in a hug. She was in a good mood, giggling behind her manicured hands, cheeks tinted the signature pink of love – or simply infatuation. It was hard to tell, really, if your friend truly loved a man when you yourself were incapable of such things, try as she might, no matter how hard she forced herself to.

Nothing came of it. Nothing would ever come of it.

“So, I’m assuming you had a fun night?”

Just because Eve didn’t understand what was so thrilling about kissing boys and all that came after it, didn’t mean she wouldn’t listen to Elizabeth’s excited ramblings of it. She knew what was expected of her. One day, hopefully not one day soon, she would find a boy she could tolerate, a decent one she would at least come to love as a friend; she would marry him and lie with him, as a good wife does and bear his children.

And she would tolerate it.

Just because she was like Lilith, didn’t mean she had to act like her, didn’t mean she had to act on what she felt for her.

“Not just a night!” Elizabeth’s dark eyes twinkled, gesturing wildly and almost obscenely with her hands. “I was with him every night during the weekend and Monday night. I got Mary to vouch for me so we could go out.”

“Out?”

The brunette nodded, clearly deliberate in stating that they went out in order to say: “He just got his driver’s license so we went out on his motorcycle to celebrate!”

“Motorcycle?” Eve perked up, pleasantly surprised her friend wasn’t here to brag about her sex life and the fact that Zachariah could drive. (Really, the last thing she needed was a detailed description of a blowjob, especially considering that her breakfast wasn’t sitting right with her, though that may just be her lingering dread speaking.)

“Yup! Since he’ll be on a scholarship for college next year, he convinced his parents to let him use the money they set aside for it to buy a bike.”

She went on about the boy and the places he’d taken her, a genuine joy in her every motion, in her every word, excitement clear to all who would lay eyes on her.

Oh, Eve could feel her happiness, potent, so close yet completely unattainable to the likes of her. That wasn’t a new realization, not by any means, no, but God, it was different this time; a bitter bile rising in her, leaving the taste of acid and envy and a sorrow not unlike that of resignment, of loss.

But between Elizabeth’s giggles and how nice the boy seemed to be, the taste would soon fade into a sweet sugar cookie sort of fondness.

Only a hint of that resignment remained, a tangy, rotten after taste.

...

Unlike the first day of their newly implemented schedule, today was not so tense.

Rather, the two girls sat next to each other, not even a ruler’s length apart, not tense but tenuous both of them lost in a labyrinth of thoughts and drowning in a sea of emotions either too scary to name or too muddled to be sure of, everything mixing and melding and melting like a soup with a certain ingredient you couldn’t quite place.

The memory of yesterday was burned into their minds, playing again and again on an endless loop for reasons they dare not say, the same words spoken and heard from slightly different perspectives with slightly different thoughts accompanying it.

For Lilith, yesterday was a sign of hope for Eve. She was willing to disobey, allowing herself the occasional indulgence with a bit of coaxing. All Eve needed was a nudge, a gentle push in the right direction. The redhead could imagine it quite vividly, the girl standing before her mother, letting lies slip from her lips, pretending to have been forced into a place of opposition she so evidently wanted to be in. Eve hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that her mother was the only thing keeping her from the club, either too tired to make up an excuse or just feeling comfortable enough to open up about it to her.

For Eve, yesterday was the end of playing dumb, the end of turning a blind eye to her own desires and the undeniable humanity of people… like Lilith. She could hardly believe all that had happened despite it being so clear in her head. Between what see had seen in the locker room and what had happened over lunch and the things she’d willingly done during club time… it was all too much.

Yesterday was the end of life as she knew it. Or rather, it was the beginning of the end.

After all, progress took time and it was by no means linear. Especially not during matters of this nature.

“So what did your mom say?” Lilith said. She was trying to separate what she felt for that woman from her voice, and she was doing well, disdain for her considered. Really, fussing over every little detail of her daughter was one thing but the fact that the concern she displayed was not for said daughter but for her future husband was something she couldn’t forgive. Still, she kept her language plain and her tone neutral. Most people didn’t take kindly to other’s insulting their mothers.

“Oh, I haven’t told her.” The way Eve’s voice trembled when she said that “oh” sent arrows through her heart, the dread palpable and utterly unnerving. “She hasn’t asked yet and I didn’t have a good time to bring it up so I’ll just wait for her to say something. Maybe she’s assuming I joined the book club again?”

A lie by omission was better than an outright one but it was a lie nonetheless and the guilt of it didn’t do much to ease the girl’s tension, though the fact that she would be able to avoid that conversation for a while longer did.

“Speaking of books,” Lilith coughed, deciding to change the topic before Eve withdrew into her mind “what did you guys do in that club? Just read all day and discuss books? Is there even anything good in that library?”

“Well, most of it is theology and reference books, yeah, but those can be good! There are a few volumes of Sherlock Holmes near the history section! It’s not a complete collection at all but definitely better than nothing.”

She could already feel the dopey grin making it’s way onto her face. In the short amount of time they’ve known each other, Lilith would be hard pressed to find a time Eve had been this happy about anything. Unbridled joy was a good look on everyone. The gleam in their eyes that only came from a genuine liking for something, the way they’d gesticulate, unable to contain all their passion.

Granted, Eve didn’t gesture so much as flap her hands about, but while joy looked good on everyone, it also looked different in everyone and Lilith found this eccentricity of hers adorable to no small degree.

“They have Phantom of the Opera tucked away somewhere near this compilation of Edgar Allan Poe I’ve been able to read a few times. A bit macabre but still good! Oh, you know they have books on gardening, too! I can show you next time we go and you can check out one or two if you want! The ones on herbs was fun but I think you’ll find the one on flower language an interesting read. It’s not exactly about gardening, but still. Did you know that the way you tied a bouquet could completely change the meaning of all the flowers you were trying to send?”

She spoke in a mix of short, rapid-fire sentences and long-winded rants, switching with no real pattern, rambling and occasionally straying to go on a tangent about a specific book or mention something about gardening, none of which Lilith understood, being unable to name any flowers by appearance other than rose, daisy, and sunflower, though she listened eagerly nonetheless.

“But back to books! Near the back, just by the cookbook – oh, and um, don’t tell anyone but –” Eve scooted her wooden chair across the wooden floor, mindlessly brushing Lilith’s hair back, placing her lip just two centimeters scant of her ear. “There are books hidden there, by older girls, I think. Ones that graduated a really long time ago.”

Eve’s ivory-like hands cupped the small space around Lilith’s ear, shielding their words from any listening ears, anything that happened behind her hands hidden from prying eyes. In the midst of her whispering, she realized she could kiss Lilith; a gentle peck on the shell of her ear. No one needed to know. Just a quick press of the lips, it wouldn’t take longer than a second… or two.

And though she ignored the impulse, the thought lingered.

“Love poems and romance novels. I’m pretty sure they wrote it all themselves. Two of them are just a bunch of papers with holes punched in the side tied together by string, no cover. Technically more manuscript than book but you know what I mean. The others are leather bound journals, hand-written.”

“No kidding?” The other asked, hushed, nothing anyone further than Eve would catch. She didn’t dare say it louder, both unwilling to let anyone eavesdrop on them and scared that the excessive movement of her jaw would lead Eve farther from her.

“Nope, they’re there.” She pulled away from the girl’s ear but didn’t bother to move her seat back to where it was, their legs pressed together beneath the table they shared. “I haven’t been able to read much of any of them cause I’m scared I’ll get too absorbed to notice anyone walking past but their poems are really good! I can show you sometime, along with the gardening books.”

“We can go there later, during lunch. I’ll keep watch for while you read.”

The offer turned the girl’s waning grin into a megawatt smile, dimpled and rosy cheeked, she looked like a Raphaelite painting, a masterpiece.

“Really?”

“Sure! I’m always up for a bit of casual disobedience.” She replied with a wink and a deep chuckle, using amusement as a cover for endearment.

“Holy cow, thank you so much! But I’m pretty sure we’re not actually breaking any rules, I–”

Smack!

“Everyone bring out your composition notebook! We’re going to use the rest of homeroom to learn how to read sheet music before proceeding to the music room so if you want to fool around on the piano you’d best master this quickly.”

With that, Eve jerked away from Lilith, bringing her chair along with her and causing a loud, grating noise to make it’s way through the now silent room, every head whipping around to face them, the eyes now bearing into them, mostly shocked, some irritated, with one judgmental look from the front, from Sister Bernadette.

“No movement of chairs unless otherwise stated!”

“But-”

“Put the seat back where it was immediately or get detention!”

Lilith then pulled the girl down into her seat, cutting off another protest and brought the seat back to where it was before the nun entered, effectively ridding all the space between them.

Only when the woman turned to face the blackboard did she whisper to Eve: “Don’t argue, even if they’re wrong. They’ll just call it disrespectful and send you to the principal’s.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, I’m just not used to getting yelled at here so I wasn’t sure about– I didn’t know what to do. Sorry, again…”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” She gave the blonde a teasing jab along with a soft smile, looking at the girl only from the corner of her sky blue eye so as not to invoke the further ire of the clearly on-edge teacher. “’Sides, the jokes on them. They’re still wrong and we get to stay like this. That’s a win-win if I’ve ever seen one, yeah?”

Eve huffed, a small laugh, in part a sort of thanks for the given consolation, in part a sort of reassurance to the other that she’d be okay, that she’d bounce back.

“Yeah.”

In the end, they weren’t able to go to the music room.

...

The hours passed, only a few words passing between the girls every so often, most of it questions related to the work they were assigned. They were careful, Eve unwilling to anger any other authority figures, Lilith trying to fly under the radar, admittedly rather afraid of being called into Mother Cecilia’s office over even trivial matters, knowing it would lead to yet another interrogation regarding the fire.

But finally, the lunch bell rang, granting them freedom and the ability to be enthusiastic without repercussion. (As long as they weren’t too noisy, of course.) All the anticipation and excitement led to Eve shooting out of her chair and practically sprinting to the library, books shoved haphazardly into her book bag as Lilith followed not too far behind her, pleasantly surprised at her actions, though with more emphasis on the pleasant and not so much on the surprised.

“It’s right this way,” The blonde said, not bothering to drop her bag down in her usual seat as they ventured deeper into the library.

Eventually, they reached the deepest, mustiest park of the library, all the shelves covered in a thin sheen of dust save for a single row level with their knees. The sun streaming in from the arching windows only served to accentuate how unkempt the place was, illuminating the dust particles that flew into the air when Eve took to her knees to retrieve the books she spoke so eagerly about.

“The last time I’ve been able to peek at them was a few weeks before summer, so sorry for the dust. You’re not asthmatic, right?” She pulled out a few of the recipe books, setting them aside before reaching in deeper to grab a stack of papers, bound with string, it’s outer most page containing nothing more than a title and a name. Sticking her arm in a bit more, she pulled out two leather journals, putting them down atop the manuscript before taking a few more cookbooks from the shelf and grabbing the last journal along with manuscript type book.

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

Lilith crouched down next to her, looking at the stack Eve made. The paper ones were practically identical save for a difference in thickness while the leather-bound books varied in colour, one the usual coffee brown, the other a matte black, and the last one a fine, wine-red.

“So, how’d you find all this anyway?” The redhead asked, taking the brown book from the stack, flicking through a random page and instantly regretting it as a cloud of dust came from it, resulting in a rather violent coughing fit, Eve rushing to her and patting her back as her lungs tried to expel themselves through her mouth.

“Are you sure you’re not asthmatic?”

“Eve, I’m not sure how to break it to you, but anyone that gets hit with a face-full of dust is gonna cough a bit. I’ll live.”

“Good point.” She reached over to her bag and took a tumbler from it. “Water?”

Lilith’s fingers brushed against Eve’s as the dark green bottle switched hands, reminiscent of the brief touch they shared the first time they met, on that fateful, windy day in the courtyard.

“Thanks.”

There were a handful of things she expected to happen today, things she prepared an appropriate response for. Watching Lilith gulp down water like a dying man, seeing her throat work with every sip, eyes following the stray drops that rolled down her chin and her neck, making it’s way to the opening of her shirt before finally stopping, absorbed by the fabric that now clung to parts of her chest, was evidently not one of those things.

“T-thanks to you, too… Lilith.”

The girl in question merely raised an eyebrow and snorted.

“If you wanted to start with this book, you could’ve just said so.”

Lilith passed the book she was holding to her, instead grabbing the red one and holding it out an arm’s length away and flapping it about, effectively getting most of the dust out.

They settled into a comfortable silence after that, content to exist in the same space, unburdened by the unspoken as they read. Sock-clad legs parallel to each other, pressed flush against the flesh, they looked so similar to how they did yesterday, this morning.

Lighter, though. Somehow.

Perhaps it was the lack of looming dread, the weight of anxiety gone from Eve’s mind, for now at least. Perhaps it was the lack of fear, Lilith’s worry for Eve gone, again, if only for now.

...

As Eve went on, she became enamored by the prose, the delicate descriptions crafted from simple every day life and feelings, invested by the admittedly somewhat familiar protagonist, Nina, and her best friend, Rosalie, or as Nina would so fondly call her, Rosie.

Bit by bit, though, things were changing between them. Or maybe they haven’t changed at all and she was just blind to it. Either way though, things became different, odd, queer.

“I carded my hands through her soft, black hair just like I had so many times before. “Will you braid it for me?” She asked, lifting her head from off my lap, resting on her elbows. Not quite lying down, not quite sitting up.”

She couldn’t help but think that the first sentence implied something.

“Rosalie would get her blazer dirty, stomach pressed into the grass as she traced patterns on my lap, the fabric of my skirt shifting, spiraling. “Of course,” I couldn’t say no if I wanted to, but why would I even consider refusing her?”

The way Nina spoke about Rosalie, the way Rosalie spoke to her in turn, the affection they showed to each other, the way she would describe Rosalie in text was akin to that of love… romantic love.

Eve brushed the thoughts aside though, knowing she was probably just projecting her own perversions on the perfectly normal, heterosexual girls.

“We sat there and spoke of the future, a house deep in the woods, an aged, fat cat. Preferably a tabby. I plucked flowers, giving them a new home with her as I wove it into the braid. Call me sacrilegious but she looked like a God, of-the-earth, of me. She was my God. I’d get in trouble if I ever said that out loud. But then again, I’d get in trouble for practically everything I did with Rosie”

Alright, maybe it wasn’t just Eve.

“After finishing the braid, I took a compact mirror from my pocket. “What do you think?” She giggled, deep, brown eyes looking around at the empty field before shimmying over to me, laying a gentle kiss on my cheek. “It’s lovely. You’re lovely.” She moved once more, settling on my lap, lips trailing across my forehead, my eye, my nose, my cheek. Tease. At long last, though, her lips met mine, pressing against me with a soft passion-”

She dropped the book, hands by her head as a sort of surrender to whatever god may be watching her, judging her, face flushed, chest heaving.

Lilith looked up from her book. “You okay?”

She read that. She enjoyed that.

That knowledge was the straw that broke the camel’s still recovering back.

The guilt from yesterday and everyday before that built up in her lungs, drowning her, hastening her hellish damnation. Her thoughts were consumed by apologies and prayers and pleas for a mercy she wasn’t deserving of.

Tears fell from her face like angels from the sky, a testament to her sins, her guilt.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Suffocating, stifling, sinful guilt.

Crashing down on her as if she was being smitten, painful and shameful and rightful guilt.

She sobbed and shook, hands over her mouth to stop herself from wailing her anguish, her agony, her guilt.

But a pair hands weren’t enough to contain everything in her and all that spilled out. Nothing was.

Whimpers escaped through the gaps of her fingers, Lilith forgetting her shock and rushing over to comfort her.

It only made her cry harder. Lilith’s touch burned.

Eve clung to her though, rising to her knees, hands clutching at Lilith’s shirt.

It was yesterday all over again.

It was worse.

She couldn’t deny what she was anymore. Every passing second made it harder to craft lies and alibis and that would be a sin too and she’d go to hell regardless.

Burying her face in the crook of Lilith’s neck in a futile attempt to silence herself, Eve could smell the sweet, apple cinnamon perfume the girl had sprayed on earlier.

The way the scent made her face flush, even with everything going on and everything she was feeling was sick.

It twisted her stomach.

She felt disgusting, sinful, wrong, guilty.

But as she sobbed and shuddered and breathed the scent in…

It twisted her stomach.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

...

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay, Eve.” She whispered, soft, the words meant for one person and one person only.

Lilith wasn’t a naturally soothing person. Never in her life did she have to console someone in such a way, her friends all preferring to be distracted from their sorrows by quips and jokes. This was different, though. Eve was different.

Eve made her soft and kind to a degree she could hardly fathom. Gone was her icy exterior and harsh features, traded in for a comforting smile and gentle hands.

The girl sobbed and prayed into her shoulder, unable to hear her over muttered prayers and the sound of her own heartbeat, a frantic thump in her heaving chest.

From an outsider’s point of view, it would look like Eve was the one doing the comforting, seeming to pray over Lilith in a manner akin to that to someone being exorcised, a two-person prayer circle.

“Eve,” She whispered, gently trying to pry the girl away from her so she could talk, immediately stopping when the blonde only cried harder at the gesture. “I’m gonna need you to take deep breaths, Eve. Can you do that for me, please?”

The girl hiccupped, body wracked by sobs though clearly trying to follow.

“That’s right, just like that.”

Lilith’s spindly hands made her way up and down Eve’s back in tranquil motions.

“Wanna tell me what’s making you cry? I won’t tell anyone not even Paula and Joan.”

Eve shook her head, not even lifting her head from the crook of Lilith’s neck, her tip of her nose drawing a line from where her neck sloped down to her shoulders.

“Are you sure?”

“Yea-ah…”

Breathing still ragged, eyes still red-rimmed, cheeks still tear-stained, she pulled away from Lilith, sniveling.

“I’m s-sorry, I don’t know why I’m even crying-”

She cut the blonde off, though. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. But please don’t lie to me. You know why you’re crying. I’m not gonna make you talk about it, but you know.”

“Okay.” Eve whispered, a sort of willing surrender.

It was evident to Lilith that she wanted to talk. Shame held her back, unfortunate and burdensome. She didn’t speak, instead picking up the book from where it fell, opening to the page she had last read, finger tapping the paragraph before sliding the book across the small gap between them.

She skimmed over the paragraph and a few thereafter, finding nothing of note until she finally saw what Eve meant.

“This is what you were crying over?”

All she got in response was a nod, the girl looking to be on the brink of tears again.

“Why?”

Eve shook her head again. Her lip trembled, jutting out like a child trying their best not to cry.

“If I guess right will you tell me?”

Nothing.

“Want me to stop?”

Again, there was no reply.

“Can you tell me what you want me to do?”

A shrug of the shoulders. Nothing else.

“Do you know what you want me to do?”

She shook her head no, a few tears going with it. The only thing that left her mouth was a shaky sigh as she carded her hands through her hair. Tired. Eve looked tired. She was all that and more.

Lilith looked away from her, the pity she felt too much. There was nothing she could do. If only for a moment, she felt the degree of helplessness Eve felt, knowing she couldn’t help. It wasn’t foreign to her, helplessness. It was like seeing an old friend.

She could never bring herself to be angry or even annoyed at what was happening to Eve. Not when it’s happened to her, to Paula, to Joan, to Julia, to Colette.

Lost in thought, she was snapped back to reality as Eve dragged her closer, making her face away as the girl hugged her from behind.

Eve cried into her. It wasn’t the way she cried mere minutes ago, however. It was calmer, no hiccups or shaking. Only tears streaming down the girl’s face and soaking into Lilith’s shirt with a sniffle every once and a while.

Time passed and Lilith grew bolder, hand wandering to where Eve’s were wrapped around her stomach. Her touch was tentative, Eve’s hand treated like a fine porcelain piece.

“Is this okay?”

“No.” She said.

But she didn’t push Lilith’s away, instead opting to hold it, their fingers weaving together, slotting together as if their very flesh and bone were sculpted to be together, to intertwine, to love.

How cruel of God to craft two people for each other the turn to create a world were they were not to be.

“None of this is okay.”

______________________

Taglist: @anomiewrites @leahstypewriter @madame-ree @melpomenismask @littlemisscalamity @phillyinthebathroom @gaypeaches @extrabitterbrain @pirateofblood @i-wanna-be-a-rock

[fizzingwizard]

A rank of your fave characters. Male and female.

Since you don’t specify a fandom, does that mean across all my fandoms? XD I have a list in my “about” tag, but I’ll use this question to gush a little about a few of them!

(A note: While these are a few of my favs, I would have some different answers if the question were more like “which characters impress you the most” or “which stood out the most” etc. A favorite tends to be a personal bias with varying degrees of justification. That’s totally legit - just something to keep in mind, it’s not about who’s the “best.”)

Lyra from His Dark Materials is absolutely a number one, because she’s so fun and interesting and real to me. She’s smart, sassy, a risk-taker, a liar, and independent. I’m super excited for the TV show, but for me personally, it’s all going to hinge on how much I like what they do with Lyra. (I love Will too!) Though she’s scrappy and strong, Lyra is too young to be one of those heroes who don’t need anyone. And this is to her benefit as a character, because it means she uses her silver tongue to gain both friends and accomplices.It makes her both vulnerable and an unexpected threat. Also, she’s besties with a polar bear.

Holmes and Watson - because I can’t possibly pick one over the other - are another definite one. I am never not reading Sherlock Holmes stories. I love Holmes because he’s so different from your typical “superhero” type, even with Victorian conventions. He’s not a Don Juan, he’s a loner who likes it (unlike many other “loner” characters who do it out of necessity and are miserable), he’s obsessed with his craft in a palpable way, he’s snarky and mean and smooth and kind all at once. I could go on in a similar way about Watson but suffice to say I like Holmes better than I would because of Watson.

Lorelai Gilmore. OK, she’s quite a departure from the first two, who I like because they’re independent smart asses. My dad always calls Lorelai flaky, and she can be - we could also say she doesn’t settle for less than what she wants. I always liked that she didn’t date jerks, the men in her life were not perfect and she said goodbye when they weren’t the right fit, but they weren’t assholes. And she’s not a bad person either - she’s a very real, fun, relatable, honest person who didn’t expect the hand she got dealt but understood the difference between expectation and reality. So she had a good life and she gave her daughter a good life. And Luke/Lorelai is one of my very few favorite ships to actually be end game.

Taichi from Digimon. I’m sure this surprises no one. I love him in Adventure when his childish confidence and optimism enable him to keep the team on their feet, and how he slowly learns to realize that’s what he does - to realize it and misuse it, to learn how to use it correctly, and as a result to show us that he’s actually quite the unexpected strategist! One of my favorite Taichi things is how in the final battle against Piedmon, his role - the main character’s role - is to get beat up long enough for his friends to arrive and save the day. In spite of being the leader, I see Taichi as the shield of the team, rather than the sword. Although Digimon Tri is controversial among fans, I love what it did with Taichi. I see it as he continued to want to be the shield, but in the last instance, had to become the sword - but only after he saw how that sword could also be protective.

Ed from Full Metal Alchemist. He’s cheeky and cool and nerdy. (So just my type.) He’s just the right sort of hero for that story. What he wanted was relatable. How he tried to play god to get it was relatable. How he tried to take back his life and do right by his brother made him a favorite. And the ending. The ending of FMA is just one of my faaaavorite things. It’s the meeting of pride and hubris and and the acceptance of the equality of both. We need pride to survive, but we need humility to move on. They seem like opposites but they coexist simultaneously. Ed’s the paradigm of that.

Nightcrawler from X-men. I debated whether to include him because, while a long time true favorite of mine, I often feel that what I like about him isn’t really what comics are interested in doing much with. But in the beginning, I really did like this hero who was softer and more humble, who was so grateful to have friends and a place to come home to that the rest was the icing on the cake. He was an acrobat in the circus and loved it because he could use his talents and he could make people smile. He became an X-man and loved it because he could use his talents and make people smile. When the X-books stray away from that, there’s not much use for Nightcrawler. But he’ll always be the one I keep my eye on.

Last I’ll put Spock and Kirk from Star Trek TOS. Spock is my actual fav, but it’s because of the way he’s put in contrast with Kirk (and McCoy, whom I also adore). Spock by himself probably wouldn’t interest me as much, because what I like about him is his journey of growth, a lot of which is spurred by the closeness he develops with Kirk. And Kirk grows as well thanks to him. Kirk’s like Holmes only to the extent that he was married to his job. But Kirk throws that away to save his best friend. It’s a big deal. On a smaller level, what made me love them enough to watch up till that point was how they banter with and frustrate each other and grow closer then colder, then closer again, without making a huge deal about it, because we’re in Space to do Science. TOS should be subtitled “Making Love in Space for Science.”

[mild-lunacy]

Building Sexual Tension and the Sexualization Threshold

Reading this quote by Francesca Coppa on the purpose of fanfic and erotica, it's not that I disagree. Not at all. It's just... when I read a fantasy that includes romance and some sexuality, like Grace Draven's work, I remember my stance on how I do prefer romance to be slow-build and sexual, and this fits the bill. I absolutely like the careful, gradual characterization involved in slow-build romance like this, although I like there to be tension or animosity as much as friendship as a foundation. Starting with sex is a difficult proposition (although not impossible to do well by any means, as long as it's not instalove). The issue is that 'eventual sex' isn't enough for me either. The friendship needs to be built up to have satisfying romance, just like Coppa suggests. But the sex too needs build up.

The problem with Draven's books is that they have some sex but they're not sexy. The sexual tension is barely plausible. Sometimes, like with sci-fi/fantasy erotica by R. Lee Smith, the sex isn't sexy but this isn't important due to the amount of characterization and situation-specific tone that goes into each of these scenes. They're not sexy as in titillating, but they don't have to be: they're enlightening, sometimes sweet, sometimes grim, sometimes just weird. With Draven's books, there are pretty paint-by-numbers sex scenes that aren't either sexy or especially personal. This is an issue when it's original writing, rather than fanfic. With fic, you let the original work do a lot of characterization heavy lifting so that in explicit fics, you can spend a lot of time on building sexual tension. And sexual tension is no minor add-on. I think portraying it believably is way more important than the actual sex scenes. Combining it plausibly with friendship is a major feat. It generally takes more than one book in a series, or a pretty long story, at the very least.

In my opinion, sexual tension is a huge part of the draw for erotica of any kind, just like romantic tension is a major factor in the appeal of romance. One reason why I admire good fanfic is that I think using most established friendship as a source is difficult, especially if you're hoping to be in character. It's definitely not easier than an original work that starts with romantic/sexual tension, and it might well be considered harder. The thing is, good sexual tension isn't something that comes late in a relationship (in most cases), though it can be pretty subtle at first. It always exists between two people in a way friendship doesn't, but it doesn't prevent the slow build of self-awareness and an actual relationship. It's just a delicate balance.

In Draven's work, you can see she actually tries to do this: the sexual tension is gestured at, more or less. But it's not actually *there*. One reason it's so tricky is that while you can simply sit down and write a sex scene, sexual tension pervades every interaction between the characters in some small way. And it can be subtle (at least at first) or very overt, as long as it's *palpable*. It's very obvious (at least to me) if the writer doesn't feel the heat, so to speak. And it's very obvious if they do, even if no sexual innuendo or overt arousal occurs. To be clear, a man having a hard-on or a woman blushing and staring at his eyes or mouth is not necessarily 'sexual tension'. Even less so, lots of references to the extreme attractiveness of the other person. Good banter, on the other hand, is frequently all that's needed.

Good banter is hard. One of the reasons fanfic of noncanon couples succeeds for me even though I'm a canon-whore is that a lot of times, the source material includes well-written, bantery dialogue. You can probably ship every other character with each other in Marvel or on Buffy at least partly for this reason. This was definitely true in S1-2 of BBC Sherlock, at least for me: it's not that they were such close friends and fic could use that. It's that they *weren't*. There was tons of tension involved in that relationship, both bantering and not. Combined with their obvious (if conflicted) attachment, this created all that's necessary to make a romantic relationship plausible. Once their relationship truly settled into comfortable, close friendship, IMO some mild romantic potential remains but the sexual tension would be gone.

It's perhaps hard to explain properly what a friendship that doesn't lend itself to sexual romance is truly like, which is why I mention Grace Draven. I knew it when I saw it, particularly so because this is m/f friendship (in a romance genre work) and my brain should have a low threshold for accepting sexualization in this context. And yet, her couples seem platonic to me.

I'm not sure this perception is common. A lot of people in fandom seem to have a very, very low sexualization threshold (especially for their preferred couples). Outside fandom, lots of readers seem content with using the heteronormative attraction presumption more broadly and easily than me, judging by the comments on Draven's book, at least. I did find one Amazon commenter who said they found the sexual tension to be implausible, though they said this was due to some of the description or nature of the characters and their situation rather than the writing itself. I'm a lot more open to a whole lot of different situations and contexts leading to attraction. But the writing has to sell it for me. Grace Draven is a good writer, who is very good at characterization overall (which is what makes her a good example of this specific flaw). She is just not very good at selling sexual tension. It may or may not be related to her average skills at snappy dialogue. There are definitely other ways to build sexual tension, but not a lot that coexist with slow build romances based on friendship first.

Anyway, ordinary friendship is definitely not enough for me if the relationship is going to be romantic. That's probably partly why I'm not a huge fan of Hallmark movies. They tend to have a relatively slow build, but the tension is low; sexual tension is extra extra low. Of course, the portrayal of sexual tension and attraction in general is different in film. It's partly about dialogue, but it's also just the actors and their chemistry and even personal charisma. A truly charismatic, sparkling actor-- especially a pair-- can overcome or strongly enhance the platonic tension or lack thereof in the script and create something unnameable and perhaps ineffable but undeniably romantic.

[friquey]

@homestuckss @jackthekit-kat

here’s my homestuck secret santa gift! it was a lot of fun to write, and i’d love to talk with you more if it’s too disjointed and you had questions or anything! i’ll expand on it for the future, probably, and since your requests were what inspired me i’d love your input.

without further ado, here it is! WARNINGS for blood, death, and some unreality. i tried to keep it light on all that!

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you have a penchant for getting yourself into situations with your soulmate that are less than desirable.

“Stop pokin’ me.”

“That’s a little hard like this, genius,” you snap back, then scowl as Eridan digs his elbow back into your stomach.

“You’re too short to be the big spoon, Sol.” This was a long-standing argument, but you always insisted that something felt wrong about being the little spoon, and no other form of cuddling made either of you feel quite... Right. You think it must have been the way you were summoned.

—> Be Sollux from last year

You are now Sollux from last year. It’s mid July in Texas, and the weather is miserable; people are still setting off fireworks every night, as if they haven’t got the memo the fourth of July is only a single day. Karkat likes to joke that hell has nothing on Texas in the summer, and you have to agree. You haven’t exactly been back to hell in awhile, but the longer you’re here the more enticing it feels

Texas is in no way your home, but the last time some stupid kids at a party summoned you, you’d decided to stick around. Karkat has semi-permanent residence here, after all, with his weird ass human boyfriend. You usually crash at their house, but Kanaya and her wife are visiting and something about the blonde gives you the chills. She always looks at you like she knows something you don’t.

The stars (or what you can see of them) are beautiful. You have half a mind to make roots here, in this godawful town with it’s godawful name (Stardust, how cheesy is that) with nothing for you, if for no reason other than to feel like you’re doing something with your life. Rose has said this is a sign of yearning for domesticity, and that you should find a partner. You know there’s no point, because everyone you meet either pities you or runs away. There’s no room for romance in there.

Being a demon in this town is weird, though. Different. Many other demons (those you know and those you don’t) have taken up residence here, and it seems to be a safe haven for those like you. The humans don’t run and scream quite so much. The hunters leave you be if you don’t hurt people.

Long nights are good for philosophical thinking, but sometimes this gets cut short. The one thing that life in this town doesn’t change, though, is the stupidity of children. You recognize the familiar pull of a summoning as soon as it’s happening, and after a few seconds you blip out of existence before landing on your feet on a wooden floor and—

Something’s wrong. You feel excruciating pain, enough to make you fall to your knees gasping. The floor is warm, wet, sticky, and the smell of copper in the air makes it easy to recognize; blood. The wood is covered in it, with it flowing in between the cracks of the boards and filling little knotholes in puddles. It doesn’t take long to find the source; there’s a demon on the floor directly in front of you, circled in a summoning pattern that loops with your own. There doesn’t seem to be anyone in the room— no. No one alive. There are bodies, and the smell of death is making you sick. Your head is pounding now, and you do the only thing you can conceivably do; you crawl to the other demon, ignoring your own pain as much as possible. You’ve felt this before; they’re a sort of empath, a very powerful one, and in their state they’re projecting everything they feel as a plea for help. It probably killed the humans, but you’re tougher than that.

They look like shit. There’s blood all over their face and clothes, and much of it seems to be coming from slits on the side of their neck and their sides— oh, fuck. Gills.

You’ve never been the strongest person, so you figure it must be adrenaline that drives you to try and pick them up. They’re a fish or something, fish need water. The moment you touch them, though, it feels like your head is going to split apart; a chorus of screams is resonating in your mind, and only one of them is yours. You pass out before you can do anything to help the dying demon before you.

—> Be Erisol

Something’s wrong. Your body is too heavy— no, it’s too light— there are weird things on your neck and side— no, those belong there— your mouth feels too full— it feels emptier than it should—

You take a deep breath. Breathe, breathe, breathe. That’s what Kar always says— no, when has he ever said that to you? You aren’t so close to him that he’d know when you were upset, because you avoid him then— no, you run to him then—

“Shut up!” You snap, and the voice is barely yours. A little of this, a little of that, and— it’s time to get serious. Something is wrong. You shouldn’t exist.

Flipping through your memory is easy enough; you were summoned by a group of teens, who then casted spells on you from some sort of book. You passed out from the pain and presumably lost control of your projection. Then you walked in and saw you passed out and bleeding on the floor—

Wait. Wait. You can’t see yourself, that doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense and you don’t know who you are. Panic claws at your chest, and you have the first unified thought for the last ten minutes, which is the instinctive need to run to Karkat and have he and Dave fix it.

—>

“Dude, you’re so fucked. I think you’re gonna have to talk to Rose.” That was exactly what you didn’t want to hear, but Dave has always been good at saying things you don’t like— no, Dave is one of your friends, and you like being around him—

With a frustrated whine, you bury your head in a pillow. You want to stop thinking; this is terrifying. You hear the telltale click of heels on tile, then muffled on carpet.

“Oh, dear.” Rose tuts, and she sits gingerly next to you on the couch. “Sol—“ She pauses. “Eri—“ Another pause. “You look terrible,” she finally decides on, and you bare your teeth into the pillow.

“No shit, Sherlock. What’s wrong with me?”

“A botched ritual,” she responds immediately. “It’s a forced joining ceremony, usually used between a human and a demon or two humans, rather than two demons. I think that’s the problem; the spell wasn’t made to encompass so much power, and now you’re, well.” She gestures at you, and Dave is standing behind her, grimacing. “You’re definitely joined, I’d say.” It takes all of your willpower not to jump at her and wring her neck, but you manage.

—>

It takes a few months for Rose to prepare what she needs to get you back to normal, and in that time you’re forced to stay at Karkat’s house. The first time you see him, his name sounds something like “K-Kar” but by this point you’ve settled on using just KK or Kar interchangeably. You slowly get to know yourself; your two life stories, likes and dislikes, friends and foes. Two people weren’t meant to be one, but you think you manage well. One half enjoys it for the closeness, and the other can’t admit it but they do, too. A lot of your time is spent laying around having conversations with yourself, all but dead to the world around you.

When Rose finally has her unjoining ritual ready, a sense of fear and loss rises in you like the tide, soothed only by internal promises that you can stay together as two, just not as one.

—> Be Eridan

The fighting starts just two weeks after you and Sollux are separated once more. You’re still both at Karkat’s house, under the watchful eye of Kanaya and Rose; most waking moments are spent with you clinging to Sollux, feeling a sense of loss at being by yourself again. He lets you do it, holds your hand when you ask, even crawls into bed with you of his own volition at night.

You’re both confused. You didn’t even know each other before this; the confusion is what starts the fighting. He’s scared, you’re too close, you know too much; you’d know this even if he weren’t projecting his deepest fears outward every time he saw you. He starts taking his anger out on everyone, and Dave seems to be the only one who can calm him. Karkat tells you to watch your projection, because the jealousy, murder-y vibes are starting to creep Dave out. Sollux avoids you, and the next few weeks are miserable; the loss is palpable, a physical ache in your chest.

—>

You’re not sure what changes, but Sollux slowly starts joining you at night again. At first it’s just the same bed, but eventually he wraps his arms around you, pressing his chest to your back. After a few weeks, you get the courage to acknowledge him without fear it’ll make him leave.

“You’re a little too short to be bein’ the big spoon.”

“Shut up.” He presses his face into your neck and you smile, radiating feelings of warmth and contentment.

—> Be current Sollux

Eridan is sort of a mystery to you. You didn’t know him before that summoning, but something about him makes you feel protective. You freaked out once for a few weeks because Rose said something about soulmates, and it wasn’t until Karkat lectured you about how terrible you were making Eridan feel that you ignored what she said and went back to trying to behave with some semblance of a normal person.

Being with Eridan is easy, in a way. Your personalities mesh or clash depending on the day, but he’s always happy to just sit with you when you need quiet, and he’ll let you just hold his hand if you get too freaked out or lonely. In the grand scheme of things, you two were joined for less than half a year, but it felt like an eternity to learn to navigate a new body and new responses to things. You miss it more than you think you should.

Eridan gets it, though. For the most part, when you try to explain how you’re feeling about it he mirrors your concerns. There’s no handbook on how to handle separating into two people after being one, no Unjoining For Dummies, so the two of you are on your own.

On a side note, you’re almost entirely sure Rose coined the phrase “unjoining” to fuck with you.

—>

Eridan’s needs are fairly simple. He has to apply a water based lotion or gel to his gills every two hours or so to make sure he doesn’t die or something, and any sort of praise is met with enthusiastic response. He feeds off all emotion, but positive is what he likes best.

You, on the other hand, are more difficult, and it’s a miracle how he puts up with you. You feed off technology, and you’re constantly putting the power out for brief stints of time (which drives Karkat fucking bonkers, but everyone else laughs it off). The voices of the damned can force you to lock yourself away at times, and Eridan, saint he is, will pull up a chair and sit near you until you feel normal again.

Nothing is “normal” anymore. Something in you aches for Eridan, even when he’s right next to you, and you’ve never depended on another person so much in your life. The first time he says he loves you, the only thing that keeps you from bursting into tears is how much love he radiates, making you feel warm and whole. As it is, you’re choked up enough that you can’t say it back, just clutch him to you like a lifeline from a rocky shore.

Nothing is normal anymore, but everything feels much more right.

[videofeed]

Every Superman Movie Ranked From Worst To Best https://youtu.be/4uySYIw3Ofc Here is every Superman movie positioned from worst to perfect. Created by Jerry Siegel as well as additionally Joe Shuster, the Man of Steel came increasing (or leaping) right into comics in 1938, debuting in Action Comics #1. Superman motion pictures have in fact certainly had their increasing highs as well as additionally squashing lows, neverthelessfilmmakerswill likely never ever before give up on finding new approaches of changing the Last Son of Kryptonas well as additionally viewers would definitely miss him if they did. Like different other popular characters - James Bond, Batman, Sherlock Holmes - various celebrities have cycled with the task, nevertheless which Superman made the greatest motion pictures? Superman made his flick introducing in the Kirk Alyn serials, beginning in 1948. The Man of Steel has in fact considered that occurred to appear invarious motion pictures, both computer system computer animated as well as additionally live-action, as well as several beloved television shows. The focus here will be on the hero's live-action theatrical releases. Neither the MCU’s box office domination nor a couple of difficult DC movie outings can dethrone Superman as the most iconic superhero ever created. Even with this in mind, his cinematic adaptations have represented both the best and additionally the worst the genre has to offer - though the same can be said ofBatman’s movies as well. This low ranking is to say nothing negative of George Reeves’ unforgettable portrayal of the Man of Steel for six seasons in Adventures of Superman. However, Superman as well as the Mole Men, released in 1951, was basically a glorified TV pilot, only included here because it did have a theatrical release. Rather than battling the titular Mole Men, Supes defends them from pitchfork-wielding townsfolk, whose fear of the innocent creatures had quickly turned violent. Although Reeves did a fine job, the black and white film isn’t quite sixty minutes long and simply can't compare with Superman’s other movies. It did serve its purpose though, eventually bringing Reeves’ hero to TV screens everywhere. What is there to say about 2017’s Justice League that hasn’t already been said? Zack Snyder and Joss Whedon are both distinctive filmmakers with little common ground.The awkwardly stitched together, tonally incoherent mess of a movie is the result of two conflicting visions that never should’ve been a part of the same film. It’s not, strictly speaking, even a Superman movie, but the Man of Steel was meant to play a pivotal role in it. Sadly,Supes will always be remembered, above all else, for the terrible CGI removal of Cavill's mustache. The movie was meant to be a major superhero team up for DC, but Justice League never really came together. Perhaps the Snyder Cut, coming to HBO Max, will redeem the character. At the very least, it’ll redeem his face. With Superman IV: The Quest for Peace, the most iconic portrayal of Superman ended, not with a bang, but definitely a whimper. It’s heartbreaking to put Christopher Reeve’s final outing in the red cape so low on the list, especially since it was a story that meant so much to the actor. Reeve had hoped to put the Man of Steel back on track after Superman III, a good thought to be sure, but Superman IV: The Quest for Peacestandsas the worst of the original four. Getting rid of the world's nukes was a noble effort, as was making a film that so obviously promoted world peace.Sadly,the 1987 movie suffered massive budget cuts, had a weak villain in the Nuclear Man and was ultimately even more over-the-top than Superman III, which was an impressive feat. While fans were undeniably excited to see the Dark Knight face off against the Man of Steel, Batmanv Superman: Dawn of Justicewas an utterly joyless film in which both heroes are absolutely impossible to like, let alone root for. Released in 2016, Zack Snyder's second DCEU film certainly has its defenders, but the movie didn’t do either character justice. This should not reflect poorly on Cavill or Ben Affleck, who both did the best they could with the material they were given. It does come in ahead ofJustice League, but only because it feels like the singular vision of its director, for good or bad. Like the team-up film, this isn't truly a Superman movie, though it acts as a direct sequel to Man of Steel.Though the movie introduced the world to Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman, the bloated runtime (151 minutes), Jesse Eisenberg's Lex Luthor, and the now-infamous "Martha" moment makeBatman v Supermanan overall disappointment. The original plan for Superman IIImight've panned out differently, but the film released in 1983 feels like the result of someone pitching a Superman/Richard Pryor movie but not actually hammering out any of the story details beforehand. Though the movie might be ridiculous, Reeve was still at the top of his game and Pryor is undeniably funny, even if the script is not. Trading in Margot Kidder’s cherished Lois Lane for a subplot in which Clark attempts to woo his high school crush, Lana Lang (Annette O’Toole), was a strange narrative choice in movie absolutely full of them. Directed by Richard Lester, who stepped in to fill Richard Donner’s shoes after he left Superman II, the movie does feature a cool Superman vs.Clark Kentfight, in addition to providingthe basis for the programmers' plotinOffice Space. Exploring the lonelier, more alien side of Superman isn’t a bad idea on a paper. The Last Son of Krypton has often struggled with feelings of isolation, a topic that was thoroughly exploredonSmallville,but a dark, brooding Supermanisn't thebeacon of hope for mankind that many fans expect to see. However, it’s not that easy to be a god among men and Man of Steel shouldn’t be faulted for trying to show a different side of the hero to audiences. Plus, the 2013 film introduced Henry Cavill, who is excellent in the role, and the rest of the cast, including Amy Adams as Lois Lane and Diane Lane as Martha Kent, is great as well. Sadly, Man of Steel failed somewhat in its execution, not only misunderstanding Superman himself, but the Kents as well. The idea that Jonathan Kent (Kevin Costner) wouldwant Clark to keep his secret at the cost of innocent lives, including his own, completely alters both characters. That, in conjunction with a hero who left a trail of destruction - and a dead body - in his wake, made for a film that left fansfirmly divided. Cavill’s first time stepping into the red bootsdid have some interesting ideas, even if director Zack Snyder's muted color palette could make the film feel like a rather dull affair at times. All that said, it'sa better movie than many of Superman's previous outings. If Superman Returns is guilty of anything, it’s loving the Richard Donner films a little too much. It’s understandable, considering even after all these years, Superman remains a crowning achievement in superhero films. The 2006 movie ignored Superman III and IV, instead continuing on from Superman II. Overall, Bryan Singer's filmwas a pretty solid outing for the Man of Steel. Long before his time as Ray Palmer in the Arrowverse, Brandon Routh proved he had what it took to play an iconic hero. His performance was both understated and confident, paying homage Reeve, but still making the character his own. At its best, Superman Returns captured the essence of the first two films, though the movie sometimes lost itself in all that nostalgia. Inspending so much time honoringDonner’s legacy, it had a difficult time standing on its own.It's also an incredibly vivid movie, in direct contrast with the muted colors of Snyder’s take on the character. The film’s detractors tend to get hung up on the plausibility of Superman having a son, but in a film about a superpowered alien, how much realism does the audience really need? The movie's Lex Luthor anddirector can’t help but slightlymar themovie in light of the allegations against both Kevin Spacey and Singer, but Superman Returns is still the Man of Steel’s most underrated film. Despite its notoriously troubled production, Superman II holds up not only as one of the best movies featuring the Man of Steel, but also as one of the best superhero outings in general. Much like Justice League, the film was the result of two conflicting visions, butSuperman IIstill holds up. The Donner Cut is great too, but the movie’s theatrical release deserves the second slot right right here. The original intent was to shoot Superman and its sequel side by side, but thanks to Lester replacing Donner as director, much of the film was reshot later. This led to a film that may have actually been a bit uneven at times, but still trounces most of the competition. Superman II is an incredibly ambitious film. It upped the stakes and the action and delivered some unforgettable villains.No Superman flick had aBig Bad who posed as much of a threatto the Last Son of Krypton as Terence Stamp’s General Zod and his cronies.Superman II not only built on thecompelling love story between Lois and Clark, but also explored the hero’s human side. Christopher Reeve was already perfect in the role to begin with, but stripping the Man of Steel of his powers gave the actor something different and more relatable to play. Superman II is not only a nonstop thrill ride, but it’s also quite touching. 1978’s Superman introduced the world to Christopher Reeve as the Man of Steel, and he remains the actor most closely associated with the role, despite all the time that passed and the many other actors to take up the mantle since. It also brought fans the palpable chemistry between Reeve’s Superman and Margot Kidder’s intrepid reporter, Lois Lane. Superman not onlyfeatured John Williams' amazing score, but also set the gold standard for superhero movies to come. The movie takes its time, giving the Man of Steel’s origin story plenty of room to breathe. Reeve remains the very best in terms of portraying Superman and also Clark Kent as two very different characters, making it slightly more believable that a pair of glasses is enough to keep his identities separate. His comedic timing is impeccable, but much of the movie’s magic comes from the way he inhabits the role of Superman. The movie also gave us the first dose of Gene Hackman’s rather brilliant turn as Lex Luther, memorable, even if he never ever before really felt such as an actual threat to our hero. https://videofeed.tv/movies-upcoming-releases-trailers/the-fifth-element-honest-trailer-its-the-weirdest-90s-sci-fi-movie/

[redscullyrevival]

A Monstrous Regiment of Women: Mary Russell Rundown

@sonnetscrewdriver, anything that reminds me to occasionally comment “Oh fuck off Tennyson” is a good book in my book.

Plot/Setting/Narrative

Haha, other than revisiting my own personal hell this was a good time!

I knew it would be with that amazing title. 

I love how men always try to condemn and speak poorly of women but actually make us out to sound badass.

“A Monstrous Regiment of Women” - nice!

“She was warned, she was given an explanation, nevertheless; she persisted” - nice!

HAHA dudes be wack.

Anyways.

There is a big ‘ol dynamic in this book and it doesn’t try to hid itself but because of the narrative style it’s a very sleek back and forth that can easily be overlooked among the thrills, tension, and action:

The lighting pace back and forth between Faith/Religion and Reason/Logic is hard to trace, precisely because it’s so perfectly stitched. 

Like thread holding two fabrics together we get glimpses of the characters discussing these dynamics upfront on the surface only for them to dive under the cloth and become the structurally important but unseen thread, before rising to the forefront yet again.

Over and under goes Faith and Reason, Religion and Logic (Agape and Eros!), from start to finish and it’s very compelling, very slick stuff.

What’s fascinating is how it feels like it’s all held together with those before the chapter quotes! 

What a gambit!

Especially because I’m pretty sure the chosen quotes are meant to be as humorous as they are reflective. 

I read the words of Tennyson and Shakespeare and friggin’ Knox and I’m not filled with anger or burning for justice; I laugh. They’re funny. 

What isn’t funny is how I also know these men shaped their times, that they are considered definitive and important and are apart of contemporary schooling and social undercurrents - they’re not simply far away melodrama but remain to be part of the day to day world, of my time as well as Russell’s.

The violence Russell is subjected to is unfortunately not extraordinary. 

The heroin is elaborate and a part of the Mary Russell narrative surrounding The Temple mystery as designed by King - but women being manipulated, used, and being targeted and subjected to overwhelming power? All that’s common place common day. 

You don’t read those before chapter quotes and think “Ah, women had it better when these men where alive.” And you certainly don’t read them and think “Well, it’s gotten better by Mary’s time” - and it’s the realization that the various quote’s undercurrents are still rooted into today that chills their absurdity. 

So how do we instigate change? 

Mary Russell

How do women gain ground?

Do we go to into the temples men worship?

Do we go into their spaces and ask uncomfortable questions and share our opinions, unasked?

Do we dig into the sacred texts looking for what has been changed in an effort to prove we’ve been included all along?

Do we interpret the text anew and preach our understanding?

OR do we maybe rewrite and/or add to the text and insert ourselves in?

You must see where I’m going with this.

What’s shocking is that all those above courses of action are faith based.

Logic and reason, the truth of women’s rightful place, can’t be grasped until those in power acknowledge we’re here and worth listening to and only pleas of faith can begin to breach that wall.

Which is massively fucked up and the root of all evil.

Bringing it back around, what’s also messed up is how Sherlock Holmes’ canon is exclusively understood as male.

The perception that follows the character is this: Sherlock Holmes is male, written by a man, and those of authority on the character and his stories are male and those fans who are true are male and that’s because Holmes invokes intelligence and reason and thus maleness - the notion being there isn’t anything of female worth to be found in proper Sherlock Holmes.

Barf, right?

Our author certainly thinks so.

King’s disgust for the Holmesian Understanding™ is practically palpable; not for the character of Holmes, but she does (to me) seem to distinctly turn her ire on the aura of his existence as he sits in wider literature’s mind’s eye.

And I don’t even think it’s Russell and Holmes locking lips that’s meant to be the big middle finger, although it is fun; I honestly think it’s as simple as King’s Holmes accepting, trusting, and considering her Russell as his partner in work and then, yes, in life.

Laurie King is working at turning Russell into the Logic and Holmes’ into the Faith.

I’m down with that.

‘Cause Mary Russell is my girl. 

I’m gonna read all them books. 

Sherlock Holmes

Lets stop and take a moment to really bask in the intense and amazing glory that is the throw-away-mention of Holmes’ son.

I know “canon” Holmes does not have a son.

I also know that the character of Sherlock Holmes has directly and indirectly given birth to the most characters ever committed to media’s various forms, which makes him the most promiscuous man I’ve ever read. 

For King to solidify Holmes parentage is a very big big big choice - just as big if not even bigger than having him kiss Russell and marrying her. 

Man, that must have really chapped some hides. 

Oh my god, there are folks I know who would probably burst into flames over such an “OOC” move. 

The son implies and seeds many things, not so subtly of which is that Holmes isn’t an automoton and down to get jiggy with it if so intrigued. 

What’s more sly is that King knows what she is about and knows what she is doing and is very adamant within the narrative that Holmes is secondary to her character - that Mary Russell is the protagonist and the mysteries of Holmes isn’t mystery to her and we better starting taking her narration as gospel.

So that was a fun kick in the pants. 

The romance was, you know, irritatingly thrilling.

Although! 

Holmes’ comment, of how he has wanted to kiss Mary since he met her, is a little iffy and not even entirely because she was 15 at the time (still side eye worthy though, obviously) - the issue is that his words imply pure physical attraction even when he didn’t know Mary or her at that point and I’ve been lead to believe their Grand Canyon age gap is inconsequential because their minds are wondrously in-tune and that is what connects their souls.

So that was kind of weird.

Especially from an author usually very tight in her characterizations who is meticulously organized. 

Highlighted Passages

“I am having a holiday from the holidays. I am relaxing, following the enforced merriment of the last week. An amusing diversion, Holmes, nothing else. At least it was, until your suspicious mind let fly with its sneering intimations of omniscience. Really, Holmes, you can be very irritating at times.”

Twice I hid from the sound of a prowling horse-drawn cab with two wheels. The second time launched me on a long and highly technical conversation with a seven-year-old street urchin who was huddled beneath the steps to escape a drunken father. We squatted on cobbles greasy with damp and the filth that had accumulated, probably since the street was first laid down following the Great Fire, and we talked of economics. He gave me half of his stale roll and a great deal of advice, and when I left, I handed him a five-pound note.

“I thought that man was going to punch you.” “It’s only happened once, that I didn’t have time to talk my way out of a brawl.” “What happened?” “Oh, I didn’t hurt him too badly.” She giggled, as if I had made a joke. I went on. “I had a much rougher time of it once during the War, with a determined old lady who tried to give me a white feather. I looked so healthy, she refused to believe me when I told her I’d been turned down for service. She followed me down the street, lecturing me loudly on cowardice and Country and Lord Kitchener.”

“I was grateful to that large and noisy man, however. Not immediately,” she added, inviting us to chuckle at her youthful passion, and many obliged, “but when I’d had a chance to think about it, I was grateful, because it made me wonder, Why does he want me to keep silent in church? What would be so terrible in letting me, a woman, talk? What does he imagine I might say?” She paused for two seconds. “What is this man afraid of?

“Here this man is working with God, thinking about God, living with God, every day, and still he does not trust God. Deep down, he doesn’t feel one hundred percent certain that his God can stand up to criticism, can deal with this uppity woman and her uncomfortable questions; he does not know that his God is big enough to welcome in and put His arms around every person, big and small, believers or seekers, men or women.”

“If you want to be logical about it, don’t tell me that the woman was given to Adam as a servant, a sort of glorified packhorse that could carry on a conversation.”

“That was what my loud preacher feared, to be told that he and his cronies had no more right to tell me that I couldn’t speak in God’s house than I had a right to tell the sun not to shine.”

Her attitude towards the Bible seemed to be refreshingly matter-of-fact, and her theology, miracle of miracles, was from what I had heard radical but sound. Oh yes, I should like to meet this woman.

“Men have other options. Women need the help of their sisters, and in fact, that to me is one of the most exciting things about what we’re doing, when women of different classes meet and see that we share more similarities than differences, in spite of everything. We are on the edge of a revolution in the way women live in this society, and some of us want to ensure that the changes that are coming will apply to all women, rich and poor alike.”

“The vote was a sop,” she snapped. “Granting individual slaves their manumission after a lifetime of service doesn’t alter the essential wrongness of the institution of slavery, nor does giving a small number of women the vote adequately compensate the entire sex for their wartime service—to say nothing of millenia of oppression.”

“But that’s . . . That means . . .” “Yes,” I said wryly, pleased with the effect my idea had on her. “That means that an entire vocabulary of imagery relating to the maternal side of God has been deliberately obscured.” I watched her try to sort it out, and then I put it into a phrase I would definitely not use in the presentation in Oxford: “God the Mother, hidden for centuries.” She looked down at the book in her hands as if the ground beneath her feet had, in the blink of an eye, become treacherously soft and unstable. She turned carefully to the drawer, riffled the gold-edged India paper speculatively, and put her Bible away. She returned to her chair a troubled woman and lit another cigarette. “Is there more of this kind of thing?” “Considerably more.”

“You couldn’t help but want to break his control and see what lay beneath.”

“If all these images can come from the word light, how many more from the word love, a thing invisible but for the movement it creates, a thing without physical reality or measurement or being, yet a thing which animates the entire universe. God is love. God creates, and when He sees His creation, He loves it and calls it good.”

Holmes would have done the matter by telegram, I knew, but I always prefer the personal touch in my matters of mild blackmail.

I felt reassured. If he could be rude, he was reviving.

I then turned my warning gaze back on Marie, who subsided, muttering French curses that I wish I could have overheard more clearly, for the sake of my education.

An accurate throwing arm is perhaps the only truly remarkable skill I possess.

None of that was absolutely true, but it fit the image and laid a basis for my future behaviour, which was to do whatever I damn well pleased, fine.

“The boy has a cup of tea for his mother,” she read, and repeated it, then looked up again and laughed, her eyes shining with the suddenly comprehended magic of the written word. Her teeth were mostly gums, she smelt of unwashed wool, her hair lay lank, and her skin wanted milk and fruit, but for the moment, she was beautiful. Veronica Beaconsfield knows what she is about here, I thought to myself, and took the work-roughened hand and squeezed it hard.

No slick-faced creature with a sharp blade was going to destroy my wardrobe again.

I always hated what Londoners called with such wry pride their “particulars,” their “peculiars,” their “pea soupers,” like the beaming parents of some uncontrollable and pathologically destructive brat.

Blind, stripped to my underclothing, and ill, I thought muzzily. Mary Russell, this is going to be very unpleasant.

He had already let me in under his guard, and I him. Holmes was a part of me, and to imagine myself “in love” with him was to imagine myself becoming passionately enamoured of my arm or the muscles in my back.

“These last weeks, since Christmas, have been odd ones. I have begun to doubt that I knew you as well as I thought. I have even wondered if you wished to keep some part of yourself hidden from me in order to preserve your privacy and your autonomy. I will understand if you refuse to give me an answer tonight, and although I freely admit that I will be hurt by such a refusal, you must not allow my feelings to influence your answer.” I looked up into his face. “The question I have for you, then, Holmes, is this: How are the fairies in your garden?”

The restlessness of the day before was controllable now, and the shame something to be acknowledged and not dwelt upon.

With the ponderous dignity of the profoundly intoxicated, she took up a strategic position across the street from the doors.

I could not do this. The safe was not going to open for me, not in the time I had. Tell it to Holmes, nagged a voice. Watch his brief flare of irritation give way to sympathy, understanding. Live with that, will you?

“I walked into the hall, to find utter panic, of the Oxford variety: tight voices, careful poly-syllables, a certain amount of wringing of hands.”

[autisticsherlockinelementary]

Neurodiversity in Holmes & Watson 2016 panel outline

Apologies once more for being extremely late on posting this after Sherlock Seattle/Watson Washington. Life, motivation, and executive functioning issues have been playing against me the past few months.

As such, the accounts may not include everything that was discussed during the panel. 

Under the read more, the outline will be divided into two parts:

Part 1 covers my 15-minute uninterrupted infodump on Sherlock Holmes (Elementary), Fiona Helbron (Elementary), and Joan Watson (Elementary)

Part 2 covers @pennypaperbrain’s account that includes bipolar representation (BBC, Guy Ritchie, Granada), and common stereotypes shown in neurodivergent characters

PART ONE

The first thing that I did (because like Sherlock Holmes, I am at times a bit dramatic), was bring out my large ASIE binder (last seen at 221B Con 2015) and my small pile of papers on Fiona Helbron, and placed them side by side.

The point for that was to compare the work that falls to the fans for autistic coding (ASIE binder for seasons 1-3), to the work that falls to the fans for autistic representation (papers on Fiona Helbron).

I got about 2 minutes in to my infodump until I realized that I forgot to turn on the audio recorder that I brought with.

I didn’t freak out. Quite the opposite. Instead I turned on the recorder, and started from the beginning (including the dramatic “slamming” of the ASIE binder on the table, which earned some genuine laughs and applause).

Other topics I discussed included:

Autistic stereotypes in “Murder Ex Machina”.

Fiona’s self label of “neuroatypical” and why self-identifying is important.

Sherlock Holmes “passing” as NT via Fiona’s “I’m not sure what you are”.

My disagreeing with Fiona that Joan Watson is NT - while Joan’s PTSD (witnessing a loved one get murdered, her being kidnapped, etc.) is largely ignored in canon, Joan would be allistic, not neurotypical.

Fiona breaking down stereotypes in “A View With A Room” (ex. lying via cats).

The dynamics of social rules conversations between Fiona and Joan that occur at the same time (throughout S4E9, S4E12, and S4E18) -

Joan, the non-autistic character out of the pair, isn’t trying to change the way Fiona conducts conversations or change Fiona’s routine

I made sure to emphasize that fellow Elementary fans rightfully told me prior to the panel that these conversations are also racist - a white woman telling a Chinese-American woman about the importance of social norms

Autistic safe space between Sherlock and Fiona and seeing that blossom into a romance.

Fiona scripting the almost-breakup in “Ready or Not”.

Sherlock researching neuroatypical relationships (and how the writers really missed the ball by NOT having him talk with autistic people).

Sherlock’s “because I’m different” echolalia, and how some people, myself included, have read that as him saying that he’s just like Fiona (re: being autistic), but good luck with that being admitted canonically.

Lastly, I talked about the reveal from Rob Doherty at NYCC 2016 that Fiona Helbron was originally supposed to only be in one episode. 

[Given the events of S5E6, which aired after the Neurodiversity panel, it’s no surprise that the fans cared about Fiona more than the writers did.]

PART TWO

[The following is a word-for-word recount provided by @pennypaperbrain who I thank very much for for sending this to me]

I know of three Sherlocks who are either canonically bipolar or quite strongly presented as so -

BBC Sherlock: Pronounced mood swings, arrogance, intensity, cocaine use, long periods of silence, downswings. He’s never definitely characterised as one thing, but it doesn’t take much to stretch him in your preferred direction

RDJ/Guy Ritchie: His Watson actually says he’s manic in Game of Shadows

Brett/Granada: Bipolar Holmes played by a bipolar actor

Interpretations

I’m a fan of giving BBC Sherlock every neuroatypicality under the sun. Make him yours. The lines between different forms of neurodivergence are fuzzy anyway.

Fic

One of the greatest joys of BBC Sherlock fandom in my experience is reading and writing fic of this kind. There are many hundreds of fics depicting him as bipolar, ADHD, autistic, or a number of other conditions, often highly sophisticated depictions written by neuroatypical fans. This community helped me immeasurably in dealing with my own diagnosis of bipolar, and periods of acute illness.

Granada

This is a canonically bipolar Sherlock played by a bipolar actor. This makes it both validating and disturbing to watch. Sometimes Brett’s illness informed his portrayal; other times it overshadowed it.

Stereotypes

Tormented Genius: The idea that a mental imbalance fuels genius hangs particularly strongly around Jeremy Brett’s portrayal. From Bending the Willow: Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes, “After being in the Maudsley [hospital] for 10 weeks, Hardwicke [who played Watson] says: ‘I remember him saying a terrifying thing to me at this time. Terrifying for an actor. He told me one day that he was really frightened and I asked him why. He said, “Because by balancing me and subduing me, I may have lost it - lost the ability to act.” I understood that fear and it was very real for Jeremy.’” So the idea of mania giving him an edge was a real one to Brett.

The Weirdo: One thing common to all the adaptations I know is that Sherlock Holmes is loved and admired, by his Watson and by others, in spite of some very odd behaviour. This has a particular resonance for some neuroatypical people because we know we can be hard to live with at times; that certainly applies to me as bipolar. Interpreting the character this way gives us a model of someone who has those palpable downsides, but is still loved, and wanted, and useful.

The Special White Male: The one point where I feel uncomfortable about readings of Sherlock as neuroatypical is where that intersects with other identity issues. I’m thinking particularly of the BBC version, my home fandom. I feel that, for the benefit of the casual audience, Sherlock’s neuroatypicality - otherness - is presented simply as a stock element in a package demonstrating that he is the Special White Man who should be allowed to get away with bad behavious because of his specialness. That’s not representation, but appropriation of neuroatypicality to create a persecution fantasy for the dominant group.

Outside of Part 1 and Part 2, there was also discussion of PTSD present in Watson from the BBC adaptation, which was conducted by the very resourceful @ormondsacker.

It wasn’t until after I arrived back home after the convention that I realized that the audio recorder didn’t work at all. Hence, this outline. I hope this suffices, and again, I apologize for being this tardy.

[sweetcerac]

REVIEW:

The Last Of August by Brittany Cavallaro

Book Summary: “Jamie Watson and Charlotte Holmes are looking for a winter-break reprieve after a fall semester that almost got them killed. But Charlotte isn’t the only Holmes with secrets, and the mood at her family’s Sussex estate is palpably tense. On top of everything else, Holmes and Watson could be becoming more than friends—but still, the darkness in Charlotte’s past is a wall between them. A distraction arises soon enough, because Charlotte’s beloved uncle Leander goes missing from the estate—after being oddly private about his latest assignment in a German art forgery ring. The game is afoot once again, and Charlotte is single-minded in her pursuit. Their first stop? Berlin. Their first contact? August Moriarty (formerly Charlotte’s obsession, currently believed by most to be dead), whose powerful family has been ripping off famous paintings for the last hundred years. But as they follow the gritty underground scene in Berlin to glittering art houses in Prague, Holmes and Watson begin to realize that this is a much more complicated case than a disappearance. Much more dangerous, too. What they learn might change everything they know about their families, themselves, and each other.“

My Review:

I’ve been seeing a mixed bag of reviews on Goodreads for this book. I really really enjoyed it! This book had a mystery to solve, of course, but I felt like the mystery was more about Charlotte and her crazy family issues than about the fake art.

Jaime has a really lovely family! He’s close with his parents and his sisters. They don’t have a fancy life like Charlotte’s family, but it’s awesome and happy. Homey! And Charlotte definitely enjoys her visit with Jaime’s Mom and sister. She seems like she enjoys it a lot! It’s really new to her and fun! It’s something she’s never experienced.

Then Jaime gets to go with Charlotte to visit her parents in their huge mansion in Sussex and it’s nothing he’s ever experienced. Charlotte has lived in a very cold cold world for a long time. Her room is as far from her parents’ rooms as possible. Her brother lives in Berlin with his huge security company. The quiet and secretive lives Charlotte and her parents lead apart from each other is nothing Jaime has ever imagined. I think the one show of Charlotte’s mom’s protectiveness of her daughter about hanging out with Jaime really took Jaime aback. Like, ‘Your family doesn’t actually talk to each other, but you see fit now to act like protective mother?’

We meet August Moriarty and we learn about the really messed up family life he has. AND he’s pretending he’s dead so he doesn’t have to deal with them or his past bad decisions with Charlotte. You can see why her and August bonded so much. Their lives are so similiar. The same worlds they have always known.

Charlotte totally loves Jaime! That’s my opinion. He is something so different for her to have around. He’s so caring and considerate of her, but he’s no yes man! He’s not afraid to disagree with her and have a fight with her. Jaime is always honest with her. Charlotte loves that! Even though it doesn’t come across that way. She knows she can trust him, even as he’s questioning his trust of her in places in this book.

And there is so much sexual tension between them throughout the book that it throws a wrench in their usual teamwork. It was great seeing how that progressed itself.

I thought it was so awesome that the point of views switched at one point from Jaime to Charlotte! That was so fun to see her opinion on things concerning Jaime!

I loved following the mystery they were trying to solve, but it was so fascinating watching the two of them navigate their own feelings about their partnership.

And the ending of this book felt so classic Sherlock!

I can’t wait for book three and more of Charlotte and Jaime!