#she must be around the same age as mary but it feels like so immature in a way when its like immediately confronted with marys panic

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

love this moment bc yaz is thinking ghosts or aliens and then mary is like my fucking son and you can feel the "oh shit. oh thats worse maybe"

[litcest]

We Have Always Lived in the Castle, by Shirley Jackson

We Have Always Lived in the Castle is 1962 mystery novel by author Shirley Jackson, who also famously wrote The Lottery (1948) and The Haunting of Hill House (1959). The story is about the Blackwoods, a very wealthy family who owns a large state. Since the death of their parents, Constance Blackwood has been taking care of her younger sister, Mary Katherine (better known as Merricat) and their wheelchair bound uncle, Julian. The three of them live in perfect recluse in their manor, but when cousin Charles comes to visit, he shakes up the family dynamic.

Despite their relationship not being explicitly incestuous in the novel, Constance and Merricat share a bond closer than most sisters do. If you have read Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, you may remember Eleanor and Theo, who weren't explicitly in a romantic relationship, but were very lesbian coded. The same applies for the Blackwood sisters, in my opinion.

In 1966 the novel was made into a play by Hugh Wheeler, and this play was used as the basis for the 2010 musical by Adam Bock and Todd Almond. But, more famously, in 2018, there was a movie adaptation by Stacie Passon, starring Taissa Farmiga as Merricat, Alexandra Daddario as Constance, Sebastian Stan as Charles and Crispin Glover as Julian.

The book is narrated by eighteen-years-old Merricat Blackwood. Despite her age, her behaviour throughout the novel is very immature and childish, probably due to the trauma she suffered at twelve, when the rest of her family (save for her sister and uncle) died. She's also very superstitious and practices sympathetic magic.

Merricat lives with Constance and Julian in the large Blackwood property in near isolation. Her only contact with the outside world is going to the village to buy groceries and visit the library. The locals aren't very keen on the Blackwood family, eyeing them with suspicion since the deaths that occurred years prior and resenting the large amount of money the family has, despite not doing any hard work.

No, really, the people in town are really nasty towards the sisters, with the children even making a mean song about them, akin to how people made that skipping rope song about Lizzie Borden.

"Merricat, said Connie, would you like a cup of tea? Oh no, said Merricat, you’ll poison me. Merricat, said Connie, would you like to go to sleep? Down in the boneyard ten feet deep!"

You see, the reason for the rhyme is that six years before the events in the book, the sisters parents, their younger brother as well as Uncle Julian and his wife were poised wit arsenic that had been mixed into the sugar bowl. Julian was the only survivor and Constance wasn't poisoned because she didn't eat sugar with her blackberries, and Merricat hadn't been in the dinner that night. Due to her being the only person present who wasn't poisoned, she was arrested and charged with murder, but ended up being acquitted and released back, much to the distaste of the village.

Probably due to her fear that Constance will be taken away again, Merricat has developed many "magical" protections around the property to avoid strangers coming in (it must be noted that Constance herself doesn't leave the house since the trial finished, so the magic could be to keep Constance safe). It's clear, from the beginning, that Merricat loves her sister and has a strong devotion to her. The feeling is mutual as evidenced by Constance telling Merricat how much she missed her, even thought Merricat had only been to village for, at most, a couple hours.

"When I was small I thought Constance was a fairy princess. I used to try to draw her picture, with long golden hair and eyes as blue as the crayon could make them, and a bright pink spot on either cheek; the pictures always surprised me, because she did look like that; even at the worst time she was pink and white and golden, and nothing had ever seemed to dim the brightness of her. She was the most precious person in my world, always."

Julian, their widowed uncle, spend his time writing his memories of the day of the poisoning, obsessively looking at the details of what happened that day and on the day before and it is through his ramblings about the event that we, the readers, learn about what happened. For exemple, he is the one who exposes the fact that Constance was the one who did the cooking, and that she has knowledge of different poisons. Not only that, but she didn't use sugar on her blackberries (although it was a known fact that she never did) and washed the sugar bowl before the police could arrive to the scene - allegedly because there was a spider in it.

Merricat is perfectly happy with Constance staying at home the whole time, as in this way she has her sister basically all to herself. When Constance starts to express some desire to leave the house, Merricat becomes upset and reacts by violently breaking their mother's fancy milk pitcher. Although she doesn't verbally express her displeasure or lashes out in front of Constance, Merricat often breaks things around the house, leaving a path of destruction on the wake of her anger.

"'We’ll always be here together, won’t we, Constance?' 'Don’t you ever want to leave here, Merricat?' 'Where could we go?' I asked her. 'What place would be better for us than this? Who wants us, outside? The world is full of terrible people.' 'I wonder sometimes.' She was very serious for a minute, and then she turned and smiled at me. 'Don’t you worry, my Merricat. Nothing bad will happen.'"

Before Constance can decide if she's ready to explore the outside world, the outside world comes knocking in the form of Cousin Charles, son of her father's other brother. Merricat dislikes him at first sight and even tries to pretend she had only dreamed about his visit and could "dream him away", but Constance seems glad to have the attention of a good looking young man, even if he is her cousin.

Charles claims he wanted to help his cousins after the tragedy that had struck, but hadn't been able because his father wouldn't allow it, but now that his father was dead, he wanted to reunite with the remaining family. Merricat is jealous of how easily Costance (whom Charles calls 'Connie') warms up to the newcomer.

"She was not at all awkward or uncomfortable; it was as though she had been expecting all her life that Cousin Charles would come, as though she had planned exactly what to do and say, almost as though in the house of her life there had always been a room kept for Cousin Charles."

To keep Charles away, Merricat nails a gold watch into a tree, and when Charles sees it, he gets angry because it was a waste of gold. His obsession with money leads Julian to start to think that Charles is only there to try to steal the family fortune.

Charles is no innocent either. When he realises that he won't win Merricat's affection, he quickly start being passive aggressive with her, even insinuating that he might convince Constance to throw her out. And at the same time he tells Connie she should not be waiting on Julian, Charles also has her cook and clean for himself.

Merricat tries her best to shield herself and her sister, but all she can actually do is small actions, like breaking Charles' watch and pouring water in his bed. Charles gets furious with Merricat's childish antics and while Constance doesn't condenes her sister, she doesn't defends her either, simply calling Merricat "silly".

"'You are evil,' I said to Charles. 'You are a ghost and a demon.' 'What the hell?' Charles said. 'Don’t pay any attention,' Constance told him. 'Don’t listen to Merricat’s nonsense.'"

During a large argument between Charles, Merricat and Julian, Charles tell them that Merricat needs to be punished, which makes her run away in fear. Upset and even more angry than before, Merricat waits until dinner time and goes to Charles room, and she finds his pipe, which was still burning. She then throws in into a pile of papers which causes a fire to start. They are in the table when Charles smells smoke.

Constance and Merricat run for safety, but Julian stays behind to gather his papers (the many manuscripts he wrote of his memories from the day of the poisoning). The firefighters come, but they eye the sisters with suspicion, causing them to run and hide in the woods surrounding the property. While all this is going on, Charles is worried about the money in the safe.

"Pulling Constance, I hurried under the trees, in the darkness; when I felt my feet leave the grass of the lawn and touch the soft mossy ground of the path through the woods and knew that the trees had closed in around us I stopped and put my arms around Constance. 'It’s all over,' I told her, and held her tight."

While hiding in the forest, Merricat says that she'll poison everyone and Constance acknowledges that Merricat had done that once before, six years before, by putting arsenic in the sugar as payback for having been sent to the bedroom without dinner.

"'I put it in the sugar.' 'I know. I knew then.' 'You never used sugar.' 'No.' 'So I put it in the sugar.'"

Morning comes and the sisters come out of their hiding spot to see the damage that happened to the house. Most of it is gone, but they decide to clean the few rooms that didn't get crushed or burned and keep living there. Due to the lack of a roof, the house now looks like a castle (hence the title) and with time, vines grow to cover the remaining structure. Charles, who had survived the fire, tries to talk to Constance again, but she rejects him.

The Blackwood sisters become a short of local legend and villagers leave offerings of food in their doorsteps. They go on with living happily in the house, having only each other's company, because they don't need anything else.

"'I love you, Constance,' I said. 'And I love you, my Merricat.'"

Like a said before, they are not canonically incestuous, but it isn't difficult to see why they are so shippable. They protect each other at all costs and can barely function when separated. Since the book ends with them going into isolation, who knows what feelings might come to light?

[tea-at-221]

The TJLC Debacle: 3 years out from S4 and counting; the copyright mini-theory; so much salt I’m bloated; but in the end, there is peace (I love you Johnlockers)

Ugh, don't even talk to me about Mary.

Don't even talk to me about the way Mofftiss have said they're sick of responding to fans on the subject of Johnlock. Of how they've said they're "not telling anyone else what to think or write about them" (as if they could stop us; as if they even own Sherlock themselves. Do keep reading, because this point becomes much more relevant and in-jokey later on). Don't even mention how they've bitched and whined incessantly because--god forbid--fans got *really really* into their show and emotionally invested.

They're so eager to discount all the beautiful little moments they wrote as accidents. And Arwel, who planted all those props, continually demonstrates that he's on their side (a not-very in-depth-analysis of his Instagram account and the way he interacted with fans towards the beginning of the pandemic showed as much, but I think maybe he’s grown a bit wiser and quieter since at least in terms of Johnlock and all things elephant-related. I don’t know for sure because I stopped looking.)

Anyway--they'd actually prefer for us to celebrate our own intelligence, is I suppose a charitable way of looking at it: our ability to make connections between things in the show; our metas on symbolism; our insightful fanfic; etc., and denounce them as the bad writers that they ultimately are.

More under the cut.

(This post may be of interest to you especially if you came to the fandom a bit later: multiple links to things of relevance/quotes/explanations appear both within and at the end of this entry.)

Because what makes a writer good?

Well, an ability to make people feel an emotional connection to their work, for one. I know this is just my own perspective, but if not for Johnlock, all my emotion about the show would evaporate. There wouldn't be much else there. Other people might get something, but I wouldn’t. Is some of the writing witty and entertaining regardless of any inferred/implied Johnlock? Yeah but, eh, a lot of shows have some good writing and I just don’t give a damn about them.

What makes a writer good?

Not making promises to the reader/viewer that they'll never keep. Plot holes, leading dialogue ("There’s stuff you wanted to say...but didn’t say it.” “Yeah”) never followed through on, puns that are apparently, I suppose, unintentional (e.g. "'Previous' commander?" "I meant 'ex'").

Uh, not writing continual gay jokes that aren't actually pointing toward the inference that people are making them because there's actually something going on there under the surface. (How about just don't make those jokes ever.)

Not being, apparently, oblivious (? questionable) to the queerbaiting they're engaging in *as they’re writing it.*

Acting like their LGBT audience is in the wrong/the bad guy, instead of choosing to remain respectful in the face of dissent. Instead it's just, "we never wrote it that way" / "We never played it that way."

A lot of those other mildly witty shows don’t actually blatantly drag their most passionate fans face-down through the mud the writers themselves created. Imagine that.

I'm not even a fan of Martin Freeman anymore, for the way he handled the whole thing (getting angry, the comments he made about how the fans made Sherlock “not fun anymore”...apparently Martin’s packing up his crayons and going home?)...no offense to anyone who is still a fan of his. I don’t make it a habit to drag him. I do to some degree understand his frustration with having the whole situation taken out on him--he’s just an actor in the show--but I simply wish he’d remained as cool and professional about it as Benedict Cumberbatch instead of pointing at the fans. You’re pointing in the wrong direction, mate.

What also irks me at the end of the day is this: the subsection of people who legitimately responded badly to the TJLC/S4 debacle and went above and beyond to harass the writers and actors/actresses on social media are *few and far between*, but we've been lumped in with them by what feels like...everyone, Martin included. TJLCers/Johnlockers (not the same group, but often treated as such) have been made to look like a bunch of rambunctious, immature, demanding children time and time and again in the wake of S4.

They'd rather, what, suggest John was so in love with Mary? THAT was the relationship they wanted to uphold in that show as so significant and...what, a demonstration of how honorable it is to respect your heterosexual relationship despite, you know...ANYTHING?

Yeah sorry, I don’t believe in that. John’s text-based affair, whether a disappointment for some as to his supposed character, was a very human reaction and I kinda sorta feel like I would have reacted MUCH more strongly than that had I been John. But nope. He stayed with Mary and was *ashamed* of his wandering eye. Ashamed that maybe he wanted to be admired by someone. I can’t think of a scene, off the top of my head, where Mary ever interacted with John without belittling him in some way--if not with words, then with consistently patronizing glances.

The message here is that heterosexuality is not just acceptable, but VALUABLE, however it manifests--but god forbid anyone see a queer subtext. (Why are lgbt+ writers some of the very WORST offenders where this is concerned? And they defend it! Is this childhood nostalgia/Stockholm Syndrome of the very fondest variety or what? Gay angst is all they got if they got anything at all, so it’s still good enough as far as “representation” goes?)

They really want to tell the story of John as so emotionally/mentally fucked up that he surrounds himself with unstable people time and again. They never give any reason *why* he might do that (which they could have done even soooo subtly), or delve into his past--just, apparently it's okay to assume that Sherlock's comment about "she's like that because you chose her" is exactly that.

No. Sherlock and Mary are NOT the same. Not...*remotely*!

Mary is underhanded and evil. She lies. She manipulates. She schemes. Her “love” is based on selfishness, and her assumption that John is a simpleton and hers to mold. She's in it for herself.

Sherlock hides. He prevaricates. He feels. He loves John. He does fucked up things in the name of love, but always for the benefit of those he loves. When he screws up, which he obviously does, it’s painful to us as the audience because we see that it is painful for him when he recognizes and regrets it.

I have never seen Mary regret anything. Those crocodile tears at Christmas? More manipulation. Inconsistent with anything else we were shown about her as a character.

To even think for a SECOND that people could ship Mary and John and mentally condemn John for cheating on Mary AFTER SHE SHOT HIS BEST FRIEND...as if marriage is the be-all-end-all free pass in which every sin must be forgiven until the end of time...as if John broke any covenant with his wife beyond those she broke from the very moment she walked into his life *with an entire fake past.* Is just. Well. It's asking us to accept gaslighting as healthy, loving, normal, *preferable* behavior, so...given the source that message is coming from, it's all a bit meta.

THAT. Is insanity. Maybe Mofftiss are the sociopaths.

How these men could write characters they themselves understand so little (or tell us they understand so little because their emotional maturity has yet to surpass that of the average three-year-old’s), I will never know. I can only imagine that they have absorbed, by osmosis over their lives, real and nuanced human behavior...then churned it back out again in their writing unaware, a bit like psychopaths who teach themselves what "normal" people do so that they can pass as psychologically sound in regular society.

Remember, we *are* talking about men who do these sorts of things:

Moffat says that Sherlock is celibate and that people who claim he's misogynistic when he does things like make Irene Adler imply she's attracted to the detective (even though she's a lesbian) are, ironically, "deeply offensive" (despite lines like "look at us both" in Battersea. We aren't your therapists, Moffat--we don't care what you meant, we care what you said, and what you *said* was clear. *Implying* it does not let you off the hook).

Gatiss has proclaimed that "I find flirting with the homoeroticism in Sherlock much more interesting" than the idea of ever making a show addressing LGBT issues. (That link is to a reddit forum, and I can't find the original interview anymore, but I assure you I had seen the actual article myself ages back and can't find it online again now along with some of the Martin quotes I wanted to link to. And nevermind what Gatiss has done with LGBT shows/issues since--my focus here is on what he has said, versus what he and Moffat have since claimed regarding their queerbaiting.)

Here’s a transcript of this screenshot:

"...many people come up and say they didn't realise." Despite this lack of public awareness, being part of the gay community is clearly important to Gatiss: "The older I get the more I want to give something back. I mean, I keep meaning to do something." When asked if he'd be interested in making a series about gay issues his response was enlightening:

"No, I don't think I'd make a kind of gay programme. It's much more interesting when it's not about a single issue. And equally, I find flirting with the homoeroticism in Sherlock much more interesting. Of course this reflects the grand picture of everyone's strange make-up; there are good gay people and bad gay people. I wouldn't like to make an issue film around the culture of being gay."

Instead Gatiss' interest seems to lie in making a drama where sexuality is, if not mundane, part of the wider framework: "I'd quite like to do something about a quite happy, ordinary gay person who's just incidentally gay. For example, a three-part thriller for ITV where the lead character just happens to be gay; when they finally go home, say 45 minutes in, and they had a same sex partner. That to me would be genuinely progressive. It wouldn't be a three-part gay thriller for ITV. It would be that this character just happened to be gay."

--End article quote.

And instead, who is canonically gay in the series? Well, Irene Adler. The innkeepers at the Cross Keys. And perhaps most notably, the *villains*, because that's a helpful trope: Moriarty and Eurus are, in S4, both implied to be at least bisexual.

Any character should be able to be any sexuality, this is true. But can we have some main characters, the good guys, give some good representation? Can't we start making that the standard, rather than the villains and the background characters? Because so far, that is the exception and not the rule.

Writers need to be aware of the damage they are perpetuating. We are not quite in a world yet where any character should be able to be any sexuality but isn't, yet we have no problem with saying the villain is LGBT+ or looks different/functions differently than much of the viewing audience.

"Male friendship is important and valid, not everything has to be gay"--this is a popular point with casual heterosexual viewers (and, to my chagrin, some of my LGBT+ friends) who don't fully grasp what "queerbaiting" is, often even when it's pointed out to them.

The lens of heterosexuality is real. My first time through watching BBC Sherlock, I didn't see the Johnlock at all. I had to look for it and read about it. When I saw it, the lens was lifted for me, and it changed my life and the way I view things forever (and for the best).

But back to my point about how little Mofftiss seem to understand their own story/most ardent fans, and then on to my other theory: in S4 it must be that they dropped their “psychopaths emulating empathy” act and indulged in their own "insane wish fulfillment" by doing away with all of the meaning, continuity, and sense. Right?

So, here’s the alternate theory. One which is not, please remember, in their defense.

Remember that S4 is what Mofftiss are *happy* to have us believe is what they'd do with these characters, given the chance to do whatever they wanted. I repeat, in Moffat’s own words: “Insane wish fulfillment.”

Okay I get it, this pasta has been over-salted.

Without further delay: MY COPYRIGHT RESEARCH THEORY THAT EVEN I DON'T PUT MUCH STOCK IN AND WHICH DOESN’T MAKE UP FOR THEIR CRUELTY EVEN IF TRUE

Part of me also raises an eyebrow at S4 as perhaps an example of the effect of the Conan Doyle estate on any modern production in the US. While it’s true that all of Sherlock is part of public domain in the UK and has been for quite a long time, Gatiss and Moffat still talk about it being partially under copyright. Specifically, the last 10 stories. I’m supposing that this means that because Sherlock airs internationally, or due to whatever contract the BBC has with the Doyle estate, they are still limited by the copyright as to what they can “publish”.

The Doyle estate is known for being a pain in the ass when it comes to abiding by copyright law as everyone else knows and practices it. They’ve tried to argue, for example (in 2013 and, much more recently, with the advent of Enola Holmes), that because Holmes and Watson were not fully developed as their final selves until the conclusion of all 10 stories still under copyright, then perhaps the characters themselves should still be protected, basically, in full.

It’s true that certain elements of the remaining stories are still under copyright here in the US (Watson had more than one wife--uh huh, we have that to look forward to, Johnlockers; the Garridebs moment is still under copyright--yeah, I’m getting to that too; and Sherlock didn’t care much for dogs til later so that’s not allowed either, fuck off Redbeard), but the estate’s problem in 2013 seemed to be based around a fear that *gasp* some day--if not right now!--anyone could write a Sherlock Holmes story in any way they pleased, changing the characters however they wished to and giving those characters “multiple personalities.”

See the following excerpt from the Estate’s case:

“...at any given point in their fictional lives, the two men's characters depend on the Ten Stories. It is impossible to split the characters into public domain versions and complete versions.”

(Click for full transcript.)

Obviously, by this point, that’s been done in multiple iterations. So I dunno. Their argument was *more* than muddy to begin with--they just grasp at straws to stay in control, it seems.

But okay. Backing up: wasn’t there sort-of a Garridebs moment in S4?!?? you cry. Yep. But imagine this: the Conan Doyle estate taking Mofftiss to court to argue that they depicted the Garridebs moment--a moment still under copyright--in The Final Problem.

Did they, though? Did they really?

The fandom cried out about the ridiculousness--the utter disappointment--of that moment when it was shown. It was not what we would have expected/wanted. We didn’t see John injured, Sherlock reacting with tender outrage to the good doctor’s attacker.

Instead we saw some ludicrous BS that was as bad as the clown with the sword-gun-umbrella. More of that.

I think Martin probably found that it was easy to produce real tears when he thought about how fucking terrible the S4 scripts were.

Ahem. Yet, this all seems very Mofftiss-flavored in terms of humor.

I can all-too-easily imagine them saying, “HA. We’re going to show some of these supposedly copyrighted things--and if they take us to court, they’ll be laughed out of the room.” Could that explain some of the overall S4 fuckery?

Sherlock wasn’t supposed to like dogs til later stories, as previously mentioned-- is that why Redbeard pulled a “Cinderella’s carriage” and transformed into a pumpkin (Victor Trevor)? Hmm. Sigh.

It...doesn’t actually appear that the estate has any qualms about taking laughable stuff to court, I mean...*shrug.* They have the money to do it, and money is the name of the game, because you’ve got to pay for rights (cha-ching sounds).

Yep, it does seem that the estate is open to the copyrighted materials being made reality, but who knows for what price or with what caveats. The BBC isn’t, so far as I’ve ever heard, known for throwing money around. Early Doctor Who would be so much less entertaining if they’d had any sort of budget. (And in fact, more of the older episodes would exist, but apparently the BBC--in part to cut costs--reused some of their tapes.)

My bottom-line bitter is this: Mofftiss do like to amuse themselves. To please themselves and no one else, as they’ve shown time and again. Sure, they could do whatever they wanted with S4...and they did...but they were also cruel about it, and that’s what I’ll never forgive them--OR the BBC--for.

A lot of fans gave up after series 4. I was very nearly one of them. I was angry, like just about every other Johnlocker and/or TJLCer, but I was really truly heartbroken. I couldn’t look at fanfiction. My days were full of bitterness and I keenly felt the lack of the fandom outlet that had become so essential to my mental well-being. I didn't know how to overcome the disparity between TJLC and what the show actually was. I didn't know how to separate the things I loved so much from the shitty writers and the way the BBC handled things with their whole response letter (that atrocious, childish blanket response they sent to everyone who complained about S4, not just the Johnlockers/TJLCers. Related to your complaint or not, if you filed one post-S4, this was the response you got). I still boycott BBC shows/merchandise, just by the way.

I tried to link to the blanket response letter but the link didn’t want to work (it’s an old reddit post; I had difficulty finding a copy of the letter elsewhere though at one point it wasn’t so hard...Google is weird these days y’all...tell me it’s not just me) so here’s a screenshot:

Transcript:

“Thank you for contacting us about “Sherlock”.

The BBC and Hartswood Films have received feedback from some viewers who were disappointed there was not a romantic resolution to the relationship between Sherlcok and John in the finale of the latest season of “Sherlock”.

We are aware that the majority of this feedback uses the same text posted on websites and circulated on social media.

Through four series and thirteen episodes, Sherlock and John have never shown any romantic or sexual interest in each other. Furthermore, whenever the creators of “Sherlock” have been asked by fans if the relationship might develop in that direction, they have always made it clear that it would not.

Sherlock’s writers, cast and producers have long been firm and vocal supporters of LGBT rights.

The BBC does not accept the allegations leveled at “Sherlock” or its writers, and we wholeheartedly support the creative freedom of the writers to develop the story as they see fit.

We will of course register your disappointment.

Thank you for contacting us.

Kind Regards,

BBC Complaints Team

So how about that? *Did* they “register our disappointment”? We can actually check that. The BBC’s website has a monthly summary of complaints received. So what did they receive in January 2017, the month S4 aired?

Huh, what do you know. Sounds like that blanket response was exactly the “fuck you” it came across as.

But the show--the FANDOM--had filled a need in my life, and so I had to own that and make it mine, or just...let something in me die: something that felt like an actual vital organ. I had to decide that these characters mean something to me beyond what anyone else tells me they should. I had to accept my own perceptions as truth, as I do with everything else in my life. I had to overcome the idea of canon as law (BBC Sherlock isn't canon anyway; ACD is canon. BBC Sherlock is, in the end, badly written fanfiction--or--worse?--decent pre-slash fanfiction distorted by consistent lies and the hazing of the LGBT audience, topped with the dumpster fire of S4′s incoherent nonsense).

I had to take the good and throw away the bad, just like anyone else who chose to stay. The good bits of the show...dialogue, yes. Plot points, yes. These awful writers did write some good stuff sometimes.

They just broke all the unspoken rules of what not to do to your audience. And then did and said everything they could not to apologize, and to justify their own failings. Which, in the years since I began shipping queer ships beyond any others, I have unfortunately experienced more than once.

So, my vulnerability has been yeeted into the vacuum of broke-my-trustdom: no one can tell me what things should mean to me. I will decide.

I decide that all of the FUCKING AMAZING writing in the Sherlock fandom is a staple in my life that makes it worth living. And that that's okay. And takes precedence over anything the writers or anyone else associated with the show could ever say or do.

Johnlock can not be taken away. It doesn't belong to them. It never did, even if they brought us to it. It belongs to us. To the group of amazingly creative, brainy, empathetic, resourceful, vibrant, resilient people who make up this fandom.

So thank YOU, all of YOU, for giving me Sherlock, Johnlock, and TJLC.

I am SO SAD for those who never found a way to make peace with this fandom again. Let me just say that I understand that inability entirely.

I am fortunate that I found the ability in myself to cling to the joy (something it has taken my whole life to be able to do). I hope others will who haven’t yet but wish they could.

Let Mofftiss and whoever sides with them stay angry and bitter and vicious, always looking over their shoulders for anyone who dares to whisper about subtext.

I’m proud to be part of what they’re whispering so angrily about.

Thanks for sticking it out if you made it this far. I know this was very self-indulgent and rambly.

Articles of interest:

A Study in Queerbaiting (Or How Sherlock Got it All Wrong) by Marty Greyson

“We never played it like that.” - Martin on Johnlock

Henry Cavill on the Enola Holmes lawsuit

More on that--and by the way Sherlock isn’t allowed to like dogs

The way Sherlock creators told fans Sherlock & John aren’t gay is so rude

Especially for those new to the fandom who may not know the distinction between TJLC and Johnlockers and want to know more about TJLC's evolution/what it is/meta through the years

Moffat's view on asexuality, offensive to me in particular *as* an asexual person (same article where he claims he isn't misogynistic): "If he was asexual, there would be no tension in that, no fun in that – it's someone who abstains who's interesting."

Yet he says Sherlock isn't gay or straight and that he's trying to keep his brain pure which is a "very Victorian attitude"

(Nice historical research there, Moff--actually the Victorians were sex-positive).

Sherlock fans were robbed of the gay ending they deserved

Benedict Cumberbatch has lashed out at his Sherlock co-star Martin Freeman over his negative attitude towards fans

BBC complaints January 2017

Martin Freeman: 'Sherlock is gayest story ever'

From 2016: UNPOPULAR OPINION: "Sherlock" Isn't Sexist or Queerbaiting; It's Actually Trying to Stage a Revolution

Queer-baiting on the BBC's Sherlock: Addressing the Invalidation of Queer Identities through Online Fan Fiction Communities by Cassidy Sheehan

[asexual-agent-2]

Tender for the micro story!

24: tender 

getting old is kinda funny. i see a lot of teens and young adults hang out at the convenience store i work at, and i’m sort of amazed by how immature they really look to me already. like, i’m just barely breaking into my late 20s, and they look like actual babies, dressed up and heading out like they’re so grown up, when i’ve already been 16, and 18, and 21, and i know how full of garbage that idea is. and how i’m gonna look back at myself as i am right now and go “lol look how cringe i was at 26″ 

anyway, our player characters are in high school and that idea is actually kind of terrifying if you think too hard. 

Agents 1 and 2 lost visual on Agent 3 as she super-jumped back to the kettle and descended down the pipe, zapfish in hand. Agent 2 closed the hacked camera and turned to her cousin, whose face reflected Marie’s own horror back at her. 

The duo jumped to answer their grandfather’s SOS call nearly the instant they received it. They locked themselves in a vacant recording room and set up a laptop to get remote control over the situation. Ever since the Great Zapfish had gone missing, they’d kept up correspondence with him about the plans, the progress, and the new recruit. He’d talked the kid up, how quickly she was moving, how skilled she was, and how he was looking forward to having them all together for tea or something, “if you ever get the time, that is.” But he never really mentioned anything about Agent 3. And to say neither of them were prepared for the sight of her was an understatement. 

“I…” Marie started, struck dumb by her disbelief. 

“She’s good,” Callie offered tentatively. 

“She’s...that’s...oh my…” 

“...Yeah.”

Marie double-clicked the Area 4 camera feed and started piloting a small drone to follow Agent 3 on her quest to find the next kettle. It flew around behind her, watching her ink the ground to try to find those hidden Octarian entrances. 

“I don’t… why would he…?” Callie whispered. 

“Can she even hold her form overnight yet?”

“Marie!”

“I’m just saying! Look at her!” Marie jerked her head toward the laptop screen. 

On the camera Agent 3 tapped her headphone. Marie drove the drone around to her front. The kid had oozed confidence and determination as she adeptly hopped and shot her way through the last stage. But standing in the middle of Octo Valley, completely alone, not intentionally abandoned by the one who dragged her into this mess but abandoned nonetheless, she looked miserable, unsure, a little afraid. 

Marie picked up a walkie out of her bag and started fiddling with the knob. “What was their frequency again, Cal? Cal?” she asked, glancing up at her cousin. Callie’s face was still fixed on the screen, just watching the child start running around again, gun held aloft, until she was out of frame of the stationary drone’s camera. 

“Callie?”

“She’s so small,” Callie breathed. 

Marie stared at her for a second, then sighed and put the radio down. “Yeah.” 

She pushed the drone slightly to the right to get the kid back in focus. She shifted form into a trail of her own ink and launched herself over a narrow chasm. Even she looked sort of surprised to have made it across. The older agents let out breaths they didn’t even realize they were holding. 

“Were we that small?”

The image of their grandfather beaming down proudly at her surfaced in Marie’s mind. Equipped with a vest not dissimilar to Agent 3’s, and holding a charger far heavier than she was used to from playing with her friends, she easily felt a foot taller than she was. Her hearts swelled with pride in how mature she must have looked. She turned her head to her cousin at her right hand. She was leaning on her roller and looked just as proud of her little cousin as their grandfather. It was Callie’s idea to bring Marie into this project of his, after all; why wouldn’t she look delighted at Marie’s aptitude? Even in her memory, she struggled to recognize them for what they really were back then. 

“Sure doesn’t feel like it,” Marie finally said. 

Callie spun the drone around on the spot just in time to see Agent 3 respawn at the area checkpoint; must’ve missed a jump. She stood on the point for a few seconds. Tapped her ear again. Nervousness clear as day on her face, she started forward again to face whatever stopped her progress. 

“This is wrong. She should be out with her friends. That should be us.”

“It was.” Their eyes met. This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled the same stunt. 

Neither of them really had any idea what was in store for them back then. If she’d known. If Marie had only known.... If she were completely honest with herself, there was no way she’d be able to turn either Grampa or Callie down no matter what. The fear, the danger, exhilaration and terror, would have all been worth it for the chance to be a hero. The chance to show off, show what she was made of. It wasn’t hard to imagine what about this would appeal to Agent 3. 

She was just like them to a degree: a glory-seeking teenager jumping at the call to do something grand. Outfitted for battle at the tender age of fourteen, forced to fight an old squids’ war. In way, way over her head. And as far as she knew, as she tapped her headset one more time, entirely by herself. 

“We have to talk to her,” Marie said quietly. 

“Think she’ll recognize our voices?” 

“Doesn’t really matter. We can’t leave her alone like this.” 

“...Right.”

Marie let out a single scoff-like laugh and nudged the radio toward her cousin. “You wanna do the honors, Agent 1?” She asked with a tiny smirk. 

Callie took a deep breath and forced a smile. There was no way they’d let the kid know her support team was just as worried as she was. Without realizing she was speaking into the wrong end of the walkie, Callie breathed in once more and finally made their presence known. 

[prairiedust]

Gimme Shelter livewatch under the cut.... I was on my phone when I wrote it so apologies for the typos

“Patchwork Community Center: Care Given to All” with a huge, lurid heart. Hmmm.... patchwork having two meanings here.....

Pastor (?) has 2 Timothy 2:22 tattooed on his arm! “Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” (NIV) Are we looking at growth and found family in this episode?!?

Oh that’s the alleyway!

Hitting mythology themes— Connor is an Anglicized version of an Irish name— Conchobar mac Nessa is maybe the most famous bearer of the name, from Irish mythology— he’s the king who lusted after Deirdre and had her locked up until she came of age, which is probably neither here nor there as far as this poor Connor is concerned...

That thing has a big lurid heart on his overalls better run lol— Oh shit it’s an evil Teddy Ruxpin!!!! Thanks Davy Perez!!!!

That’s the thing animal control uses to manage aggressive animals??? Is this saying something about the Patchwork people?

And that’s it for the cold open.

——

The uh, the mcfuckin what, the Camelot Palace Casino? Is this a tour of the legends of Ireland and Britain all of a sudden? What’s with hitting this theme so hard so fast?

Uh-oh the whole Highway to Heaven reference has me side-eyeing Dean’s suggestion for Cas snd Jack to leave the bunker... Dabb even “spoiled” that line in a tweet lol... in that show the cop and the angel got their (vague) assignments from the big guy.......

Oh SHIT “we’re standing in what I call ‘the trap zone’” Perez is coming for my whole life with this episode!!!! And they’re doing highkey “season one totally-normal Winchester investigation questions script” I love it!!!!

“Slasher flick” Oh we’re revisiting Mint Condition. This is fine.

AND TOMBSTONE THIS IS NOT FINE DAVY! We’re running the good times backwards what did I say about this being the flipside of Last Holiday!

H2H again but this time it’s sus... plus I’m with Zack, I totally want the cozy murder spinoff I imagined Adam and Michael doing plz

Oh the Cas and Jack dynamic here is so sweet.

Pastor just leaving his door open like there’s no such thing as a thief bless his heart. They must be torn up about Connor but Pastor was the last one to talk to him so he’s sus I don’t make the rules.

Oh no Red’s a THIEF!!! Who ever would have guessed. Okay I did NOT expect that jumpscare because of the way Connor’s murder primed me, that was masterfully done.

That’s vaguely an Ohio Star quilt square on the sign behind her except um I forget what that tilted square in the center turns it into? It’s chiming with something... I’ll have to look that up later.

“Divide and conquer” no never split up in a slasher movie that’s how you get murders use the buddy system!

Gonna stop a sec because I just realized that Zack is two-faced. The British dandy was an act. The killer is wearing a Cinderella mask. Ok I’m gonna make a prediction that Zack is actually the killer, a la the demon in Repo Man...

Okay there was definitely a beat after Dean said “Glad soneone’s taking charge” [ofHell] and the focus shifted to Sam. Hm.

“We’ve got to set her up for her own death” so meta, these writers are gonna shred us.

I love being shown how much Castiel has changed throughe Jack not understanding the Kool-Aid reference. And the cats line lol. That’s both amazing and poignant.

That’s a log cabin pattern in the cafeteria. Home. Makes me think back on other quilts we’ve seen this season and if “weaving” is the right metaphor for writing lol. I mean, the action of “patching” is synonymous with “mending” or even healing, but patchwork is also a craft with a long, long history in America (idk if quiltmaking is called patchwork everywhere) of taking a few often mismatched fabrics and cutting and sewing into something beautiful. There are generally two kinds of quilt tops— patterns, like we’ve seen so far in this season, which are carefully planned and involve precise measurements, and “crazy quilts” which also require skill but are often more freeform and piecemeal. But both aspire to be beautiful. That’s an interesting way to conceptualize a serial text... as both creating and mending....

That prayer was sweet and not at all what I was expecting.

I get the finger-cutting for Valerie (stealing=sticky fingers) but not for Connor? Tenuous connection still betw lying and writing? It’s evocative of Se7en but the killer seems to have the same MO for all the killings (I attended CSI for a while.)

Snow White is making me uneasy. Oh she’s the preacher’s daughter... we’ve seen that in early days, too.... oh.... oh....

It’s not the AV guy despite having seen all the AV equipment around Valerie. That’s too easy.

“A saint is a sinner who keeps trying-“ no scroll back, the important part was “we all have to take care of each other.” That’s a theme in the series.

She’s all in pink....

dean and amara on the same wavelength about food lol

Ha ha inversion of “oh you’re a fan of religion? name all seven gods then.”

Castiel’s testimony just wrecked me.

“Members serve the gift of food” hmmm the signs in this episode are tip-top

Gonna just watch for a while.

Oh crap “each is a finger” oh it’s about the sins of the father— No Cas no, you’ve fallen for the misdirection!

Oh okay good, Chuck’s not done snuffing worlds. That had me REALLY WORKED UP ha ha because Amara has no reason to lie right?

That was a really good conversation.... and implying that Former Death bent the truth...

Oh fuck I’m gonna cry “I wanted younto see that your mother was just a person” YES! DISMANTLE THIS MYTHOLOGY AMARA!!! Name it!

THE MYTH THAT YOU’D HELD ON TO FOR SO LONG did they just— THEY DID

rigging the game— ftfoh with the casino metaphors already we know the house always wins except when it doesn’t

Lying, lying, lying,

Do we even know Snow White’s name yet? And why was Connor a liar? Because I think we can make a guess at this point.... ah ha ha her name is sylvia— “forest spirit” she’s Mrs Butters— and she’s after hypocrites— but the killing isn’t supernatural, just churchy?

Oh shit SHE IS A DEAN MIRROR IF SHE STABS JACK I’LL FLIP A DAMN TABLE

....

....

prairiedust.exe has encountered an error and must be restarted

....

....

Okay so “Dad” steps in and stops Sylvia’s attack on Jack...

Why is that Zack? What????

“I’ve been lying to you” oh here we go

Oh it would be death #3, remember what Dabb said about threes a long time ago, two attempts that are unsuccessful and one that satisfies the parameters— but no he’s a jack :((((

I have to stop watching for a while.

Okay I finished it. Holy cats do I have some Thoughts about this episode.

What I loved: Revisiting Dean’s anger, BUT the parental mirror here (in retrospect, at least for me) was a John mirror-- all the mothers (exc for Rowena) in this episode are dead. And Pastor Joe didn’t apparently embrace his wife’s faith until she had died, and then his vision was radically different than his wife’s was-- much like John’s reasons for becoming a hunter were vastly different from Mary’s... but much like “patching” this subtext was possibly even more “healing” than having John back in the 300th ep... This was... looking at a child’s anger when they’re in the middle of their own family mythology. Am I implying that Dean’s anger is immaturity? Eh, it’s... unripeness. I have an old meta in my drafts about the heroine’s journey and why Mary’s story conformed to it while feeling totally unfulfilling in her actual character arc and I’m so glad I sat down and examined that rather than finish it. I have a lot I want to say about Cas’ testimony too, but that has to sit a while. ALSO also, Cas has already thrown away his shot by making the Empty deal, right?....

LANGUAGE! Cas saying “I found myself lost” is a bonkers sentence, right? It’s like when people say someone “turned up missing”-- AND it does not have the same meaning as “I realized I was lost”-- you get a double whammy of the connotation “to search for.” I loved loved loved how language was such a big deal in Last Holiday and then again here, I need to rewatch while paying closer attention to Sylvia and things she says... but these two were sister episodes in so many ways, that when I said there was a “lack of narrative mirrors” in Last Holiday, that’s only because the lens for that kind of reading is Gimme Shelter. That is not the first time spn has played with a “coin” or paired structure-- I think the first time I noticed it was Fan Fiction/Ask Jeeves but I was a transfer student from another fandom at the time lol. But of course, we get a huge truth bomb at the end of the episode, and again that splashy cymbal all over lying...

What I got wrong-- Zack wasn’t the killer but he’s fishy as hell-- he stole Sylvia! Is this part of Rowena’s “people generally end up where they deserve to be” except she’s built in an express lane? “Do you need a driver” is that his actual job now? Taking unripe souls to Hell Orientation? What’s up with him being there... the other shoe did not drop. So there is a third episode out there somewhere where this might get wrapped up? The conversation between Dean and Cas can easily be something that happens offscreen, and I don’t think that it would be the first time we miss an “important” conversation, especially since we know roughly what will be said and how it will wrap up-- it’s an “open text” of a sort. Maybe a fanfiction gap lol, I can’t wait for the codas.

Also, the fingers thing being Sylvia’s father’s favorite analogy is where she got her MO, something that I definitely didn’t see, although it fits right in with her father’s slightly pithy character. I think it’s interesting again how we’re playing with threes and fours. Three fingers got cut off but it was apparent that Valerie (valorious one) wouldn’t die until finger #4.... Jack really seems to be our last hope.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Solitary Hide-and-Seek

[Tour!verse]

in which Aragon is an angel...after awhile

TW: Violence, eating difficulties

———————

Honk

Aragon looked up from the book she had been idly going through with a mildly annoyed expression.

There she was, finally getting some alone time after the hectic week of shows and someone is laying on their horn. She was starting to regret not going out with the other queens. Seriously, did no one else in this neighborhood hear it?!

Honk

On a Sunday!

Hooonk

Where were her fellow religious people who always needed it to be quiet on this day?

Hooooooooonk honk

Not even the damn dogs?!

Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk

“Good grief!”

Aragon put the book down and stomped over to the window to peer out of the blinds to see who she had to rain hellfire on. Out in the parking lot, she saw a car she thought she recognized.

“Of course.”

It was Bessie. Of course it was Bessie- that whore would do anything to annoy Aragon, wouldn’t she?

The queen snatched up an umbrella and stormed out of the house and into the drizzly weather. She could not focus on enjoying her free time with that horn blasting, so she took it upon herself to go shut it up, since nobody else was going to, apparently.

She knocked loudly on the driver’s side window, but the girl inside, who was hunched over on the steering wheel and definitely was not Bessie, did not budge. The car was unlocked, though, and Aragon just decided to pull open the door.

“I really hope you have a good explanation for this-”

Aragon grabbed the girl by the shoulder and leaned her back while talking.

“-...Joan?”

The girl, who she was just now recognizing as Joan Meutas, was hurt. Dried blood snakes out of both nostrils and her busted lip still seemed to be oozing a little. She was soaked, meaning she must have been in the rain, and her mop of wet white-blonde hair slightly covered up her broken glasses.

Aragon was silent for a moment, just taking in the scene set before her. Then, she’s moving, unbuckling Joan’s seat belt and hoisting the girl into her arms. It’s a lot easier than she expected, as Joan was very light. Far too light for a young woman her age.

To be honest, Aragon didn’t quite know why she was doing this. She barely knew anything about Joan, aside from her being Jane’s lady in waiting; the girl was very quiet. Plus, Joan was a roommate to Bessie, who she hated with a burning passion, so seeing her hurt should have made her happy.

...Right?

She set Joan down on her own bed and went to fetch a wet rag from the bathroom to wipe off her face. Maybe it was for bragging rights, as this would crush Bessie. But no, that wasn’t it...

Anger was what was simmering inside of the queen. When she noticed the painful-looking, color-changing bruise on Joan’s stomach from where her shirt was riding up slightly and the particularly nasty set of gashes on her forearm and shoulder, she had to restrain herself from marching out of the house and hunting down the brutes who did this to a teenager.

Thank god she just decided to check outside.

———

Joan woke up feeling warm before she felt the pain.

She grunted and pushed herself up with her good arm, trying to remember when she got into a bed. Hadn’t she been in her car? Where was she, anyway?

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Joan snapped her head around to look at the queen sitting at the small desk in the room. She blinks deliriously at her.

“What am I doing here?” She croaked.

“I should be asking you the same question,” Aragon said, “You were unconscious in your car in the driveway. And you weren’t in the best of shape.”

Joan winced, sitting up against the headboard. Her stomach throbs and she hugs it tightly. She was surprised to see that her arm was cleaned of blood.

“Right... I came here after-” She bites her tongue.

“After what, Joan?”

“After nothing, Lady Aragon.” Joan snapped, matching the queen’s tone.

“A bloody nose, busted lip, bruised stomach, and scratched arm is definitely not ‘nothing’.” Aragon struck back.

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Joan hissed without missing a beat.

“You, a young girl, turn up with your face all bloody and your stomach like that and you expect me not to care? What kind of monster do you think I am?”

Joan flinches at that and dropped her gaze to her lap. Her vision starts to grow foggy, but she doesn’t know if it’s from the ache or that she doesn’t have her glasses on. She grimaced when she saw the broken frames sitting on the nightstand.

“Plus,” Aragon continued, “I carried you in here. If I didn’t care, then I would have woken you up and made you walk.” She paused, “Not that it was too difficult. Hasn’t your doctor ever told you you’re underweight for a girl your age?”

Joan went pale, but didn’t dare raise her head. Suddenly, it clicked.

“Oh! Oh.”

Aragon got up and sat down on the edge of the bed. She extended a hand to touch, but thought against it when Joan flinched away.

“It-it’s not what it looks like.” The girl stammers, “I’m not- I’m not, like, anorexic or anything, I just-”

“You don’t eat?” Aragon put in and Joan’s anxious silence is enough of an answer.

“It’s...fine. It’s fine. Nobody has noticed.”

“But what about when you continue to skip meals? When you start fainting in the middle of shows? When you get weaker and weaker from undernourishment?” Aragon crosses her arms, “They’ll notice then.”

Joan felt every organ in her body twist up at those words. She bit down on her quivering bottom lip and tried to contain herself.

“I-I know. I-I just- Sometimes work becomes so much and I forget to eat, alright? I can’t waste any time, so I just...”

She put her head in her hands and sucked in a shuddering breath. Only silence filled the room for a moment.

“I have Maria...and Bessie and Maggie, b-but sometimes I think I’m not good enough for them... I’m always so busy with work. They get along so much better without me because I never seem to be there. If you ask them, they probably couldn’t even tell you five things about me. They...they don’t care.” Saying that out loud seems to snap something inside of Joan and her eyes glint slightly, “And taking their food to eat just seems rude...”

Aragon frowned deeply upon hearing that. She went to try and touch again, but Joan stood up quickly. The girl nearly falls, but steadies herself and puts a hand to her aching middle.

“God, I’m so sorry. You don’t want to hear me complain.”

“They do care.” Aragon said.

“They don’t.” Joan said. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise...it’s the truth. They barely even talk to me.”

Aragon stands up, her eyebrows furrowed. To be honest, she couldn’t deny her deep concern for the girl. That didn’t happen a lot, but something about this kid being hurt made her worried.

“Why were you even out there to begin with?” Aragon asked, deciding to switch topics.

Joan is quiet for a moment. A shy blush appears on her cheeks.

“I-I got into a bar fight,” She mumbled.

Aragon perks up instantly. That definitely wasn’t what she had been expecting.

“What?”

“I-I’ve been playing at a lot of pubs lately. Usually at night, but there was an open spot today, so I decided to go. But the people there weren’t really nice and...”

“Why are you going to pubs? Are you not being paid enough?”

Joan shrunk down a little, her face darkening.

“I dunno,” She whispered, no longer making eye contact. She reminds Aragon of one of Cleves’ dogs when they get caught chewing up something they shouldn’t.

“Don’t lie to me, Joan.”

“It’s none of your business! What are you gonna do about it? You aren’t a queen anymore! You can’t make me do anything!!”

Joan’s outburst startled both Aragon and the girl herself. They both rear away from one another, however, while Joan looks scared, Aragon seems...impressed.

“I’m sorry,” Joan whispered, “Th-that was rude of me.”

“It definitely was.” Aragon said, not missing the way the girl winced. “Since you can walk- let’s go.”

Joan looks up, fearful.

“Wh-where are we going?” She stammered. There’s terror in her eyes caused by something, probably from her last life, but Aragon can’t figure out what it was.

“Downstairs.” Aragon said. “Let’s go.”

Joan follows obediently, but wobbles treacherously with each step. Aragon practically orders her to sit down at the bar counter as she made some buttered toast. When the plate is eventually set down in front of Joan, the girl stares at it as if it were a human heart.

“Eat.” Aragon said.

Joan doesn’t move.

“I will not ask again.”

That seems to work.

Joan picks up a slice of toast and ate it slowly while Aragon watched her, making sure she didn’t try to spit it out when she wasn’t looking.

“You eat like a mouse.” Aragon remarked.

Joan slowed down her chewing, savoring the last few bites. She glanced up at the queen.

“My mother,” She said through the last mouthful. “She didn't, really.” She swallowed. “Feed me much.”

The words hit Aragon like a punch to the gut.

It was so unfair. That such immature women got to have their children, yet she, a wonderful mother, didn’t get to be with Mary.

“That was absolutely irresponsible of her.”

Joan suddenly got defensive.

“She had a lot of other things to do.” She said, miffed.

Her mother and father hadn't been the best, but they were the only ones she and her brother ever really knew. And Aragon was sure as hell the last person she’d want passing judgement on her life.

“Plus,” She went on, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers and level things out, “My brother- his name is John- got us food. So I did eat.”

“That doesn't excuse you mother not taking proper care of her child.” Aragon replied, indignant.

“I can take care of myself.” Joan snapped back.

“Can you really?” The other responded dryly.

Joan opened her mouth, eyes narrowed and alight, but the flame goes out and she looked down at the plate. Her shoulders hunch in and she closed her eyes, falling silent.

“Are you alright?” Aragon asked after a moment. “You may feel nauseous...or your stomach could cramp. That’s what happens when you don’t eat.”

Joan opened her eyes again and looked up at Aragon. The queen isn’t hovering over her anymore, rather making herself some tea in the kitchen.

“You...you know?” The girl asked quietly, “About...umm...not eating?”

“Yes, I do.” Aragon said. “However, I will not share with you, since you can’t be bothered to tell me why you were performing at pubs.”

As if on cue, Joan’s stomach throbbed and she set a tentative hand on top of the bruised area. She winced and grit her teeth, blinking away tears. The pain was overwhelming. It reminded her too much of...

“Child?”

“I’m fine.” Joan snapped without thinking. She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m fine.” She said again, this time with less force. “Sorry.”

“I wasn’t going to ask if you were alright,” Aragon said, “I was going to tell you to keep eating. You still have toast left. Don’t waste.”

Guilt rushed through Joan and she quickly began eating the second piece of toast. While she did so, one hand trailed up to her head and began picking at the scabs that dot her scalp, hidden by her hair. When she didn’t find any good patches (although she did scratch away a dried mound of blood just above the crown of her skull) she moved down to her left arm and found purchase in a thin scratch from Caliburn climbing on her.

The sensation of the crusted flesh being scraped away was beginning to calm her when Aragon suddenly grabbed her by the wrist, startling her.

“Stop that.” The queen said, her voice hard, and she easily notices the way Joan cowers beneath her gaze.

Joan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, clearly embarrassed. A dark red blush overcomes her pale face, an even brighter contrast with her white-blonde hair.

“It’s not good for you, Joan. Plus, people seeing that will disgust them. You don’t want them to have that opinion of you.”

“Y-your tea is getting cold,” Joan stammered.

Aragon releases Joan’s wrist. She turns and retrieves her teacup, then walks to the living room.

“You don't want me here, do you?”

Aragon didn't even look at her and continued her stride to the couch, delaying her response. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Joan’s face scrunched up. “You've been grouchy and mean all evening. It's pretty clear you don't like me.”

“How do you know I'm not like that all the time?” Aragon sat down, still not looking at Joan. She reaches for the TV remote, then took a sip of her tea. “Besides, I don’t know you that well. You can’t expect me to like you right off the bat.”

“Then why are you letting me stay?”

“Because you’re hurt and it’s just common decency.”

“Well I'll leave you alone now.” Joan could feel herself starting to cry as she stood up. “I’m going home!”

Aragon abruptly turned to the girl with a sigh, still using the same dry tone she’s been using all evening, “Fine. Go. Leave. I don't care.”

She was about to take another sip of her tea when she heard soft sobs coming from Joan’s direction. “Oh stop crying, I didn't mean it.”

But she didn't stop.

With yet another frustrated sigh, Aragon pushed herself up, stumbling over her feet for a moment and almost collapsing her regal queen facade, and, cursing like a sailor, dragged herself over to Joan, who she promptly began leading back over to the couch.

“Look, child.” She sat Joan down, wrapping her arm around the girl’s trembling shoulders, causing her to gasp slightly. “I know I haven't been all that welcoming tonight and that I’ve been really grumpy and- what are you doing...?”

Joan seemed so content laying still and somewhat bewildered against her, as though Aragon’s halfhearted and not-all-that-caring “hug” was the most wonderful thing in the world.

Aragon frowned. “What, have you never been hugged before, child?”

“Not like this...” Joan closed her eyes in wonder, nuzzling into Aragon’s side and wrapping her arms around her. “Not in a long time...”

Aragon remembered back to Joan’s comment about her mother. Now, with the child cuddling into her like she'd never been shown any form of parental love or affection before, she was starting to think she had told her the truth- that it wasn’t just some lie to get her attention.

She let herself relax, unconsciously stroking the girl’s shoulder.

“Did you have nobody to look after you?”

Joan shrugged a little. “My mum and dad left a lot to go work for a ‘Mister Cromwell’-” She missed the way Aragon tensed momentarily, “-so it was just me and John for a long time. We took care of each other, and I love him so much, but...it wasn’t the same as mummy.”

Almost immediately after that moment, Joan’s cheeks flashed deep red in embarrassment. She dipped her head, but Aragon was rather filled with endearment.

After a moment of silence, Joan leaned into Aragon further and yawned slightly, a lot more at ease and content than she had been earlier.

“You know, you’re actually not that mean at all. Well, you were earlier but you’re nice now.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Aragon’s brows furrowed slightly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You didn't know your parents, did you?”

Joan’s eyes darken.

“One day they just...didn’t come back. I was eleven...John was thirteen...and we...we waited for so long, but they never showed up. We-” Her voice wavers and cracks, “-we tried to clean the house like good kids and we did all our chores and we did everything mummy and daddy taught us when they were around, but...” Fresh tears drip down her cheeks, “...they never came home. Nobody- nobody wanted us.”

She has to pause for a moment and took several shaking breaths. Great sorrow reflects in her eyes.

“Then...John left. I can’t- I can’t remember why, like how I can’t remember the name of my mum and dad, but he...he left, too. I never saw him again.” Her voice is tight with pain as she chokes out, “I guess he didn't want me either.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, more tears leaking out and rolling down her pale, flushed cheeks as she hugged Aragon tighter, her trembling returning as she burrowed into her more. “They didn't want me. Nobody wants me.”

Aragon felt her heart soften, and she eased the quietly weeping child into a more tender and natural embrace, practically cradling her in her lap. Joan felt so...warm and soft, like Mary did the few times she got to hold her, and Aragon couldn’t believe how content she felt with Joan nestled in her arms. She vaguely recalled an old memory from when she was still a girl, and heard in her mind her mother’s voice telling her:

“When you become a mother, Catalina, the first time you hold your child, you will feel this huge rush of love... It’s overwhelming, overpowering, yet so beautiful... You forget what just happened and all you care about is the life resting in your arms.”

“You’re getting sappy again, mama.”

“I know I am. But one day I hope you’ll get to feel that love.”

Aragon wondered if this was that fabled love her mother had told her about all those years ago.

Joan was just so lonely, she was now realizing. Before now, she never noticed how alone the music director truly was, but now she was remembering how often she saw Joan at the theater without anyone by her side.

No wonder she seemed so alien to compassion.

The poor kid didn’t have any friends.

She stroked the girl’s head, teasing the baby hairs at the back of her neck. She heard a faint coo come from Joan, who cuddled closer, like a little kitten desperate for love from its mother.

“I know that I haven’t been all that welcoming tonight. And I know that I can be mean and grumpy...” She felt the girl nodding her head. “But...I can tell you this: Even if they didn’t want you around then... I do.”

She was honestly expecting Joan to perk up, eyes wide and a puppy-dog smile on her face, but she she stayed still, contemplating Aragon’s words and enjoying this affection that was so alien to her.

“Do you really mean that?”

She didn’t even pause. “Yes.”

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of August 28th, 2019

Best of this Week: Spider-Man Life Story #6: The ‘10s - Chip Zdarsky, Mark Bagley, Drew Hennessy, Frank D’Armata and Travis Lanham

All good things must come to an end. That’s the main theme of this final issue of Chip Zdarsky and Mark Bagley’s phenomenal Life Story miniseries as it recounts the last adventure that Spider-Man goes on as he leaves the world free and safe in the capable hands of the new generation of superheroes.

Comic books are cyclical. For some heroes, you get a short run, 6-12 issues and then they disappear for years until they’re needed again for some big event. For the bigger heroes, there are ongoing series that last years upon years with some BIG changes that inevitably get reversed for the sake of reestablishing the status quo. It’s understandable, recognizable names draw big money, but there’s only so many times you can see a hero fight a particular villain before it becomes trite and meaningless.

The same goes for their daily lives as well. Peter Parker has been stuck as a meandering young adult for the better part of a decade since the events of One More Day and he hasn’t been allowed to grow past his immaturity, save for the few times when the situations have become desperate and dire. Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows tried to posit a family man Peter Parker in an alternate universe, but for the most part he came off as just regular Peter with a kid to banter off of. Nick Spencer and Tom Taylor are doing their best in their respective Spider-Man series to get Spider-Man back to a position where things actively change for him, but Chip Zdarsky has gone the extra mile.

The Spider-Man Life Story miniseries goes through Peter’s life if he actually aged with the decades that all of his comics took place in. He goes through the struggles of being an American citizen straddling the fence during Vietnam, the aftermath boiling to a superhuman civil war, a better Clone Saga of the 90s, Aunt May’s death, the start of the information age and finally having children and watching them grow up. Peter Parker is allowed to grow old, change with the times. He sees old friends die, new heroes emerge, give his take on current events of the time and it’s all been amazing.

I know I mentioned that fighting the same villains over and over can seem trite and meaningless, but that’s only when they’re done for the sake of being done. In this fantastic take on the Superior Spider-Man story, Peter and Otto have their absolute final confrontation with one another over the body and soul of the young Miles Morales. Peter and Miles are shot into space to stop some sort of satellite created by Doctor Doom that allowed him to fill the power vacuum left by Captain America and Iron Man’s Civil War. As the two explore, Peter is attacked by Kraven wearing the Venom symbiote, but he dispatches the villain easily and it’s revealed that the suit was just piloting a are skeleton.

Miles questions how it was possible and Peter replies that all of his old enemies are dead and rightfully accuses Miles of being Otto Octavius, Doctor Octopus. Otto reveals his scheme, but instead of fighting Pete physically, he chooses instead to go into the mindscape and have a battle of the intellect as they were always destined to do. 

Bagey pulls out all of his stops as he draws Spider-Man costumes from the various decades as well as beautifully illustrates some of the best of Spider-Man’s rogues gallery as they battle for supremacy. Set against a white background, the characters shine with their vibrant colors, dynamic posing and Bagley’s ever amazing facial expressions. I have never seen Otto look so menacingly mad and subsequently, once Peter defeats him, absolutely crushed. 

Using the only person that Peter knew Otto cared about, Aunt May, she’s able to convince Otto to let go of his hatred and rage. She tells him to let Miles live his life, to move on. I really felt this and inside, it feels like Zdarsky is also telling us that sometimes we have to let the status quo go. Spider-Man has been around for longer than some of us have been alive and will be long after most of us are gone. Do we really want him to be the same mid-20s to early 30s hero that we knew, or do we want to spend our time with someone new? Miles Morales is a little more than ten years old, he’s fairly young as a character and I wholeheartedly believe that he can carry on the Spider-Man name on his own.

As the satellite starts to collapse and there’s only one escape pod left, Peter chooses to save Miles and sacrifice himself so that the future can flourish in peace due to his heroism. It’s a true heroes death and something that we almost never see (and likely never will), but if this were a true moment of closure, then I would be happy with it. Peter Parker is known for having more guilt than a Catholic who hasn’t been to Mass for a month (or Daredevil) and as he finally closes his eyes for the final time, he has a nice conversation with Mary Jane and recounts his recurring dream of the day he truly learned about power and responsibility. The last panel is his guilt finally being washed away.

If there is one series I would recommend anyone read, hands down, without a doubt it would be this one. Chip Zdarsky has a strange yet beautiful understanding of how to tell a story with characters that some of us know better than our own family members. Mark Bagley has the art skills to make us care about them immensely as well. Putting these two together as well as their amazing inker in Andrew Hennessy and colorist in Frank D’Armata, they sell you on each decade presented and how Peter changes throughout. 

Spider-Man isn’t the same plucky youth we met in the 1960s. By the end of his story, he’s led a full life full of adventure and his time has been well spent making sure that it was a future worth living in. Isn’t that something that we all can only dream of?

---------------------------------------------------

God is Here.

Runner Up: Absolute Carnage #2 - Donny Cates, Ryan Stegman, JP Mayer, Frank Martin and Clayton Cowles

After the events of the last issue there aren’t enough words to describe just how hopeless things are looking for anyone who has ever worn a symbiote.

Spider-Man and venom have been backed into a corner by Carnage and his horde of infected inmates at the Ravencroft Asylum. With no other options Eddie decides it best to break out and punches a hole through the wall for a tactical retreat. Eddie is typically known for his ability to brute force his way through any problem, but Carnage is a new monster altogether and as he sees Spider-Man running out of energy, he gives into the fear that they might die.

In the past, the combined might of Spider-Man and Venom has been more than enough to combat Cletus Kasady. Even when Cletus had help, he still couldn't hold a candle to the heroes, but now, they're almost low tier by comparison.

Spider-Man notes that he's almost out of web fluid, so there's no way that they're swinging out of there, so Eddie and the Symbiote utilize one of their badass upgrades, spreads his wings and flies out of Ravencroft with Peter screaming frantically "WHATISGOINGONRIGHTNOWIHATEALLOFIT!" They then land on a roof in the city, defeated and horrified that they may not be able to stop Carnage this time.

Spider-Man says that he'll try to get a hold of Wolverine and Captain America and Eddie says that he'll go find any of the lowlifes that have been Symbiotes and the two split to complete their missions. Carnage chooses not to follow after them, instead he waits and plots. This issue then turns into a bit of a catch up game for the other tie in issues while Carnage gloats to Norman that everything is running smoothly and that the world will be painted red soon enough.

Ryan Stegman absolutely smashes the art in this issue with absolutely killer detail, expressions of fear and disgusting visuals, especially in Carnage's underground lair - The sprawling mass of symbiotic flesh that covers New York's sewage system, packed full of infected humans is a dreadful sight. In the beginning of the issue, Stegman drew a splash page of Carnage with other panels overlaid, showing one of his eyes of madness and the decayed flesh that's absolutely under the symbiote. It's an absolutely terrifying sight that set the tone of this horror show.

Not only were these shots great, but Stegman kills one of the moments that happens in the Miles Morales tie-in where Miles and Scorpion (Mac Gargan) fight off the infected hordes trying to take Gargan's spine. In the tie-in, the art is more subdued and less violent, but here, Stegman turns it into something to get squeamish over. Gargan tries to abandon Miles to fight the infected alone, but is thrown back into the fight by Venom.

Unfortunately, Carnage is there waiting to pounce. He plunges a tendril into Mac's back and DIGS around to get that spine. There's no need to leave anything to the imagination as the blood spurts out, Gargan screams in agony and Kasady looks like he's having the goddamned time of his life. Mayer and Martin's colors and inks really sell just how violent all of this is. It's almost gross just how close they get the color right and how dark the scene is. Miles swoops in to save him, but… no good deed goes unpunished.

Absolute Carnage absolutely does what it set out to do. I have never been more afraid for the Marvel Universe than I am right now. Of course, there have been universal threats, but with how close and personal this feels and the looming feeling of dread knowing that Knull is THIS close to returning is mortifying. Normally a villain will just kill a hero or destroy them and whatnot, but Carnage wants nothing but massacre. If there's not torture and blood then what is it all worth?

Everything that Cates and Stegman have been building to has lead us here. To say that it's beginning to lay off would be an understatement. The dividends of fear are fore more exponential than anyone could have anticipated and this will likely go down as one of the greatest Venom/Carnage stories ever written. Absolute High Recommend.

[shawnyromero]

Jackson Kenner x younger half witch half wolf reader

Jackson and the reader who is a 16 year old girl a few years younger than Jackson and this is if Hayley decided to be with Elijah and not marry Jackson

As I see Jackson I yell “jack.” He turns around looking a bit annoyed. “Not now (Y/N) I’m not in the mood right now.” “What’s wrong wolfie?” He hates it when I call him that. “Nothing is wrong just leave me be for a little.” Then he began to speed up. I decided to leave him alone. I looked for some answers to why he was upset so I asked around and found out that Hayley went off to finally be with Elijah, I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen sooner. I then went of to find Jackson.

Awe he was sitting by the lake he looks so depressed. “Hiya wolfie.” He looked up and I noticed his eyes no longer had the same light in them as they did before. “...Hi.” “ I heard what happened and I have a proposition for ya.” He looked at the lake. “ What is it?” I hesitated then said “What if we got married?” He looked up surprised. “What did you say, I’m not sure if I heard you right?” I took a deep breath and said “What if we got married? I mean although I’m not alpha blood I have special talents that I can share with the pack so you will still be married and you can get over Hayley.” He stood there looking at me then asked “What will you get out of this?” I thought about it, I do have a crush on him but what will I really get out of this? “I will be helping a friend and I will have a husband.” “But your only sixteen you have your whole life ahead of you.” “Well in wolf packs girls at younger ages get married plus your an alpha I don’t think I’ll do better than an alpha. So what do you say?” “This is crazy but if you really want to do it-“ I cut in “yes I do.” “-well I guess we can do it.”

The next day we went to talk to Mary to gain consent for our marriage. As we got to her house Jackson began to speak “(Y/N) and I was wondering if we are able to get married.” Unlike Jackson Mary wasn’t as surprised. All she asked was “(Y/N) are you sure you want to go into a marriage when your groom has love for another?” I questioned it a bit but what’s the worst we can just be friends in our marriage. “Yes I’m fine with it.” She asked another question “Jackson are you sure you want to be wedded to a girl younger than you, slightly more immature and has a bit more to learn than you?” I thought he would say no but to my surprise without hesitation he said “yes I am sure.” He grabbed my hand then he looked at me and smiled

We then began wedding planning. We had planned a very big wedding. We were now planning on invites. “So the other packs north and south of here?” I asked jack. “Yes of course.” “Should I invite some of my mortal friends.” He thought about it and said “As much as I would want you friends to attend you are under age and it would look very wrong-“ I continued his sentence by saying “-and there will be to many questions yea I understand kinda stupid to ask. So how about the mickealsons?” He hesitated “which ones?” “Rebekah maybe?” “Yea she’s nice.” “Should we invite Elijah and Hayley and hope and if hope goes Klaus goes.” After I said Hayley I say a light flicker in his eyes and I felt a bit jealous. “Yea that would be fine. It has been awhile since Hayley and I have talked.” I felt a bit sad but I know that he loves her and we are just friends. Jack noticed and grabbed my hand “I know we aren’t going into this marriage with romantic love but can develop love over time.” He gave me his handsome smile. He may not be going into it with romantic love but I know I am. I just smiled.

As I went dress shopping I had invited Rebekah and while waiting for her in the dress shop I saw the door open and saw Rebekah but she had brought Hayley along. I was a bit upset but quickly got over it. “Hi (Y/N) I’m sorry I’m late it’s just Elijah had noticed that i was going out and had asked if I could bring Hayley is that ok.” No not really but I said “Yea of course.” Hayley looked awkward and stayed quite. The whole dress shopping experience was boring “girls I don’t think my dress will be here so we can just go home now.” Rebekah asked “are you sure there is still do many dresses you can try on?” “Yea I’m sure so imma go bye.” I hugged them then left. As I started walking Hayley stopped me and said “I’m sorry for ruining your experience I just don’t know what to say we were so close but now we’re like strangers and I feel so bad about jack. And it must be so hard to marry him in this situation-“ “it’s fine I really don’t want to talk about it and I hope we can work it out in the future but for right now please leave it be.”

A couple of months have passed and it is our wedding. I had gone with a nice simple v neck sheath gown. I have a nice beautiful vail. As I start walking down the isle I see my friends and family and then I see him and as he looks my way I see this light bigger than any other light flicker in his eyes and I feel warmth knowing that it was me that made his eyes light up like that. As we are right in front of each other all that I can see is him I feel so in love with him. All I can hear is him say “I do.” Then it was my turn and i said “I do.” Mary had then said “you may kiss the bride.” I thought he wouldn’t do it but he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss. Once our lips met it wasn’t weird or awkward it was romantic and intense. It felt like forever before we pulled apart. After the wedding he had taken me to his room. He began to speak “I’m sorry for kissing you it’s just that I was really happy... and i-“ my heart broke but I couldn’t let him continue so I said “it’s fine I mean we did get married so it’s fine. I went to the bathroom and took off my dress and makeup slightly crying then I got in my pjs. Since we are married we will be sleeping in the same bed so I quickly went in the bed and said “Goodnight.” He looked like he wanted to talk some more but said “goodnight.”

[marsreadsthings-blog]

“Great Expectations” by Charles Dickens

Did you miss me? Did all 2 of my followers think I was dead, kidnapped, or on hiatus? I wasn’t, I was just slowly plugging away at this novel whilst keeping up with my studies, fitness stuff, creative outlets, blah blah blah. Life, right? I’m not here to bore you, I’m here to review and rate this book. 

Preface: It has come to my understanding that many high schoolers were as well as are currently made to read this for curriculum. I am happy that I did not have to, because reading it for pleasure instead of homework made my reading a lot more thorough and appreciated than it would have been otherwise, since everybody knows that you tend to dislike the books you are “forced” to read. (Though this isn’t the case for me. While others drooled and squinted sleepy, drowsy eyes over “The Old Man and the Sea”, I quite enjoyed it. Same goes for Pride and Prejudice. I chose to write a research paper on that book so, I must have liked it to some degree.. pst, the review is on here somewhere, in fact it may have been the last one I posted! Don’t quote me on that, just go read it if you haven't!) 

So, let us jump right in.

Charles Dickens is an impeccable storyteller. This novel and to my knowledge, most of his written work came out in monthly installments. This was the equivalent to the movies for people in the 1800s. Absolutely marvelous this man is at crafting characters, their motives and a story that is enriching for the reader and enjoyable. I love how it spreads across many years, so you feel like you are watching Pip grow up and go through his childhood, his teenage phase and so on. If you don’t fancy longer novels, I wouldn’t say to stray away from this one on account of it being very well written, but I’m also not not saying that... how’s that for an algebra problem? Anyway, I’ll recount an interaction I had with a peer while we were, no joke, peer reviewing each other’s papers. We’ll call her Mary.

Mary: Ooo, whatcha readin’? I love to read. My mom’s like, an English teacher and shoved books into my face since I popped out the womb.

Me: That is... weird imagery to disclose to me, Mary. It’s Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.

And then, her face morphed into a look of horror, like she was remembering some car accident of long ago where her younger bother flew out of the windshield.

Okay okay, take it back a few notches. It was not that bad. At the very least, she did look sorry for me. Like my cat had just contracted feline aids, or something.

Mary: Oh, yeah. I had to read that in Highschool.

Me: It’s taking a very long time for me to get through, it feels like.

(A required interruption: It DID take me a very long time. Four months of a long time, which is virtually unacceptable under normal conditions, but my life is pretty busy during the college months. Apologies, resume.)

Mary: Charles Dickens tends to be very verbose. Didn’t you know he got paid by the word?

Mary, Mary, Mary. This statement was clearly a joke, a sort of bibliophile jest that I was supposed to laugh at and immediately understand as such.

I thought she was, under no doubt, serious. Not only did I think she was serious, no. I thought what she said was a fact.

I’m embarrassed to admit this. Being paid by the word is not a conceivable way of paying a writer because there is no doubt they would start to value quantity over quality in a lucrative driven state. But you don’t understand. When I was immersed in the loquacious qualities of our Dear Dickens, I took this to be a perfectly viable truth. Dickens writes a lot, and very long winded sentences that I sometimes had to reread and decode since the intelligent part of my brain was left behind 2 paragraphs ago. It did not seem impossible that he was paid by the word to me. In the back of the mind I did think, well, maybe people just say that since he can be a bit.. wordy. Maybe it’s just a saying. At least initially, I did think it was the truth. And that will haunt me to the grave.

About our dear Pip, I liked him in the beginning as much as I could like a child character. He was a down-trodden, his elders not really giving him much credit. His sister raised him under the circumstances that children are not to be shown affection or congratulation for their progress, which led to Pip seeking solace where he could find it with Joe. Don’t even get me started on Joe. Joe is by far the most likable character in this whole novel, save for Magwitch towards the end. He was the only character that I consistently liked, and I use the word “consistent” because there were times when Pip fell upon his Great Expectations that I really did not care for him. I thought he was far too entitled with no merit, and I found it annoying that he chased after Estella when she seemed to me to be such an obvious lost cause. Dickens no doubt meant for this reaction to be spurred, because when Pip falls out of his Great Expectations and has to once again become more humble, he is very apologetic and admits his faults to Joe and Biddy. This redeemed him, and I suppose you can't expect a 21 year old guy to not get a little.. immature, with his money, when he just has so much of it.

Here’s what my personal opinion of the character’s are.

Joe Gargery: A very gentle man who prizes character, pride in ones work no matter what it is, and kindness above brains. In turn, he is very lovely and kind, extremely likable. The way he looks out for Little Pip and older, ill Pip warms the coldest of hearts no doubt. @Estella. 

Georgiana: Mean?? Sort of likable, in an odd way though? Her argument with Orlick made me laugh so hard. And I couldn’t help but feel awful for her and the accident. She may have been mean to Pip when he was younger, but I think that has to due with how young boys were treated in the 1800s. She always boasted of “bringing him up by hand,” so I think she thought it was sort of her responsibility to not make him into a loser. 

Orlick: Annoying and the worst, thinks he’s really cool but deserves to be in prison like the GARBAGE he is. Also, why does he call Pip a wolf so much in that one scene? He’s trying to equate him to a beast so he can make it easier to hurt him, I know but. He’s just loitering trash, he really gets my frogs a leapin.’

Herbert: Bad at fighting but good at friendship :D

Pip: I do like Pip, and I feel like he’s a good one. Sometimes he’s a bit unsure of himself and his place in the World, but I think that’s due to his coming into such a large sum of money unexpectedly. In the middle of the book, he did annoy me, because he made his problems seem awful. “Oh Estella, why won’t you look at me, oh god, this pain, I can’t possibly bare it in my nice pressed suit from Drummle’s, how can I go ON like this, also Biddy, I try to make myself like you but it just won’t work! Any advice?” Pip.. Shut up.

Ms. Havisham: I love her and everything about her character. She was the eccentric oddity of the bunch. The clock that was set at the same time that Compeyson left her, the old wedding dress, her walks with Pip around the room, the fire scene.. I see her as an interesting character because in trying to prevent her misfortune concerning love from reoccurring with a girl of her own, she made Estella’s heart pretty much non-existent. But I think she wanting revenge, she wanted to feel the satisfaction of seeing a Man love hard and get his heart broken.. but when she got just that, she realized very quickly what she had done. I really like her character.

Magwitch: In the beginning, obviously I found him sort of humorous and very prison-escapee in the animal like sort of way, desperate and mean. When he comes to Pip and reveals all of the Great Expectation stuff, the twist was enough for me to like him right there, but I really loved Magwitch at the end. He got such an unfair treatment out of life, and all he wanted was to make someone better than him, to set him up with these “great expectations” to lead him into success. I think he thought of Pip like a son, and likely felt bad for how he treated him when he was 7 years old. I think he wanted to make a wrong right, and I actually surprised myself when I shed tears at his death scene. It was so beautifully written, and you could feel that fragility of himself and the circumstances surrounding his demise and the connection between Pip and him. I was so glad that Pip came to be with him everyday. He deserved that much.

Estella: Did not like her, but it’s *technically* not her fault, I guess? I mean, she is a very hard character to really like. She’s not funny, she’s entitled and far too proud, has no emotion, yes, all of that, but that can be credited to Ms. Havisham and how she brought her up. So, I think she served her purpose well in the context of the novel, I just am not particularly fond of her. I liked the first ending, though, the one where Pip and her grab hands.

This is the last line, and it’s awesome.

“I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so, the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw the shadow of no parting from her.”

Isn’t that just kickass? The connection from when he first left the forge and the mists were rising to the present time was very enjoyable.

Wemmick: I picture him as a sneaky, short guy with a top hat and a mustache and a monocle. Wait, a monocle? Surely not. Oh gosh, do I picture Wemmick as the monopoly man? He’s great. I love his double life, the idea of this strict businessman who never lets his “personal affairs” known to anybody but Pip and Aged P is a great concept. His house sounds lovely and interesting as well, and I hope his marriage went very well for him. Everything he did for Pip and all of the information he gave him led the novel along nicely, so we have him to thank for that.

Mr. Jaggers: I always picture him as the tap-dancing lawyer from Chicago. Like, he’d be the one to flip out and have a mini tantrum in a trial about the “erroneous facts” being spread. I liked his character, he held himself to a certain standard and never let anyone see past that wall really. Maybe it would have been interesting to see the flip side of that, like what he did at home and such. Also, did he rape Estella’s mother? I don’t mean, like, got her pregnant with Estella, clearly that was Abel, but like.. he says he tamed her “the old way” and that just sounded fishy to me. That aside, he was aight. 

Aged P: An angel. His happiness with Wemmick and how the simple things bring him pleasure would just bring me the most relief. Aw, he loves being nodded at and acknowledgment, aw, how cuuute.

Drummle: Death by horse?? Oh no

Pumblechook: Needs to sit down, chill out and shut up pretty much every time he makes an appearance. 

And with that, I think it’s time to try to wrap up this very lengthy review. I would give this novel 5/5. There is a reason it is taught in schools, it is great for discussion and the story is almost delectable. I very much enjoyed it, and yes, it is a long book, however; if you can muster up the (in today’s world) seemingly impossible strength to read it, I think it’s a classic that definitely deserves to be remembered and talked about.

I leave you with a quote from Pip that really just touched me to the core.

“Windy donkey as he was, it really amazed me that he could have the face to talk thus to mine.”

[bookaddict24-7]

BOOK REVIEW: Emergency Contact by Mary H.K. Choi

Release Date: March 27th, 2018

Age Group: 16+

Genres: Contemporary, Romance, Mental Health, Sexual Abuse

Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

My Rating: 4.5/5 Stars

Add it to your TBR on Goodreads here. 

My review is also on Goodreads here.

Disclaimer: 

I received an advanced reader copy of this book from Indigo Books & Music Inc. in exchange for an honest review.

Trigger Warning in this book for Rape.<--this may be a spoiler, but I don’t want you all to go in unprepared.

This is a long Text Post.

This review may or may not contain spoilers.

Emergency Contact by Mary H.K. Choi is one of those novels that takes you on a whirlwind from the beginning to the end. There is A LOT going on and the characters are all much more than they appear to be. Despite the beautiful and relaxed looking cover, there is a rape trigger warning that a reader must be aware of when reading this book. 

There are two narratives in Choi's debut (which I love), so we had a story full of side characters and surprising situations. Penny is one of the narratives and to be honest, my favourite of the two when it came to her personal growth and struggle. 

Penny is the daughter of a single mother who is constantly embarrassing her for being so outgoing and fashion-oriented. The relationship that Penny and her mother had was one of the more painful aspects of this book and why I didn't give Emergency Contact a five-star rating. Penny's condescension towards her mother was incredibly immature and thoughtless, making me like her character a little less. Though the situation makes a little more sense later, it's still kind of unfortunate. I could feel the mounting regrets in Penny with every word she said, but at the same time, I could relate whenever she worried about her mother's well-being when she was away at school. I had a love/hate feeling towards Penny whenever the topic of her mother came up. 

What I DID love about Penny's experience was how she talked about her writing process. The fact that it's a struggle, no matter what you write, and how you have to learn to take criticism and make it work for you. She was me when I first started my creative writing minor in University: I thought my writing was gold, when in truth, it needed (and still needs) a lot of polishing. I liked her character growth and how we slowly learn why she is the way she is. It definitely added another level to her story that had me reading nonstop.

The second narrator is Sam, Penny's eventual emergency contact. I liked Sam. He had a very difficult upbringing and can bake delicious things. His story is less subtly complicated like Penny's and more obviously complicated. One of the things I disliked about Sam was how he let himself be dragged around so much. Of course, this is a character flaw that he eventually grows from, but it was both sad and frustrating watching him chase his tail. 

Sam's artistic growth as a director was something I wasn't expecting. Ironically enough, Sam has been searching for the perfect story to document, yet his life is probably the most obvious. Abusive home, mentally and emotionally abusive ex-girlfriend, a heavy dose of depression, and the constant struggle with what he wants for his present/future--Sam has the makings of an award-winning documentary. But I like that he didn't victimize himself and instead searched for a story filled with hope and more than just what's on the surface.

I went into this novel nearly completely blind because that's what I do, so I didn't expect Emergency Contact to be so drenched in artistic growth. While Penny went through her own struggles of writing and becoming the writer she's always wanted to be, Sam had his own story of growth as a director. I loved that this book focuses on both characters as individuals as well as a potential couple--there's more to a story than whether a couple gets together or not. 

One of the things that Choi does both well and awkwardly is her approach on the topic of race, both as Penny the Writer and having Penny respond to other characters making stereotypical comments. I'm always up for an author who can seamlessly incorporate the topic of race into their story, but sometimes it felt awkward, a little forced, and preachy. There is one instance, however, where Penny's writing professor comments on how a writer must write about diversity because they can. And wow, it was a great and relatable line. 

Overall, I really enjoyed Emergency Contact. It wasn't perfect and the beginning was a little slow, but once the two protagonists begin to text, it's all a quick read from there. The characters' journeys in their art and in their growing relationship made this an addicting read for me. 

Happy reading!

[eene-fangirl]

The Meaning of Love-ED Chapter 2 [An Ed, Edd n Eddy Fanfiction

The sun rose up over the trees shedding light into all wood homes awaking animals and making flowers bloom. The mountains looked beautiful as the sun hit them so perfectly making rocks glisten in the yellow, orange gleam.

The birds were singing. Edd was rather fond of the distinct noises birds emitted. It was there way of communication. Edd liked to study their movements and interactions. They flew. Birds were free. They could mate, have children, and live up to five years.

Edd’s dream-like state was slowly coming to an end. A dove flew past and sat by its lover. But, then the lover flew away. What happened? Should the dove go after? Or leave? Were they meant to be together?

Opening his eyes, Edd gasped immediately sitting up. If he had been any closer he would have rolled himself right off the cliffside.

“What’s going on?’ A sleepy May yawned, rubbing the sand from her eyes.

Eddy sat up. He had no idea how to discuss the situation. When he woke up that morning he and Edd were facing one another, so close to touching their noses together. He wasn’t sure how they ended up like that during the night. Was it him? Was it Edd? Was on by accident? Or on purpose?

“Um, did I touch your hand during the night?” Edd asked, practically huddled up near the edge of the cliff. Two birds were flying together enjoying their freedom.

“Maybe. We do strange things when we sleep,” Eddy remarked trying to laugh it off. That feeling of absolute bliss was still there, warming the insides of his stomach. And his heart.

“Yeah! I once did something in my sleep! I shaved my eyebrow!” Ed announced trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh! Marie told me I was lifting weights once in my sleep. And in my dream I dropped a weight on my foot. Can feet bruise because of a dream?”

As Ed and May rejoiced sharing stories, Edd hugged himself tighter. The used to be like Ed and May. The first time he and Eddy ever slept together was the best nights of his life. With Eddy’s arms curled around him, snuggling Edd close to his warm body. And when they woke up the next morning their noses were touching.

Edd turned ever so slightly to look at Eddy who shared the same heartbreak.

“How long were you awake?” Edd asked.

“Not long. Maybe ten minutes.” Try an hour, or more.

“I’m sorry.” Edd apologised, looking back over the cliffside.

“About what?” Now Eddy was really growing annoyed with Edd’s behavior.

“... I don’t know...”

---

Ed and May tried to warm up a sausage over the the fire for their breakfast. They playfully fought one another arguing the right temperature it needed to be cooked at. At least they were having fun. 

As Eddy munched on his cold cereal he spied Edd moping by the tent. His eyes were red. He hadn’t eaten anything yet. Edd was the one who proclaimed breakfast to be the most important meal of the day.

Eddy shook his head and looked away. If Edd wanted to get back together he was the one who needed to start that conversation.

May nudged Ed. Ed nodded. His hand moved to the radio.

The music that blared out from the speaker was energetic and adventurous. It immediately perked Edd up.

“Hey, Double Dee, it’s your favorite song! Radio’s must read our minds!” Ed mused.

“Come on, let’s get a work out before this hike!” May said already shaking her body to the tune of the song.

Ed and May got up to dance. They started spinning one another around.

Ed and May’s... [whatever you call it, if it was]... dancing encouraged Eddy to join in. He liked to dance. He always studied one of his favorite singers dance moves. Then he could develop his own unique dance style.

“Come on, Double Dee! Who says a stick can dance! It’s your favorite song!” Eddy encouraged. He at least had to cheer him up. What kind of person would he be to ignore his friends feelings?

Edd laughed at the ridiculous fashion Eddy danced. It was obviously to get attention as he shook his butt in front of him. Edd slowly stepped in and lightly moved around the beat of the music.

“Double Dee, come on! You call that dancing? I’ve seen you dance before!” Eddy mocked.

“Yes, I remember the...” he stopped himself. Eddy didn’t seem to notice him say anything as he spoke so softly.

“You’re still trapped in the 70′s or some age! What’s that dancing? Moving your fingers up and down? Sheesh! Move your ass!”

Edd wiped the memory away and started dancing around more. The whole campground filled with music. Ed and May joined together twirling one another around. Ed even dipped her.

Edd found himself dancing closer to Eddy. Eddy was staring at him with those eyes. His dazzling eyes. It was like... that night they attended a party in Amity Island. They danced until they collapsed to the ground in pure exhaustion. Edd’s hands were around Eddy’s shoulders while Eddy’s hands were fit tightly around his hips. Edd lost himself in the moment thinking how lucky he was . He had everything he needed. He was happy.

Until the shark attack that very next day.

Edd shreaked and backed away when he realized he was hugging Eddy’s body and staring into his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Edd shouted.

“What the hell is wrong?” Eddy shouted back, feeling accused as if he committed some crime. 

“We broke up!” Edd’s voice was rather forceful. And sharp too.

“Yeah. I’m aware of what YOU did!” Eddy barred throwing an accusing finger at Edd.

Edd felt tears threatening his eyes again. He hugged himself. “Then... stop it!”

Eddy sighed. He was bent on dropping the whole conversation. Staring hatefully at the ground he kicked a stone away from him. Before speaking again, he took a breath.

“Do you want to talk?” Eddy asked as calmly as he could.

“What do we need to converse about, Eddy?” Edd sniffled.

“How come you keep bringing up the past? ‘It doesn’t matter’, those were your words! You’re clearly still have a fling for me.” Eddy answered throwing his hands into the air. Then, Eddy realized something so cruel and heartbreaking to himself that he swore a surge of lightning cracked open his heart. 

“Did I really never matter in those two years, four months, eleven hundred thousand minutes and 100 whatever seconds?!”

Edd looked up at Eddy who was practically shaking in anger. And then he looked at the fading scars on his leg.

“O-Our pasts are still a part of us.”

“Yeah, like how we were once together. And happy? Whatever that is. Right, I have no clue what emotions are!” Eddy fumed, his voice beginning to rasp as his breathing caught in his throat.

A sob escaped Edd’s throat as he turned away more unable to face Eddy. “Why did you make us fall in love?”

Eddy blinked. “Excuse me? Uh, news flash, WE fell in love!”

“Guys...” May interrupted.

“Maybe you should...”

“Should what? You’re the ones who brought us out here!” Eddy shouted at Ed. “Wasn’t this the plan all along? To get Double Dee and I back together! Good plan, it’s working!”

“We weren’t meant to be,” Edd confessed. “W-We were nev-er meant to be,” It’s like Edd’s whole world just cracked open. “You got us into danger.”

“You’re gonna bring that up again? Sure, fine, let’s talk about it. You clearly need to! It traumatised me too! You think I don’t wake up from nightmare thinking a shark is floating around in my room? ! stayed awake for blubbering, hysterical you while I was bleeding out! If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have been able to get yourself out of that mess!” Eddy felt his heart pumping inside. The blood was flowing throughout his veins heating up his face.The heart ache flowed rapidly through his blood. “You know, I don’t think that’s what all this is about.”

“Oh, you’re so immature!” Eddy screamed balling his fists and stomping his foot on the ground.

“And you’re not?”

May finally stepped into the middle of the volcano stopping the hot lava from reaching Edd. She couldn’t handle anymore of these firey insults being thrown at one another. “Can you guys please talk this out?” she begged, feeling as if she wanted to cry.

“Let’s go on this stupid hike.” Eddy angrily said moving to throw on his hiking shoes.

Ed pressed his hand to Eddy’s shoulder practically whipping his friend off his feet. “No, you two are going to settle things once and for all!”

May slowly approached Edd who was shaking so violently from the tears that were being trapped inside. “Double Dee,” May said softly. “What is this really about?”

Edd stared at Eddy once more. The love. And at the scars. He shook his head from side to side as if he were trying to hit an insect without his hands. “I don’t wish to talk about it. I want to forget.”

“Yeah, it’s past,” Eddy admitted in this dejected voice. “Past doesn’t matter to me. In fact it’s full of worthless cruel lies.”

“Excuse me.” And Edd ran into the forest.

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Bound By Honour - Chapter 5

Pairing: Eric/OC *Sarah* Fandom: Divergent/Insurgent Rating: M - Some very expressive content within the depths of this post.

Eric has the best hand in all the factions, but can’t seem to get to grips with his life as a parent to two grown Dauntless members. The honour is passed to Sarah as she battles with the woes of an unruly daughter and a wayward son. Balanced with a intricate web of personal struggles and outsiders, can they stop their family from falling apart?

A/N: I’m sorry for the delay. Some of you may well know that I’ve been distracted, and I will be taking a lengthy break from writing fanfiction. I have some things I want to do for myself and I feel I’m ready and it’s about time. I will still be around to chat etc, just not participating in uploading fics, at least until my current muse ends anyway. Thank you for reading and supporting me for so long.

Tags: @singingpeople@equalstrashflavoredtrash@pathybo@beltz2016 @ariwolff14@lostinthebeans@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@jojuarez26 @tigpooh67@mom2reesie@lilu46 @murmelinchen @lauraaan182

“And how’s school, Eliza?” Sarah asks over a stew Mary had made earlier that day. She wasn’t meant to stay for so long but it just ended up being that way with Mary telling her that Eliza would be home from school soon. She had felt obliged to stay, seeing as her husband Mark was also away during the weeks now because of her own son.

Eliza was a pretty brunette with long brown ringlets loosely falling by her ears. Her mannerisms were faultless as she sat straight, holding a spoon that seemed too large for her hands. Mary wasn’t forceful with correcting sloppy behavior, Eliza had seemingly picked up her mother’s ways through instinct. It was nothing like how they were brought up. It felt calm and peaceful, an easy home to belong to. In fact, it wasn’t even like Sarah’s home, because of the constant play on parenting and Eric’s obnoxious ways.

“I love school, Auntie Sarah.” Her voice is so small and quaint. It makes her think of April and how different she is to her cousin. April has never been quaint or delicate, the quirks of her father had taken her genes and entrapped them. Though April didn’t have height on her side, her attitude carried her much further. If only she could learn how to embrace it.

“I also remember someone who loved school,” Sarah says, hinting to Mary who grins quickly at her. “You remind me of her so much.”

“Is that my mommy?” The little girl questions, tilting her head shyly while they watch her.

“Yes.”

With a small giggle, they grow quiet, finishing their food. Sarah politely props her spoon in the bowl and sighs. “Thank you for dinner. It’s nice not having to make it myself. It tastes better.” It was also earlier than she was used to. Most nights, Sarah’s family were never really ready to sit down to eat until well after eight.

“We should do this more often…” A wry smile forms on Mary’s face. “I also like the fact that the leftovers get delivered by Eliza to Mother.”

“I still haven’t been to see her.” Sarah feels guilty, but not that much. She hadn’t been in the mood to visit Meredith; it would be question upon question, insulting Eric to the tenth degree, and moaning that April and Jack never visit

“That woman is as hard as nails, she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon…” Mary strokes her daughter's hair. “Why don’t you take the bowls out to the kitchen for me? Then when you’re finished, go up to your room and sort your things out for tomorrow.”

Eliza swings her legs down from the long bench and walks over to Sarah on the other side of the table, hugging her quickly. “Good night!” Then she gathers the bowls and heads for the kitchen.

“She’s growing so quickly,” Sarah comments, staring off after her. When Mary doesn’t reply, she frowns over to her. “What?”

“What’s going on? I know you. I know that look. I know the tone. I know the heaviness.”

“Work’s been a little strange. I’m working with Erudite and the new… maybe new Leader.” Sarah fidgets, leaning her arm on the table. “He’s not what I expected. I feel out of my depth and intimidated, I suppose. What’s also strange is that Eric seems to have every confidence in me. I thought at first that he just did it as a way to swindle Erudite while he was busy patching up Candor. I showed him some other information about another major problem, a serious problem, and he hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe I’m just overthinking… I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

“Overthinking what?” Mary asks, watching Sarah’s eyes remain on the table.

“Everything…” Eliza reappears and they wait until she vanishes upstairs. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course! You can tell me anything. Do you want a drink or something, though? A hot drink?”

Sarah looks out to the sun setting. “No, it’s getting late. I can’t have another relapse of last time.”

Mary scoffs. “Go hard or go home Sarah.”

“You’re not funny.” But she does laugh a little. “I’ll just come out and say it… Blake is being suggestive.”

“And Blake is who again?”

“He’s Blake Hammond, the guy from Erudite that I’m working with. It may just be me, but I feel his persona towards me is mixed. It’s like… it’s like I can’t work him out.”

“So, you mean like, flirting, or...?”

“Sort of. His words are all work related. But it’s the way he expresses himself - his actions.”

“Mommy! I can’t find any hair ties!” Eliza shouts down the stairs, sounding like she was about to descend any minute.

Mary snaps her head over her shoulder. “Honey, just wait two minutes!” Her eyes flicker over Sarah for a moment before she gestures for her to continue. “And?”

“Well, that’s it.” But she begins blushing. “He kissed my cheek after I accepted his work proposal. And he touches my hands a lot,” she rushes, realizing how immature it sounded. “I can’t explain.”

“Have you given him any reason?”

“Nothing at all.” She shrugs, frowning for a moment and then her eyes widen at Mary. “He must be half my age. He knows I’m married.” Sarah bites her lip still under her sister's scrutiny. “Eric doesn’t know any of this. And I can’t tell him. How could I possibly? It sounds preposterous just telling you.”

“I could have guessed that. But to me, it doesn't sound like anything to be worried about. Maybe that’s just what he’s like.” Mary smiles, trying to comfort her older sister. “It may be a big thing to you because you’ve always had Eric breathing down your neck, let alone the chance to interact with, I’m guessing, single and successful men.”

“I have an active social life, Mary. I’m not locked away.” Sarah rolls her eyes. “There is something off with his behavior,” she stresses.

“He hasn’t technically done anything. And as you say, he’s all words, about work from what I’m understanding.”

“It’s his disclosure.”

“Do you... like him?”

It takes Sarah by surprise, scrunching up her nose, she exclaims, “Oh gosh, no!”

“If it happens again, maybe then you should say something.” Mary smiles at her. “Everything is okay with you and Eric, though?”

Sarah thinks about the extra effort Eric has put in lately, especially when he had taken it upon himself to help April the other night. “We are more than fine,” she reassures her sister. She pauses for a moment, wiping a crumb from the table. “Can we keep this between us? I just needed to get that off my chest. And it’s not particularly something I can approach Eric with.”

“You don’t even have to ask. A problem shared is a problem halved. You sure you don’t want anything?”

Sarah stands up, straightening her skirt. “No, I’m going to make a move. It’s getting dark. And I think Eliza is waiting for you.” She finds her boots by the door, slipping her feet inside, and then pulls on her long cloak, shrouding her head with the hood while her sister watches with clasped hands. “If you hear anything from Mark about Jack, let me know as soon as you can.”

“All I know is that signal is bad and they are extremely busy. I barely hear from Mark as much as I’d like,” Mary lies. But it’s for the sake of Sarah’s state of mind, so that can’t be a bad thing…

They hug quickly, and as Sarah steps onto the graveled path, she waves over her shoulder, the light from inside dying with the door closing.

It’s colder than she had realized, the night sky clear and freckled with masses of stars, the moon bright overhead and appearing as if it leads the way home. Of course, Abnegation is like a ghost town, the opposite of Sarah’s Dauntless lifestyle. Most of the people here would be dining with their families and tucked up by nine, not long after their children’s heads had hit the pillow.

Sarah knew this route like the back of her hands. It took her through a patch of abandoned buildings and old streets. She admired the way nature had tried to claim back some of the carnage left behind; growing through the brickwork and sprouting in the cracks in the sidewalk. She even thought the space between Abnegation and Dauntless was like a different solitary world. It was usually the place where the bulk of her thoughts were left to run wild and the only witness of her dreaming was the sun or moon itself. The old buildings were like long forgotten whispers of the past, only still present to be remembered for what was - like gravestones, sad but beautiful.

But something has Sarah peer over her shoulder. Not once had she ever feared walking the short track home, but like the connection she processed when people's moods changed, the same feeling slipped down the back of her neck unexpectedly.

She increases her pace a little more, no longer able to wander in her thoughts - when she hears a sharp scrape behind her. She gasps, having heard it so evidently, twirling round to… nothing. Staying completely still, though her breath left raggedly through her open mouth no matter how hard she tried to control it, the old street remained silent.

After the initial fear, her anxiety creeps in. “Get yourself together, Sarah…” she whispers to herself. “This is stupid.” Turning and heading back towards Dauntless once again, every piece of her skin is on alert. The urge to run ahead screamed in her thighs, but her mind kept her locked with indecisions and uncertainty of why she actually should if there was nothing physically there.

She doesn’t need to be convinced further when the sound of rocks scatter behind her. She grabs the front of her skirt and sprints without looking back. Turning a corner, she pushes herself up against the cover of a building. What sounded like debris is now large striding footsteps, approaching closer and closer. Peering down the dark street to her right, a path set away from her destination, she doesn’t know where it leads, or at least can’t remember precisely in this moment as adrenaline pumped through her veins and blocked her thoughts. Her fingers grip into the concrete behind her and she prays the person will pass without noticing her. The fight or flight instinct was a terribly blurry line between possible stupidity; standing up to whoever was coming behind her, or maybe a chance of escaping and unknowing.

She decides to face her fears, stepping out determinedly, though shaken and comes face to face with… Thomas. She doesn’t hesitate and throws herself into her younger brother’s arms.

“What are you doing?” he questions while chuckling as if she was insane for embracing him so tightly.

“You frightened me!” She whacks his back for good measure.

“I’m sorry. I just saw Mare and she said you’d just left and I didn’t want to miss you.” She still doesn’t let go. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine now.” Standing back she wipes her nose, beginning to smile as the threatening feeling evaporated. She even laughs. “God, I feel so stupid.”

“I’m not surprised. You looked it.” She whacks him playfully on the arm. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I thought I was being followed or… I don’t know!” Putting a hand to her hip, she breathes deeply. “Can you walk me home?”

“I would be delighted.” Enthusiastically, he guides her hand to the crook of his arm and covers it with his own. Sarah feels safe like this. Her once small and young brother; the one she used to protect from all the happenings of the past, now a strong man she could rely on who had changed roles with her. How things had changed. But his next words make her blood run cold. “I only saw you step around the corner, thank god I did, as I don’t think I would have spotted you.”

Sarah quickly calculates the time between when she had stopped and gazed down the path, back towards Abnegation. She swallows dryly. “Just now?”

“I sprinted the whole way. I got my daily dose of exercise.” He continues talking aimlessly, and Sarah peers back behind her, Thomas dragging her forward. What was that?

Sarah opens the door to the apartment and Eric is sitting at the dining table. He’s passive when he sees her, appearing as if he has been waiting. There is no work in front of him and his phone is under one of his hands. “You do realize you have a phone, right?” he asks sarcastically. But she ignores him, unwrapping herself from her long cloak and kicking her boots off. 

Eric stands up and rounds the table, waiting a few feet from her.

“April?” Sarah questions.

He shakes his head before replying, “Nightshift.” She doesn’t miss the cocky lift in his lip from his own doing. “Double shift, too.” He seems proud of his own trifling.

Sarah pulls out her hair, unbuttoning the top buttons of her dress. She kicks her boots to one side, rolling down her stockings and lifts her dress over her head in one fluid motion. Standing still, Eric inclines his chin, another way of asking what she was up to.

For the final revelation, she unclips her bra, dropping it to the ground. That’s where Eric’s eyes flick to and then back to her face. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“Stop talking,” she says tremulously. Her last garment is her underwear, flung carelessly without breaking his eye contact. “Take your clothes off.”

Eric stares blankly at her for a moment. Ever so slightly his eyes narrow, his hands reaching up to undo his uniform. His jaw is set as he strips away his top layers, revealing a solid body etched with tattoos and specific marks gained from his line of work. As he breathes, his muscles flex under his skin as if in anticipation of her next move. And he takes a wide, confident stance under her perusal.

When she doesn’t move, he goes for his belt, but that is when she steps forward. “Wait.” She pads over, instantly caught by the close heat of him towering over her, a nervous shake tinging her fingertips. Unclipping his belt, she slides it from the loops of his pants. “Keep this.”

It’s an unusual request that throws him. In his pause, she unbuttons his pants, sliding them down his legs, then straightens, allowing him to remove them.

And then she offers her wrists to him with a mild blush on her cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s happening right now. But I’m not going to question it.” His voice is steady, pulling his belt tight over her desired destination. Tugging on the strap, she tags him along with her and he holds onto the belt until they reach the bedroom. Wrapping the loose leather a few times to secure her, he already knows what she wants.

Eric pushes her onto her front, moving up quickly behind her, and Sarah pants in anticipation. Rubbing the tip of his cock slowly over her clit, he nudges forwards to feel her center when he passes, easing his way in.

Sarah gathers the sheets into her fists, just as he charges forwards. She whimpers semi-consciously, arching her back, trying to spur him on, listening to the raggedness of his breath as the slow strokes are abandoned for hard thrusts; Eric’s control and awareness slipping. Sharp jolts knock her stability, constantly squirming to readjust as his grip tightens on her hips.

“Harder,” spills from her lips. But it’s not what she wants. Eric does what she says, a grunt escaping from his effort. “Harder, Eric. Harder.” Sarah was coaxing him, coaxing him to understand. “Harder!” When his palm connects with her thigh, half playfully, half in frustration it seems, she entices him further. “Yes, like that.” She turns around only to make eye contact, to tell him it was okay. “Again!” 

The sound as his palm meets her skin, echoes in the air and she mewls, enjoying the sting. “Again!” And he does so on command. She can feel her body tightening, along with the build-up of guilt and stress she felt and pushed away on a daily basis; it all beginning to unravel. It gets to a point she doesn’t even comprehend what’s she’s saying, murmuring the same word over and over.

It’s only when Eric stops, she glances over her shoulder, irritated and unsatisfied. He’s sweating, panting, rubbing at his temples. “Eric… what-”

“I’ve come, Sarah.” His tone is something she’s barely ever heard before. He’s disappointed.

Lost for words, she awkwardly rolls over to face him in the transcending silence. “What? You mean…”

“You made me come. The way you were talking. What you were saying.” His face is pained, almost disgusted with himself. “Why do you want me to hurt you?”

Did she say that? “I… I…” It’s a fiery burn of embarrassment and loathing for herself that forces its way to the surface of her cheeks. “That’s not…”

“You made me take you like a whore!” Eric explodes, beginning to pace, constantly rubbing his face. “You’re my wife!”

“Exactly!” she retorts. “I am your wife. I… I…” She obviously wanted this, but not with this outcome. She hadn’t thought of the consequences of her over-exhilarant actions. “I am not a whore, Eric!”

“Then don’t make me fuck you like one!”

Sarah’s mouth drops open. Ultimately, she had caused this; she had done this. Eric had his kinks and they were never exactly conventional with their lovemaking but he was always in control. She had taken it to another level, something he wasn’t happy with. In her shame, she pulls the sheet up to cover herself.

Without another word, Eric heads for the door. “Wait! Where… where are you going?” Could she fix this? She could try if she could only talk to him for a moment. But deep down she knew he couldn’t, not in this raging state he was in. 

“I can’t even look at you right now.” Eric slams the bedroom door shut. Sitting in the silence of their bedroom, Sarah doesn’t move; she doesn’t cry, doesn’t wallow in her own pity. What she felt, she deserved, and she embraced it.

Jack’s busy staring up at the ceiling. The pain is manageable, causing his mind to be restless. Most of the night he had all the time to think, which he usually wished for. But right now it was too much. Too quiet. 

Hearing the door open to his small room, he glances over slowly to Chip smiling. “Came to see the patient. The others sent their regards,” he explains, his eyes traveling to Jack’s arm supported up to his chest to help aid his shoulder. “It suits you.”

Jack scoffs, sitting himself up further. “I’m done with this place.”

Chip strolls more into the room and touches the array of different wildflowers beside Jack’s bed. “Interesting… I would be more surprised if we hadn’t have gone on our woodwalk. I take you for a nature guy now.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Day off.” Chip shrugs, taking a seat on the spare chair next to his bed. “Kind of missed my grumpy friend.”

“You should be with the others.” Jack’s voice is husky, low, almost sounding defeated.

“The others are all doing boring shit or sleeping. Plus, half are still working. I’m just lucky I was picked first. They get the day off tomorrow.” They stare at each other too long until Jack looks away. “And I’m not going anywhere before you say it.”

“Why do you bother?”

In confusion, his friend’s face scrunches up. “What?”

“Why are you here? Why do you bother?” he repeats, sharper than before.

“I can see past the evasive front you put on. It’s getting rather boring now, Jacko Smacko.” Chip pushes from the bed to tilt in his chair. He seems to remember something and pulls out a notepad and pen and begins scribbling. “Jenny asked about you.”

“Great.” He rolls his eyes, his voice laden with sarcasm. “...I’ve been thinking about her the whole time I’ve been in here.”

“What have you been thinking about?” Chip mumbles and Jack looks over to his friend’s tongue sticking out the further he gets into whatever he’s scribbling. He doesn’t acknowledge him, or the fact his question is heavily prying as per usual.

“Honestly?” he asks after a moment. “I’ve been thinking about capping the dick who shot me.”

Rotating the notepad to a weird angle, his friend's voice is almost absent when he says, “You’re going to have an awesome scar.”

“I keep thinking…” He feels himself becoming irritable and hot, letting his head fall back onto the pillows propping him up. “...About my mom.”

Chip pauses now. “I don’t know whether to ask as you told me not to talk about your mom-”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jack interrupts him and sighs. “I just keep thinking about her. I think about April too.”

“No offense, but I’ve never liked April. She’s such a bit-” He looks up at Jack and licks his lips. “…She’s a horrible person, man.” Chip looks down to his notebook. “She tipped a drink purposefully over me once in the Pit. We were in initiation together. She branded me a loser and…” He touches his hair, messing the top of his dark, sandy locks; a thing Jack noticed he did when Chip got nervous. “...She made my life practically hell. Typical class A bully.” He snorts to himself and begins scribbling quicker than before.

It shouldn’t be Jack’s burden to carry the guilt of what April’s done in the past, but he can’t help it. “Mate, you are not the only one. She’s my sister and at times I find it hard to like her.”

“She turned that entire class against me and ever since I’ve been trying to win back people’s respect because of her. She wasn’t that bad with anyone else. I was the only one. Do you have any idea what that is like?”

“I’m sorry.”

Chip inhales sharply, meeting Jack’s gaze, and this time neither breaks it. Obviously, an apology on April’s behalf was not what he was expecting. A smile reflects on both their faces slowly, and Chip turns the notebook to show him. “I’m a little rusty. Not my typical notepad either, it’s a bit small. And ignore the page lines, that’s-”

“You drew me?”

“I like to draw emotions… expressions. It just so happens you have so many of them.”

Cautiously Jack studies him. He’d never met anyone so persistent and open by Dauntless standards.

“You’re even doing it now,” Chip mentions with a smile and points at his friend to emphasize his point.

“Habit,” he mumbles quickly and looks down at his free hand.

“Shall I get coffee?” Chip asks, a coarseness to his voice as he drags himself out of the chair.

“Definitely,” Jack replies and watches Chip leave the room. A heavy feeling of confusion washes over him as he glances at the notepad left open on the chair next to him.

Sarah decides to have lunch back at the apartment with the pitiful hope Eric would come back to find her. He hasn’t. She’s aware of the sound of April banging around in her bedroom getting ready for the day after her night shift. 

She sips a coffee, something Eric had got her accustomed to years ago as April makes an appearance, almost dashing by. “Hi, April,” Sarah says with a smile, putting down her coffee cup.

“Oh, hey mom,” she chirps back with a head of bouncing waves. Her eyes land on Sarah’s cup and she comes directly over and snatches it up, sipping it. Sarah was used to it by now.

“I like your hair.”

Vainly, April pulls on a strand. “Thanks! I thought it may be a bit much… You don’t think so, right?” Expectantly, she looks at her.

“I’ve always said you should leave it natural.” Sarah gets the vibe she is about to leave at any minute. “How was work last night?”

“Long, boring, irritating. The usual.”

“Will you sit with me for a minute?” April seems surprised, biting her lip, but does so anyway.

“Where’s dad?”

“I… I don’t know.” Sarah scoffs sadly, peering down to the table.

“You’re not going to cry or anything, are you?” April rolls her eyes. “You know I’m not good with that stuff.”

“No, no! I’m fine. Turn around and let me see the back,” she motions to her hair. April does so, her frame slender and petite from this angle and Sarah revels in the slight attention she has from her daughter, scrunching the ends. “You know, my little sister Elizabeth, Lizzie, your aunty, had very curly hair. I think you two would have gotten on really well, she was... something. You share a lot with your dad, but with her too.”

“Nobody really speaks about her,” April says quietly. “Mary gets all teary whenever she thinks about it or if it’s mentioned.”

“It’s... a hard subject.” Sarah tilts her head, still tending to her daughter's hair.

“What happened? I mean, I know it was an accident…”

Sarah has always avoided the facts as the children were always too young, but she couldn't find fault in the open truth anymore. “We were too late.” She stops, and April turns to face her questioningly. “Me and Mary went to find her after she ran away. The stupid girl wanted to be with the factionless. She couldn’t stand living with Grandma and Grandpa anymore. We found her, but it was too late.”

“Was dad there?”

“He has always been there.” It’s one thing she couldn’t fault him on. Still to this day, she couldn’t work out if Eric saved her that day; stopping her from devotedly crossing the train track to get to Lizzie.

“Is that what happens when people die? They just get forgotten?”

“It’s not that we have forgotten her. She was so full of life, she wouldn’t want us moping around.”

April’s blue eyes narrow. “That’s where you and me are different, mom. When I die, I hope people can’t live without me.”

“Don’t say such a thing! I couldn’t live without you. And I’m sure your father would have the same reply.” April shakes her head, looking out towards the door. “April,” Sarah says sharply. “It’s not forgetting about someone, it’s genuinely just time. It never stops. It never ceases.” She grabs her hand and holds it. “I wanted to keep you small forever, but without time, you wouldn’t have turned into the young and beautiful woman you are today.”

“Forced compliments make me cringe.”

“I’m serious. No matter what, you will always be my little girl. Can’t you see that?”

“This is a real nice mother-daughter moment, mom, but I’m going to be late for work.”

Sarah holds her hand tighter. “Please don’t shut me out anymore. I need you just as much as you need me.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you didn’t need Meredith. So, how could you possibly know about how much we need each other if you hardly had a mother yourself?”

“She’s the exception, not the rule.”

“You’re just like dad, rules to suit yourself - like Jack, for instance. Don’t try and fool me, I know you wish it was me out there and not him. It’s written all over your face, day in and day out.”

Sarah snaps her hand away as if she had been burnt. “How dare you say that!”

“But it’s true!” April stands up, knocking the table. “And you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself, I guess that you and dad have had another row. The quicker he sees you for what you are, an Abnegation, the better. You’ve changed him. I hear all these great stories of this incredible Leader and I never get to see any of it! Why are you forcing yourselves to click with each other? You don’t match!” This was something April had kept submerged and she really couldn’t have picked a more harrowing time to vent them. They were her most inner thoughts and opinions on Sarah’s situation - and it was crushing. More so, because she couldn’t grasp what love is; what it took for them to finally find each other for who they were, sounding like the many bitter people who put themselves in the way of their relationship before. She didn’t see her; her mother, a person willing to see past any front April tried to depict. A friend; Sarah spent so many nights praying to be. All she ever saw was gray. “...And when he divorces you-”

Sarah is possessed with such an awful hurt which unpredictably drags itself to the surface, that she stands up and slaps April’s face with force, just as the front door clicks and Eric steps into the room. Whether his face was like thunder before, she doesn’t know.

April lurches towards Sarah threateningly and Sarah loses her nerve, cringing back.

“April!” Eric bellows. The young girl pants in anger, a red swelling on her cheek from her mother’s hand, the payment of her awful words, and storms past him while all he does is watch.

“I… I didn’t mean to do that…” Sarah runs a hand through her hair, pushing flyaways back in place. “You didn’t hear what she was saying…”

“Have you gone mad? Have you lost your mind? I come back to talk, at the very least, and see you taking a swipe at April now?”

“She was saying hateful things. She loathes the very ground I walk on over something I can’t control. You know what she is like!”

“Oh yeah, I know. But I also thought I knew you.” Eric wipes at his mouth quickly, an irritable fashion he usually did before he exploded. “If you want to take your anger out on someone, take it out on me, not our daughter.”

“You’re defending her?” Sarah says exasperatedly, throwing her arms up. “No… no… Of course you are. I’m stupid to think otherwise.”

“You’re acting pretty fucking stupid right now.”

“I wonder why!” Nothing short of hysterical was the only thing Sarah could begin to describe her tone of voice.

“That’s a question I keeping asking myself!” He steps forward and Sarah’s arm shoots out to stop him.

“She wants you to divorce me!”

“Oh, she does? Is that what you think I’m going to do? If you do, you don’t know me very well either. I took my vows seriously, Sarah.” He proceeds to approach cautiously all while she stands numbly with her outburst, hand to her forehead. “Do you want me to?”

She looks up at him. “No, of course not...”

“At least we’ve got that settled. You’re listening to a lonely girl’s cry for help with a plate load of shit waiting for you back at the office. If it’s too much, just say so.” The head tilt with his reply is a test. She’d seen it so many times now. She knew he had expectations of her and she didn’t want to fail him. He looked completely fresh in his uniform, down to his spotless boots. And she felt sweaty and disheveled, her nerves trip-wiring while he always managed to make it seem effortless.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers defeatedly.

“What for?” His voice is low, not threatening anymore, almost comforting.

“I’m not strong. I’m not like you.” It started to give her a sense of why Eric was how he is. Until put into a similar position, she couldn't fathom her mind being drafted into different sections. She’d always been primed with tasks that were never too much of a responsibility. Yes, she sounded for the council in Abnegation on other topics people relied on, but never to this difficulty of Erudite. With the added effects of April and Jack, it was a recipe for personal and professional disaster. “I try, I really do.”

“Sarah...” As always, he lets his fingers tuck her hair away, gently tilting her face up to him. “I’ve always wanted you for who you are.” He shrugs. “Maybe, at first, I couldn’t quite get that. But I see it now. And always have since. I don’t want you to be like me, sweetheart.”

“But I’m not weak,” she stresses.

“No. You certainly aren’t.” He scoffs, his hands leisurely enveloping her waist. “Who else could stand me for nearly eighteen years? If anything, I feel kind of lucky.”

“Last night-” she rushes to say but he interrupts her.

“Forget about last night.” He dismisses it with a wave of his hand and swiftly cradles her head, pulling her forward, his lips in her hair, he lets her rest in the crook of his neck. “Forget about it. And forget about April too, she’ll get over it. Plus, I have something to show you.” She pulls back to the picturesque sight that is his smirk.

Eric had guided her to the Leader’s suite and covered her eyes as the elevator appeared on their floor. He walks her slowly as she grips his wrists, anxious and a little excited about what was in store that was so top secret that he couldn’t just say. 

“You’re scaring me a bit,” she comments, her hands gripping his wrists tighter while she is constantly driven forward by his chest hitting her back.

“That’s alright,” he whispers close to her ear. “Being scared makes you hold me closer.” He pushes up purposefully from behind. “And it reminds me of a time, years ago, down in the dark of the basement when we were trying to find those shitty panels.” His hands tighten on her skin as he mumbles, “Your wide eyes, open mouth, that quivering break in your voice.”

“There was no way, at the time, that you were thinking that.” She scoffs and laughs at how she remembers Eric back in the day. “You were stomping your feet, and you were mad that you had to go and fix the problem yourself.”

“How do you know exactly what I was thinking?” He bites at her neck suggestively, and as she flinches to stop him, he keeps his hands steady over her eyes. “No looking.”

“I remember thinking, ‘what would he do if I reached out and touched him’, as we were descending the steps. I was truly frightened then. I couldn’t see my own feet.”

“Honestly, I was hoping you would.”

Sarah beams, biting her lip to control herself as they swayed to a stop, the familiar waves of heat beginning to tighten pleasantly in the pit of her stomach. “Can I open them now?”

“Hold on.” It sounds like a door clicking open and Eric flicking on a light. A strong smell of fresh paint and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on entranced her senses in a rush. It made it almost impossible to wait any longer, Eric was really drawing this out, until he says, “Okay, you can look now.”

Sarah opens her eyes and gasps.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

This going to sound harsher than I mean it to but...I think there is a certain subset (and I really do think it is a subset and NOT the majority, far from it) of female fans who are in their own way as guilty in regards to Peter’s character as they are of what a subset (albeit a way more vocal and currently in charge subset) of male fans are guilty of in regards to MJ’s character.

  They are very quick to throw the shade at the character (even throw him under a bus at times) without either properly contextualizing the specifics of a situation they are talking about or else not bothering to place themselves in his shoes and try to imagine realistically how me might feel.

  Or else they simply don’t try to ask “Okay Spider-Man is doing this thing that seemingly makes him look bad. Let me consider if there is a believable enough justification for his actions before I commit to condemning the character.”

  On tumblr I’ve seen that more and more among some posters in particular female ones (far from all of them though, like I said I believe them to be a minority) who clearly do LIKE Spider-Man, both as a series and as a character, nevertheless throw out shade along the lines of:

 -          Well he just makes such poor life decisions

-          He’s such a MESS, God get your life together Peter

-          What an asshole he was for not wanting to meet Mj because he didn’t realize she was pretty

-          Peter has such an EGO, look at whenever he used to interact with other heroes

-          Peter is so self-centred wow

-          MJ and Felicia and Gwen are too good for Peter

   Saying Peter makes poor life choices is untrue half the time and only true the other half of the time within the context of a dramatic entertainment series wherein it’d be boring if certain concessions were not made.

  Saying his life is a mess is intrinsically idiotic for the same reasons saying MJ sucked for worrying about Peter and complaining about his life as Spider-Man the way she did in the 90s. If YOU were in either of their positions and had the same histories, the same emotional attachments would YOU be much different? Would YOUR life be totally in order when you spend a large chunk of your time being a superhero both to financially support yourself and you know for ENTIRELY ALTRUISTIC REASONS? Would YOU honestly NOT act the way MJ did in the 90s?

 These sorts of attitudes to me demonstrate a really, really weird dismissal of the (relative) realities of life as or with a superhero. It���s like Peter being Spider-Man somehow ‘doesn’t count’, like he’s going out to play sports or something as opposed to actually being something important that should be taken into account when analyzing his life. Like...the entire premise of Spider-Man very much hinged upon the notion of showcasing the realities of life as a hero, how it came with a cost and didn’t fix everything. Like Spider-Man 2 and Spider-Man No More literally SHOW you that NOT being Spider-Man WOULD allow his life to NOT be a mess, but that’s the price he pays for making sure nobody else loses THEIR Uncle Ben.

  Did Peter used to have an ego? Yeah...as did you know...EVERY Marvel hero under Stan Lee. Shit Silver age Superman had a humungous ego. It’s a trope something you don’t take 100% at face value. That smoothed out with his maturation and whilst he still had an ego at times, that was a debilitating flaw, just something that happened every once in a while as it would for a lot of people.

  Not to mention after what he has lived through and how hard he is on himself most of the time SOME ego is surely forgivable, healthy even. Which brings me to the whole ‘he thinks everything revolves around him’ argument.

  No...he doesn’t. He just holds himself to an incredibly high standard due to an obviously highly traumatic event he went thorugh growing up compounded by a few other similar events (Gwen’s death) as well as threats to his life and those around him by individuals specifically out to get him (Betty Brant was targeted at least 3 times in the Ditko run).

 Is it any wonder he’d be somewhat self-centred? And not even self-centred in a selfish way, self-centred in a ‘I suck, I let everyone down, I should have done better.’ Kind of way which is a million miles away from say pre-heart injury Tony Stark kind of self-centred.

 And finally the thing about not wanting to meet MJ...I’m sorry...how many male and female teenagers would NOT have been apprehensive over a blind date their old fashioned Mom set up for them out of fear that the date will be unattractive. Especially when in canon the qualities mostly pushed about her was that she would allegedly ‘make a good housewife’. 

 That isn’t a ‘Peter Parker is shallow’ thing or a ‘men are shallow’ thing. That’s a ‘teenagers who’re naturally immature and inexperienced with dating, romance, sex, etc tend to be shallow’ thing. 

 Don’t lie to me and pretend like the pre-Parallel Lives 14-18 year old Mary Jane herself would have been all for meeting her aunt’s neighbour’s geeky ass nephew. She wouldn’t have been and we all KNOW she wouldn’t have been. And that’s okay, that’d be realistic and entirely in keeping with how most teens (male or female) would feel in that situation.

 Let me be clear there are MALE readers guilty of this too (especially on CBR) but maybe it’s because I spend more time here in my (admittedly far from comprehensive) observations the fans who say stuff like that tend to be female more often than male.

  It’s nowhere near AS bad as the shit that unjustifiably gets thrown at Mary Jane mostly by male fans, but whilst collectively it might be worse each accusation is as equally unfounded.

  And as someone who truly loves both those characters I loathe seeing either of them unfairly thrown under the bus that way by people who aren’t even bothering to TRY to justify what the characters are doing out of laziness, a desire to be snarky or just enjoying the act of ripping into them.

  In much the same way a lot of Star Wars and Lord of the Rings fans these days have been defencive and protective of Luke and Frodo in light of the mass shade thrown at both characters, I’ve become more and more like that towards Spider-Man in recent years. I’ve been like that with Mj for ages but only recently have I felt it necessary to extend it to Peter too.

 I don’t know WHY exactly these sort of ill considered, narrowminded, half assed criticisms are emerging more and more these days. I can’t blame it on the existence of other Spider characters because I’ve more frequently seen this stuff stem from people who didn’t even discuss guys like miles or Kaine or Spider-Gwen. Just Peter himself.

  The hard truth is...I think gender might be the biggest factor.

 Like I said I really do think this is a MINORITY of female fans who say the stuff I’ve discussed but I think for them there is a certain lack of empathy or at least attempt to honestly see through the eyes of Spider-Man himself because they are female and he is male.

 Whilst this doesn’t seem to happen much at all in Harry Potter fandom (which might possibly be owed to Harry being a male character written by a woman), critically the HP narrative is mostly utterly dominated by seeing through Harry’s eyes it makes identifying with him less of a leap as compared to Spider-Man where there is more ‘distance’ between the character and the reader.

The Spider-Man series is mostly from Peter’s POV but whilst Harry Potter rarely deviates away from Harry is experiencing at any given moment within his own skin, Spider-Man cuts to other scenes and other characters and even presents scenes with Spider-Man from their POV very frequently. It’s perhaps the natural pay off to the comic book medium vs a novel. You do have to SEE your protagonist from the outside whereas with a novel you can much more easily be on the inside looking out.

 I think because of that relative distance, for some (but far from all) female Spider-Man readers it becomes easier to emotionally/mentally not make the leap into his head and really questioning why he thinks, feels and acts in the ways that he does beyond what is on the surface level presented to us.

 Peter talks back to the Fantastic Four when he first meets them. It must be because he’s an asshole and not because he’s you know, a teenager, who just lost his Dad, is desperate for cash, is somewhat naive and used to being an entertainer and wrestler

  Although I think at the end of the day a character can be relatable and identifiable regardless of what their identity might be (skin colour, gender, etc), I do feel that male readers of Spider-Man are probably going to be more inclined towards empathising with Peter and inclined towards trying to see if there might be an explanation for his actions.

  The reverse holds true as well. It’s painfully obvious that 90% of the garbage criticisms levelled against Mary Jane throughout her history stemmed from mostly (but again not all) male readers who were simply not even trying to put themselves in her shoes or else couldn’t.

  Okay sure, you could argue institutionalized sexism or the larger proportion of male to female Spider-Man readers is the reason there seems to be way more male MJ bashers than female Peter bashers, as well as using that to explain why the female Peter bahsers still seem to like the character on some degree whereas MJ’s loudest bashers tend to just hate on the character.

 However I’d also propose that a big reason for one group’s larger and more intense negative feelings compared to the other stems again from the genders involved.

 Male readers are going to find it comparatively harder to make the jump into MJ’s head and seeing things from her POV than they would Peter’s simply because they are men and she is a female character.

 It’s far from impossible and I think most male fans do make the jump. But it helps to explain why so many do not. The problem is exacerbated by MJ being a supporting cast member and thus her POV and panel time is given far less breathing space than Peter’s, who’s story and POV dominate the narrative. So when MJ is compalaining about Peter’s life as a hero to him in a scene from his POV it’s challenging for male readers to take a step back and consider HER pov.

  I’m not even calling that some kind of soft core misandry or misogyny.

 I just think it’s something that naturally occurs for a lot of people as a consequence of life and the style of storytelling weare discussing.

 Doesn’t make it cool to do though.

 Stop bashing MJ AND Peter and try to justify anything they do before you tear into them.

[ryik-the-writer]

Laughter in the Walls pt. 1/2

Title: Laughter in the Walls

Rating: T

Word Count: 6575

Notes/Summary: Belle and her son Gideon move into an old house in Storybrooke to begin a fresh start. However, they find their home already occupied by a “residential haunter”.

I was having so much fun with this but I didn’t have enough time to make it as long as I wanted it to be so it’s a bit quick-paced. Still, I tried to keep it organized and tried to give it a happy ending (spoiler). Hope you all enjoy!

Side note: there’s mentions of suicide in the second chapter so please be weary.

Prompt used: Haunted House

A03

-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-

“Well?” Belle inquired with a sunny smile as she pulled the Cadillac into her and her son’s new home.

Gideon French glanced up from his phone to survey the decrepit house his mother was “forcing” him to move into. If he were still in his goth phase he would have appraised her choice, but since he’d reverted back to society’s acceptable standards for well over six months, he found the house before him a dump.

“It’s great. I hope the rats plan to split the water bill.”

Belle gave her son an indulgent look and stepped out of the car. Her son had had a rough year and she knew he needed to let his steam off in choppy sarcastic remarks, which she allowed as long as he didn’t cross the line ].

“It’s got so much potential.” Belle encouraged as she intertwined her arm with her son’s. “It’s the oldest house on the east coast, nearly 150 years old. Oh look at these stained-glass windows!” She arched on her tiptoes to give her boy a kiss on the cheek. “And most importantly, it’s all ours.”

Gideon allowed his mother to pull him to the porch, watching his step just in case the ancient wood gave way.  He reached out to peel a line of curling pain from the wall.

“What color is this, digested Pepto-Bismol?”

“I think it’s called salmon. And don’t do that.” She ordered, pulling his hand back.

“Is the paint holding this house together?” Gideon quipped.

Belle sighed, the exhaustion of the six-hour drive and her son’s overall pessimism dampening her cheery mood.  

Gideon glanced at her defeated look and forced a supporting smile.

“It’s great mom, really. It’s just…different. I need a little time to get used to it.”

Belle smiled and rested her weary head against his arm. She really had a great son despite everything.

Belle had gotten pregnant at a rather early age by her then boyfriend Will Scarlet. The look of disappointment on her mother’s face when she told her parents made Belle blush with shame even 17 years later. Will, despite being impulsively immature, agreed to support her in whatever she decided to do. With her mother’s vague advice to “do the brave thing”, Belle decided to keep the baby. Will unfortunately couldn’t kick into his paternal instincts and he and Belle separated quietly. Other than a few sporadic child-support payments, he hadn’t kept in contact with Belle or his son.

Belle and Gideon moved in with Belle’s parents and found contentment in their small family and lived comfortably for many years. It wasn’t until the sudden death of the French family matriarch that the peaceful existence shattered. Mr. French sold his house and moved back to the family home in Australia to grieve, and rather than make her son start over in a whole new country, Belle took her half of the money and started looking for a new place to live.

It was during a grueling night of research that she came across an opened librarian’s position in a town called Storybrooke, Maine. A few more clicks and she discovered a house for sale in the same area. It was too good to be true, especially when she saw that the house was priced at just what was in her budget.

Gideon had been less enthusiastic about leaving the city but had no choice but to follow his mother into the unknown.

“A fresh paint of coat and curtains and it’ll be good as new.” Belle promised.

Gideon sighed. “If you say so mum.”

A loud pop broke the two from their musing. They turned to see a Ford truck pull in just behind the Cadillac, a petite woman with long black hair rushing out, nearly dropping the load of files she was carrying.

“Hi!” she greeted breathlessly, stopping at the first step. “Sorry I’m late!”

“No problem.” Belle assured. “You must be the real estate agent.”

The woman nodded and extended her hand. “Mary Margaret Nolan, it’s nice to meet you!”

Belle shook her hand and nodded towards her son. “This is my son Gideon.”

“Oh how nice.” Mary Margaret smiled. “You’re about the same age as my son.” She turned back towards the truck. “Neal!”

The passenger door of the truck opened and a blond teen stepped out, removing his headphones unpleasantly.

A series of looks was shot between the two before the boy stomped up the stairs beside Mrs. Nolan.

“This is my son, Neal.” Mary Margaret introduced through clenched teeth and strangely putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him from going up the steps. “He’s…helping me today.”

“You mean I’m your prisoner for today.” Neal muttered.

“Neal.” Mary Margaret growled in a warning tone Belle recognized from any mother. She could also recognize that Neal was trying not to roll his eyes.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Neal.” Belle jumped in.

“Ma’am.” Neal greeted, a twinge of relief in inspiring green eyes.

“This is Gideon.” Belle introduced. She glanced at her son to signal him to introduce himself but found her son staring at Neal with just a hint of blush on his sharp cheeks.

Belle contained her amused smile, knowing instantly that her son was smitten. She glanced at the Nolans, finding Mary Margaret seemingly oblivious while Neal looked down at the porch with a slight smirk on his lips.

“So anyway.”  Mary Margaret intervened, pulling a manila folder out of the stack. “Here’s a copy of the deed, the skeleton key and the spares to the garage and the basement.”

Belle took hold of the mass of keys with one hand and the deed with the others. The second her fingertips grazed the manila envelope a violent burst of wind swept over the porch, causing the papers to flee into the yard.

Neal and Mary Margaret raced down the steps to catch the papers. Just as Gideon and Belle were about to help them, the wind shifted, causing the old house to creak and—the Frenchs would swear by it—laugh. It was a deep mocking sound, almost childlike but much more sinister.

“Well that’s not ominous at all.” Gideon said, standing a bit too closely to his mum than a 17-year-old boy usually would.

“Sorry about that.” Mary Margaret apologized as she trotted back up the stairs. “Early autumn is always when these bursts of winds pick up.”

“And the foreshadowing of doom?” Gideon deadpanned, staring at the realtor uneasily.

Mary Margaret frowned and seemed to pale a bit. “I…”

Belle stepped between her and her son. “Pay him no mind. Would you like to come in?”

“No!” Mary Margaret gasped, causing Belle and the boys to jump. “I mean…I…we can’t. We have…other houses to go to.”

Beside her Neal rolled his eyes.

“Come along Neal.” Mary Margaret said in a sickeningly sweet tone.

Neal looked like he wanted to say something but was dragged back to the truck.

Belle and Gideon stared after the car before turning back to the house. Their new home.

“It’s not too late to buy plane tickets to Australia.” Gideon told his mother. “Maybe I’ll like the Outback.”

Belle almost agreed with him, but her mother’s words rang through her mind.

Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.

It had worked when she was pregnant, it would work with her new home.

“A little wind isn’t going to scare me away. Come on, let’s see what the inside looks like.”

“Oh come on!” Gideon whined as Belle dragged him through the front door.

Luckily the inside of the house wasn’t nearly as disastrous as the outside would have it perceived, though there were some obvious problems that Belle could address just from an initial observation.

The wood floors were in need of a polishing and the walls of washing. Luckily, the furniture that had come with the house had been covered and in great condition, abet a few decades outdated.

“How about we start with paint and cleaning supplies and go from there?”

Lighting one of the decorative candelabras (which Gideon found hilariously dramatic), they headed upstairs.

“It’s colder than a politician’s heart up here!” Gideon seethed, shivering as they reached the bedrooms.

“We’ll sleep downstairs tonight by the fire.” Belle amended. “This looks like the master bedroom.”

They stepped inside, holding the candle away from the plastics covering the furniture. It was spacious enough and the bed seemed to be a good size.

Belle sat the candle on top of the dresser and led her son to the bed. Together they jumped on top of it to test the mattress, an instant mistake they realized when they nearly sunk to their deaths and choked on the dust.

Belle arched off the bed when something stabbed her thigh.

“What the…”

Gideon scooted over, feeling the mattress. “I think it’s a loose spring.”

Belle pressed down until the tip of the “spring” was pressing into her palm.

“Gideon, press the mattress down why I try to pull it out.” Belle requested.

Gideon pushed down until the tip of the object burst further from mattress. Both he and his mother were surprised to find the tip of something much thicker than a spring pointing up at them.

“It…looks like the tip of a knife.” theorized Belle. She circled the opening to stretch it out.

“You could be touching a murder weapon!” Gideon hissed.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” said Belle as she stretched the hole just enough to pull the knife out of the mattress. Belle finally presented a heavy, wavy knife that glinted in the limited light.

“Whoa.” Gideon exclaimed. “Who would hide this here?”

Belle shook her head, turning the strange knife over in her hand.

“There’s something written on it.” Belle said, feeling the shape of the indented letters.

Gideon shot around, swearing he heard a sound come from across the room.

Belle lifted the dagger to the light, tracing the letters as she sounded them out.

“Rum…ple…st…stiltskin?”

“What?”

Belle and Gideon shot around to see a man standing in the doorway. Belle quickly jumped in front of her son and Gideon gripped her shoulders.

“Who…who are you? Why are you in my house?”

“You’re house? You poor confused dear.”

The man stepped into the room, the dim lights bouncing off the strange substance on his skin. Belle stared at his strange leather clothing and scaly skin, the feel of Gideon against her back the only thing keeping her calm.

“What are you?” Gideon asked.

The corner of the man’s smirking mouth twitched.

“My my what a rude question.” The man said with a disapproving click of his tongue. “I’m not a what.”

“You sure?” Gideon muttered.

“I don’t care what you are.” Belle growled. “Get out of my house before I call the police.”

The man giggled. “Quite the waste of a call dearie.” He took a step forward and Belle pushed Gideon onto the bed, turning quickly to grab the knife from the floor and point it at the intruder.

“Stay back!”

The man stopped, his amused smirk fading quickly.

“I’ll take that!” He exclaimed, snatching the blade from her hand. “You shouldn’t play with knives dearie! You’ll get cut!”

Belle stepped firmly between her and her son, leaving just enough of a gap for him to run if things got violent.

“I don’t know who you are or how long you’ve been squatting here,” Belle spoke, “but this is our home now. You need to leave. I’ll…help you get where you need to go—”

“Seriously mom? Now is not the time to be charitable!” Gideon hissed behind her.

“But that’s it.” Belle finished.

The man smirked bitterly, leaning against the ancient dresser, rubbing the knife between his hands.

“Trust me dearie, I’d like nothing more than to leave this place. Unfortunately for us both, that’s not possible.”

“And just why not?”

He glanced briefly at the dagger straightened his stance, scoffing when Belle jumped.

“I supposed introductions are in order.” He bowed with a flourish, confusing mother and son both.

“I’m Rumplestiltskin.” He sang, the name rolling off his tongue unnaturally. He lifted his head and smirked at the duo. “Consider me your residential haunter…until you leave, that is.”

“Our what?” Belle exclaimed.

“I’m bound to this house, have been for some time.” He stated with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s mine.”

“As in bound by a contract or something?” Gideon asked.

“Or something.” Rumplestiltskin scoffed.

Belle recognized a deep-seated bitterness in his voice and almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

He was still an intruder in her home after all.

“I don’t believe this.” Belle scoffed.

“Oh believe it dearie.” Rumplestiltskin growled. “Believe it and be scared!”

“Threatening me won’t do you any good.” Belle fought.

“And denying what is happening before you won’t help you escape the inevitable, dearie!” Rumplestiltskin fought back.

“Inevitable what?” Belle shouted. “What is going on?”

Rumplestiltskin exuberantly rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time to go over every detail with you dearie!”

“Yeah you do.” Gideon said. “You just said you were a ghost.”

Rumplestiltskin glared at Gideon. “I’m real enough to teach you some manners boy!”

“No!” Belle shouted, rushing towards to tackle him. She underestimated the distance between them and tripped over the carpet. She braced for the impact of the hard floor but was shocked when she fell into a pair of cold arms, her face landing into an equally cold chest. She gasped at the feel, feeling like she was drowning in ice water. She looked up and found a surprising warmth in his wide, reptilian gold eyes, but the cold from his form was more overpowering and his hands were slowly trying to phase through her arms.

“Mom!” Gideon cried, carefully grabbed Belle at the elbows and pulling her from Rumplestiltskin’s grip.

Rumplestiltskin’s shocked looked faded quickly and he howled with laughter, smirking gleefully at her son’s glare.

“You are bold dearie, I’ll give you that. But be careful where you hurl yourself in this house. You might get hurt.”

“Mom, let’s just go before he really hurts us.” Gideon hissed in her ear.

A high-pitched maniacal sound left Rumplestiltskin’s throat. “I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to, boy. The dead can’t harm the living! What a stupid thought.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Will you just leave us alone?”

He pondered for a moment and then shrugged. “No.”

“No?”

“As I’ve said, it’s my house and I hate uninvited guests. I can’t harm you, but I won’t let you make yourselves comfortable here.”

“You think you can scare us off?” Belle scoffed.

“I know I can, and I’m going to enjoy doing it.”

With that said, her strutted past her and Belle shuttered at the coolness that followed. The moment he was past the doorway the lights went off and Belle in her son were drowned in candlelight once more.

“Son of a bitch!” Gideon gasped, falling back on his mother’s bed.

“Language.” Belle said instinctively, but her mind was focused more on the creature that had just shaken her to the core. This was unbelievable! Did Mrs. Nolan know about him? Did she really sell her a “haunted” house?

She had half a mind to march down to her office and rip her a new one, but that would hardly do her any good tonight. Tomorrow morning maybe. Tonight, she needed to unpack and figure out a game plan. There was no way that thing was going to kick her out of her new home!

Still, there was Gideon’s safety to consider.

“What do you think?” Belle asked uncertainly.

“I think it’s going to take a lot more than a coat of paint and a few curtains to fix this.”

Belle scoffed, patting her son on the back. “I mean do you want to stay somewhere else tonight? I think there’s a B&B across town.”

Gideon gave his mother a sly smirk. “You’re not afraid, are you mum?”

“I’m more annoyed than anything.” Belle admitted, flopping down on the bed. “I wanted us to have a fresh start Gideon, a new beginning. And of course, I choose a haunted house to do it in.”

A light giggle echoed through the room and Gideon scooted closer to his mum…to protect her of course.

“This is going to be a nightmare.”

Belle sat up, looking around the room that was supposed to serve as her bedroom. She had planned to move a bookshelf in here. To bring out her mother’s teal and coral quilt for the bed. She had so many plans for this place, plans to make it her and Gideon’s. Could she still do it? It was a hard decision to make when her sole priority was to keep her son safe, even if it was from a creature that couldn’t hurt him.

Gideon noticed his mother’s pensive expression and mused on what to do. As much as he’d like to hightail it to the next town and never look back, he just couldn’t let his mom go through with that. His Grandma used to tell her to do the brave thing, it was time to do the same.

“Maybe we…sleep on it?”

Belle turned to her son, her brave boy who inherited the best parts of her.

“We’ll sleep downstairs tonight.” She said, taking her boy’s hand and heading downstairs.

Just above them, Rumplestiltskin the residential haunter watched from the staircase as his new house guests prepared their selves for bed. They were a funny duo, and far braver than the other people who had run screaming into the night the second they found out their house was possessed.

He was a bit bitter that he hadn’t won on the first round, but was nowhere near ready to forfeit the challenge.

The French’s would leave, it would just take the right persuasion.

[theabominableblogger]

Rewatching “Transformers”

Yep, the Michael Bay one.  Because I felt like it and it’s the only Transformer movie I enjoy as a guilty pleasure.  Dab.

I like how they put the transformer noise over the shooting stars for the Paramount logo.

BEFORE TIME BEGAN, THERE WAS THE CUBE.

I will give this movie a little bit of credit:  the music over Optimus’ explanation of the AllSpark is not bad.

Actually the music in this entire movie isn’t that bad.

Man, Peter Cullen isn’t getting paid enough in these movies.

Yeah, Tyrese (Gibson), earn that paycheck!

Oh my God, the color filter in this movie.

Traits of a Michael Bay movie:  America, America, helicopters, fighter jets, blue, orange, green, yellow, aqua, the army, sparks, street lamps, America, esplosions, some shady shit in the government, lens flares, product placement, really really quick pan shots, a shady government agent covering up some secret government conspiracy, technicolor smoke, slow-mo shots of something being thrown up in the air behind someone, slow-mo shots of something AMERICA, and a whole bunch of metal

Waaiiiitttt... how come the wife of the Josh Duhamel character looks like Mary Winchester from “Supernatural?”

Compared to the other movies in this series that I’ve seen (Revenge of the Fallen and Age of Extinction), this one actually feels a little more... slow... like they take more time to explain things instead of just throwing explosion porn at you.  I mean, they still do in this movie and I consider this one to be the un-laziest in this series.

Man, I remember when this movie first came out

WAAiiitttt.... why do I recognize the history teacher?  Isn’t he Dr. Taub on House?

“The ice is freezing faster than it’s melting!”  What?

NO SACRIFICE, NOOO VICTORYYY!!

This history is full of the most immature teenagers I’ve ever seen.

ELEVENTH GRADE?!?  THESE ARE THE OLDEST ELEVENTH GRADERS I’VE EVER SEEN

“What would Jesus do?”  I can still quote like 50% of this movie.  That’s sad.

How do they not notice the 1977 Camaro driving into the lot by itself?

RIP Bernie Mac

So much yellow in this scene alone.

Why does a used car lot have a petting zoo?

Another question I have is why Bumblebee decided to have the Autobot symbol on the horn.  Usually Autobots have their Autobot symbols on their chestplate so if you think about that, that’s just weird.

Jon Voight!

RACHAEL TAYLOR!  TRISH WALKER!  I forgot she was in this movie!

Trish, get back to your radio show!

Sam, why is your username LadiesMan217?  If you’re trying to sell stuff on eBay, which probably no one uses anymore (so that dates this movie by a long shot), have a username that doesn’t scream “Hey, I’m a egotistical dick.”

God, I hate the parents in this movie.

My dad used to have a lot of audio files from this movie and one of them was “Wow.  You are so cheap.”

“Why don’t you use those magic voodoo powers and get us the hell out of here?”  Man, I forgot about that line.

I forgot how cringy awkward Sam is in this.  Jesus Christ.

Why is Megan Fox wearing a scarf when it’s shown to be like ninety degrees out?

“OK.  You’ll call me.”  We quote that all the time in my house it’s not even funny.

The little bee air freshener says “Bee-otch”

Megan Fox uses her teeth a lot when she talks.

Oh my God Sam stop talking.

Wow, Michael Bay absolutely could not keep it in his pants when it came to Megan Fox in this movie. 

There’s only three female characters in this movie and Michael Bay gets freaky deaky filming-wise over Megan Fox

“You think I’m shallow?”  Yes.  You’re not sneaking that past me, movie.

*dramatic drum*  THE PENTAGON!

OK, I agree with the Air Force One attendant, Ding Dongs are disgusting.

Couldn’t you use one pan-up to Frenzy after the Ding Dong stops rolling instead of having three cuts to even show it?

AN:  I’m only 30 mins in and this movie is almost 2 and a half hours long

Oh my gosh, the filter again.  They made Trish’s eyes REALLY BLUEEE

*imitates Frenzy as he slams his head on the screen in frustration*

Why is Sam’s profile picture look like his mugshot?

If the dad is the head of the neighborhood watch, his tired ass should be fired by the town council.

Wow, another thing that dates this movie:  a flip phone.

Obligatory mean dogs chained to a wall of some sort.

But seriously though, who leaves their dogs in an empty land fill during the night?

How does Sam not notice that no one is driving his car? 

Wait, at first, they (the Department of Defense) didn’t know what the hacking was caused by and now they think it’s a SpiderBot virus?

Isn’t “living organism” an oxymoron?

That’s a great question to ask a cop:  “Are you on drugs?”

Why is the little Arab boy that travels with the Josh Duhamel character one of the best actors in this movie?

I don’t mean to be racist, but the bit where the Josh Duhamel character calls the India outsource center always cracks me up.  I don’t know why it does.

Oh, the Josh Duhamel character’s name is Lennox.  OK.

“Spooky 3-2, use 1-0-5 shells.  Bring the rain.”  The best line in this movie.  Hands down.

Me and my sister pretty much quote this entire scene where Maggie goes to consult Glenn about the signal, including the “SHUT UP GRANDMAAAA!” and “GET OFF MY GRANDMAMA’S CARPET!”

“We’re not told where they’re going.”  Of course because the Hover-round takes them where they wanna go.

That’s the same hologram dude who was the helicopter Decepticon in the beginning and now he’s in the police car.

Dude, the random rock music?  What?

Barricade just said “AIYAIYAIAYAIYAIIII!” as a battle cry.  I can’t take that seriously.

Obligatory trailer music at a heroic moment.

“What?!?”  BA DA DAAA!!

“This is a hundred more times cooler than Armaggedon!  I swear to God!”  Don’t think you can get by with that self-deprication, Michael Bay.  We know.

“‘Cuse me, are you the tooth fairy?”  I’m sorry, but that bit’s really cute in my opinion.

Man, by the time the other Autobots transform, Optimus just finishes transforming.  And he took like a full minute to transform compared to the ten second panning shot of the others transforming.

I know it probably isn’t him, but it sounds like Steve Blum performing as Ironhide.

“His vocal processor was damaged” Ratchet says as he points a freaking laser at Bumblebee’s “throat”

NO NOT THE DOG!

Dude, it isn’t about measuring whether or not you’re guilty.  I’d eat a whole plate of donuts.

“DON’T TALK TO ME!  DON’T TALK TO ME, CRIMINAL!”

Yep, sure, this asteroid sized projectile falling out of the sky is an airplane.  And this guy is the head of the neighborhood watch?

“BAD MOJO...”

Sam:  Be subtle

Autobots:  OK (proceeds to trash yard and park themselves in the middle of it)

Optimus rubbing his faceplate in frustration is totally me

*DRAGS FACE ACROSS DESK IN FRUSTRATION AT THE BAD AND POORLY TIMED SEX JOKE* 

“The parents are very irritating.  Shall I dispose of them?”  YES.

Hello John Turturro.

Wait, this whole movie takes place within a week?

BUMBLEBEE, STOP LUBRICATING THE MAN!

GET THIS THING TO STOP, HUH?

*Sam and Mikaela fall off of Optimus*  Sorry, but you two would have shattered your ribcages after that.

“I bought a car.  Turned out to be an alien robot.  Who knew?”  They should have made a TV spot centered around that quote.

“NBE?”  “Non-Biological Extraterrestrial.  Keep up with the acronyms here.”  And that is how I remembered what an acronym is.

To be honest, I don’t like Charlie Adler Starscream that much.  Get me Steve Blum or Tom Kenny then I’ll be good.

What kind of Nokia phone is that?

I actually like the effect of the AllSpark collapsing in on itself to make a smaller version of itself

Man, I’m not even a fan of Hugo Weaving as Megatron.

I like that shot of Megatron before he goes “You fail me yet again, Starscream” where he just clicks his fingers together.

*The team still at Hoover Dam barricade the door*  They got a cave troll!

The truck Decepticon takes down Optimus via flying tackle hug

BUDDY!!!!!

Now see, why does Optimus have a sword?

No, not the Orpheum!

Now why is Jazz sitting there still in car mode just watching Bumblebee get his legs cut off?

YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?!?  YOU WANT A PIECE?!?

NO!  I WANT TWO PIECES!

“Megatron.”  “PRIIMMEEE!!!”

They keep reusing sound effects from the beginning in this battle

Oh no, not... Mountain Dew cans... *shrugs*

Did Megatron just yell “SURPRISE!” when he burst into that abandoned building?

He must be great at birthday parties

*Barricade gets shot in the Spark and dies*  Oooh, right in the arc reactor!

AN:  God, there’s only twenty minutes left.  I can do this.

Starscream does virtually nothing in these series.

“Oh, so unwise.”  MR. ANDERSON...

That one human Megatron flicked away is totally dead.

IT’S JUST YOU AND ME, MEGATRON.

NO, IT’S JUST ME, PRIME!!

“Armor’s just weak under the chest.”  So let’s aim the aiming laser at the Decepticon’s hand.  That sounds good.

That bit of Lennox driving the motorcycle and sliding under the Decepticon to kill it is actually pretty awesome

*Megatron dies with choking noises*  And so, Stanley Yelnats killed Elrond with the AllSpark

Now how are Optimus and Megatron brothers?  Unless there’s some cut backstory where they were like best friends until Megatron was like “You know what?  Being a Decepticon sounds cool.  Imma go do that.”  and Optimus was like “YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE!”

I’ve heard rumors that there’s like 40 minutes of backstory that they cut from “The Last Knight”

Linkin Park!

*proceeds to sing all of “What I’ve Done”*

[alderferamarey1997]

I Texted My Ex Back During No Contact Easy And Cheap Tricks

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What To Do When Your Ex Wants You Back

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How To Get A Ex Girlfriend Back Fast