#the fact people are trying to now gain moral high ground after admitting they constantly asked for leaked info from an insider…

[indeliblescarspivotalmarks]

reminder that Taylor’s safety ALWAYS comes first.

no matter what if you’re given/leaked her location from anyone, or somebody is posting overly personal things about her or her family, block and report them!!! if it’s somebody who appears to be leaking from it inside her team / close circle, REPORT THIS TO HER TEAM!

no amount of insider info / free merch / whatever they are offering is worth compromising someone who you are supposed to love’s safety and privacy. treat her with some respect.

just my input from the twitter situation thats happening right now with a bunch of swifties over there…its ugly honestly

[simwoman2002]

Silent Revelations

Summary: “I wasn’t able to save her this time, and now I will bear that guilt and sorrow for the rest of my life. A jolt of minor shock runs through me when I feel a tear run down my cheek. I cried when she was killed, but I believed that I had shed all of the tears I had then. I was quite obviously wrong.” Kassandra and Phoibe family feels and angst. Also, SPOILERS!!!

  I ride through the hills, Phobos carrying me with light feet as we make our way up the road toward a landmark that I have spotted upon the top of the mountain. At a distance, it appears to be a temple of Zeus.

  I feel that this is the best place for me to go for the purpose I intend to fulfill. I do not intend to worship for I am long past the point of any kind of spiritual atonement. It is not a self-pitying statement, but rather an establishment of pure truth.

  I see a shadow passing alongside me, cold and unforgiving in its dark movement. I cannot discern its exact shape, but I know that it is nothing alive that is following me.

  It is something deeper and more troubling. Almost like a ghost of the past coming to haunt me in some way or another. I welcome it with grimness and stoicism. I know I cannot alter its path and determination to seek me out, because it is rather a shadow of my mind. It has come to bother me and me alone.

  The top of the mountain is growing ever nearer. I am in no great rush, but I maintain a steady pace simply because I am so unaccustomed to any sort of peacefulness. It is misthios instinct to keep moving forward.

  The sky is starry tonight, but the moon is nonexistent. However, I can make out the vague shape of it in the sky above me. It is fitting. A life has waned recently, and it disappeared much too soon from the earth.

  Phobos slows to a walk in the wake of the temple, and I pull on the reins gently, bringing him to a stop. I dismount carefully and stroke his neck thoughtfully, my mind not truly focusing upon my actions. He nudges me gently with his velvety nose, snorting quietly. He seems to almost sense my feelings.

  It makes sense that I get along with animals better than people. They are so much more trustworthy and loyal than the human race. And they are not so easily disappointed or angered.

  With one final pat, I turn to face the temple and I begin to climb up the side, hauling myself up the architecture. My movements feel a bit more sluggish and laborious tonight. Perhaps it’s because of my solemn mood.

  I pull myself upon the roof, habitually steadying myself. But it isn’t that steep of an incline. There is a small elevated bit of the building that appears to be accessed from the inside of the temple. It appears to be some sort of topside place of worship. It must be for the rich and powerful of the area, because it is only big enough for about three people to comfortably fit and it has various expensive offerings.

  It is odd, considering the fact that everyone is supposedly equal in the sight of the priests. Since it is not able to be seen from the front of the temple and is barely visible around the sides, its presence is likely not known by the poorer members of the community.

  It will do for my purpose. I will only be here for one night. Perhaps not even that long.

  The platform is not very high up, but nevertheless, it is tall enough that I cannot simply step upon it. So, I leap and grab the edge, hoisting upward so that I land upon my feet with relative ease.

  Once I am up, I stop for a moment to enjoy the view. There are dots of fiery light upon the ground sprawling below the hillside, but the aspect of the view I am most particularly drawn to is the stars. They twinkle and glow and it almost seems as if I could grow lost in the vastness.

  I lower myself to the floor and feel the sweet feeling of relaxation upon finally relieving my feet of their sometimes-overwhelming duties.

  Silently I sit tonight, contemplating all that has happened in my journey. My father is not truly my father, my brother is still alive and is now the primary weapon of a group that is bent upon the destruction of Athens and Sparta, and I am only a ship’s ride away from seeing my mother for the first time since I was a child. And to think that not so long ago, I led such a simplistic life where all of my family was deceased or, at the very least in some instances, dead to me.

  It is true that I have once attempted the journey to my mother’s home from what is left of Athens. But I stopped at a nearby island with an excuse upon my tongue concerning additional drachmae after Xenia’s lofty fee.

  Perhaps what is closer to the truth is my desire to just quietly exist alone. In the midst of constantly having to defend myself from prostitutes, cult members, and Spartan as well as Athenian soldiers alike, I am exhausted, and I do not want any sort of interruptions.

  I do not desire companionship and I will likely never want a lover. But I am lonely all the same. What I most sincerely seek and desire is a family— a taste of the sweet nectar that was my life before. I have the opportunity to gain part of my old family back. All it takes is the courage to set foot upon the Adrestia and head out for Naxos.

  But there is still that one piece that remains that can never be placed back in the puzzle. A piece that is still freshly upon my mind and honestly is the reason I am here tonight.

  Sweet, poor Phoibe. This raw pain is foreign to me. It is so similar to when I believed I lost Alexios, but it is different as well.

  I have done so many things of moral questionability, but I must wonder why a child had to atone for my wrongdoings. Why did it have to be Phoibe of all people?

  We used to do so many things together. She always was like a gnat. A small, annoying gnat that one couldn’t help but pay attention to. But I loved her dearly. I was always fiercely protective of her. I trusted her to stay out of trouble well enough, but I guess I always thought that if she did get into trouble, I would be able to save her every time.

  I wasn’t able to save her this time, and now I will bear that guilt and sorrow for the rest of my life.

  A jolt of minor shock runs through me when I feel a tear run down my cheek. I have never cried. Never as an adult or a teenager. I cried when she was killed, but I believed that I had shed all of the tears I had then.

  I was quite obviously wrong.

   ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

      “Kassandra, Kassandra!” The woman in question looked up from her task of carving, raising an eyebrow carefully at the little one that was a whole five-years-old running toward her. The child came to a stop, breathing heavily, but smiling all the same.

  “Yes… Phoibe?” Kassandra hesitantly asked.

  “You won’t believe what I just found out today!”

  “There is very little you can tell me that I will be surprised about, but go on,” she gestured with her hand for the girl to continue, finding the child’s enthusiasm quite endearing despite the fact that she would never admit it aloud.

  “Okay, sit down, because this is going to be seriously crazy,” Phoibe warned with more seriousness than was to ever be expected for a girl of her age. Kassandra chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Phoibe was cute, and at the same time, a little concerning to her.

  “I am fairly certain that I’m already sitting down, child. Now tell me what you need to tell me.”

  “My caretaker is really a man.” Kassandra nearly choked upon that news. She had known Helen for a long time and had done a great deal of jobs for her. All that time, Kassandra had never gotten the inclination that Helen was anything but a woman. A careless, self-absorbed woman, but a female nevertheless.

  “And how did you come to that conclusion?” Kassandra questioned, genuinely curious as to what Helen had done to make the child think that she was a male.

  “She has no breasts and her voice is deeper than any woman’s I’ve ever heard.” Kassandra’s eyes widened a bit as she listened.

  “You are aware that she’s married to a man, yes?” Kassandra couldn’t help but interject.

  “What if it’s all a disguise to hide her true self?” Phoibe proposed, her little face scrunched in thought. Kassandra chuckled and shook her head, her fond exasperation evident in the sigh that quickly followed.

  “Phoibe, you need to think a little less about these things and focus on something else. Ela, have you stolen anything as of late, you thief?” Kassandra asked, trying to distract the young girl from her current embarrassing and slightly too nosy subject.

  Phoibe immediately lost her previous train of thought and her face lit up in a sly smile that was quite honestly terrifying when upon the countenance of a child as small as herself.

  “Yep!” Kassandra internally let out a breath of relief.

  “Tell me, then. What do you have?”

  And the girl proceeded to explain the various things she had managed to steal throughout the course of the week during the time that Kassandra had not seen her.

    ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

       “I wish I had an eagle,” Phoibe said for what Kassandra was completely certain was the five thousandth time in her short lifespan.

  “I am well aware,” Kassandra patiently replied, flashing her golden-brown eyes in Phoibe’s direction. However, Phoibe was much too joyful to pay any attention to Kassandra’s quiet and slight annoyance.

  “Oh, if I had one, we would do wonderful things! We would go everywhere together. I would feed him and give him a nice nest and pet him and---”

  “You are aware that birds are not like dogs, right?” Kassandra interrupted, quirking an eyebrow in questioning.

  “Well, of course! But you still have to take good care of one!” Phoibe replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world before continuing in her monologue about her hypothetical bird caretaking techniques.

  Choosing to tune out Phoibe’s chatter, Kassandra focused upon the task at hand. She sliced the fresh meat held in her hands, looking it over to ensure that there were no bones in it that could choke Ikaros. After it had passed her inspection, she looked to the skies, giving a sharp whistle. Phoibe stopped in her excited babbling as she froze, following Kassandra’s gaze.

  To Phoibe’s pure enthrallment, Ikaros flew in, landing on Kassandra’s arm.

  “Hello, old friend,” Kassandra greeted, gently stroking underneath his chin. Ikaros leaned into the touch but eyed the meat nearby on the table greedily. Kassandra allowed a small smile to grace her lips. She reached over to the meat, but just before she took it, she could not help but acknowledge the little girl standing near her that could not take her eyes off of the bird.

  Kassandra looked between the meat and Phoibe, considering something that she had not quite thought of before. She wondered if it would be a good idea, but if it brought the child joy, then there surely could not be any harm in it…

  “Do you want to feed him?” Kassandra hesitantly asked.

  “Can I?” Phoibe questioned, her eyes sparkling, and Kassandra felt the expression squeeze her heart a little. She huffed slightly, trying to rid herself of the odd feelings.

  “Sure. But the true question is may you?” Kassandra corrected, deciding that she would tease the girl slightly.

  “Kassandra,” Phoibe groaned impatiently but with the definitive sound of pure delight still in her voice, and the mercenary sighed deeply.

  “You may,” Kassandra finally conceded with a laugh in her voice and a slight twinkle in her eye that she knew would betray her lightheartedness. However, despite her average seriousness, she could not help her amusement in regard to the girl.

  Phoibe took the meat in her hands gently and Kassandra moved her arm slight so that the bird was a bit closer to the small girl. Kassandra took Phoibe’s hand gently and guided it toward his mouth.

  “Be careful when you reach out. Hold the meat in your hand and allow most of it to stick out from your fingers so he doesn’t confuse your fingers with fresh meat,” Kassandra explained before carefully letting go of Phoibe’s hand.

  Phoibe carefully proffered it to the bird, and Ikaros took it from her easily and without a hitch. As soon as he had Phoibe grinned excitedly, almost unable to remain still as she watched him. Kassandra smiled slightly, trying to keep from allowing too much of a grin to find its way onto her lips.

  “Woah!!! Did you see that?! Did you see it, Kassandra?!” Phoibe excitedly asked, and Kassandra chuckled lightly.

  “Yes. Well done,” Kassandra nodded in approval, and Phoibe’s chest puffed proudly with the praise. Kassandra gave the bird the remainder of his lunch, and Phoibe watched in awe as he flew away.

  “Wow… I wish I---”

  “I know, Phoibe, I know.”

    ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

       “Hey, Kassandra! Where are you?” Kassandra leaned over to peer down from her perch atop her house where she had been looking at the stars and carving.

  “Is there something you need?” She barely managed to withhold the smile that threatened to break across her face upon the sight of the eight-year-old girl staring up at her with such amazement in her eyes.

  “Wow! How did you get up there?”

  “I climbed?” Kassandra replied coolly, raising an eyebrow at the excitement on the child’s face.

  “Could you teach me?” Phoibe asked eagerly, bouncing in place with enthusiasm. Kassandra quickly descended the walls of her home, landing on the ground with a barely audible thud.

  She found it cute that the child was so enamored by the simple ascension of a structure. It truly wasn’t that extraordinary, but she guessed that Phoibe hadn’t ever really seen Kassandra climb her house before. Phoibe always came midday and never at night or early morning when Kassandra was most often on the roof.

  “I will help you climb, but may I first ask what you are doing here so late?” the mercenary questioned, stepping closer to Phoibe as she silently assessed her.

  Phoibe just shrugged and grinned wickedly as she looked up at the tall woman.

  “I will answer that after we’re on top of your house,” Phoibe told her as she went around Kassandra so that she could examine the wall. Kassandra groaned. Of course she would use a con. Kassandra supposed it was probably all part of the charm that came with her.

  Kassandra turned to face the wall as well, approaching it soundlessly. She resisted the urge to chuckle as the child started putting her feet on certain stones jutting out of the wall only to nearly fall on her behind after stepping up.

  “First of all, you need to get a firm hold on the wall with your hands,” Kassandra demonstrated carefully, gripping the rocks tightly with her calloused hands. She subtly noted Phoibe’s wince as her softer, more easily penetrated digits took hold of the wall.

  “Good,” Kassandra praised, one of her few and far between moments of expressing her satisfaction with what the girl did. “And now, pull up and right yourself with your feet,” Kassandra instructed, effortlessly doing it herself. Phoibe awkwardly followed her lead and Kasandra silently resolved to keep a close eye on the child as they climbed so that the little one wouldn’t fall.

  “From there, you simply continue to find places to grab with your hands and secure positions for your shoes,” Kassandra instructed, and Phoibe nodded carefully, furrowing her brow in pure concentration.

  They ascended slowly, and Kassandra resisted her initial urge to quickly scale the side of the house. It was such a familiar journey that her instinct dictated a certain amount of speed.

  Kassandra’s hand finally met the edge of the rock lining the top of the roof and she paused for a moment, hanging there as she watched the girl below her. She felt a sense of pride rise in her chest as the girl was successfully making her way up the wall.

  That was quickly replaced by intense fear as the girl faltered in her ascent. Her hands slipped from the rock, and she started to fall backwards.

  Kassandra reached down in a lunge, swiftly wrapping her hand around Phoibe’s much smaller wrist. Phoibe gasped as she looked at her rescuer. She then broke out into a huge grin that was somewhat sheepish.

  Kassandra rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the small quirk at the corners of her lips.

  “Ela, up you go,” Kassandra spoke, heaving upward mightily and allowing the girl to grab the edge of the rock. Phoibe held on tightly and she slowly tried to pull herself up.

  Kassandra easily climbed the rest of the way and then she offered her hand to the small girl. Phoibe gladly took it, and Kassandra picked her up high, placing her on the roof. Kassandra then sat down so that she could see the starry sky, picking up her recently left behind carving of an eagle.

  Phoibe then sat down next to Kassandra, looking up with a heavy sigh of something that was surely a mix of relief and exhaustion. Kassandra raised an eyebrow but remained silent as she waited for the girl to speak, knowing that something must be perturbing the girl for her to keep it from the mercenary in such a manner.

  “Kassandra, have you ever wondered about your parents? Well, your mother, I mean,” Phoibe suddenly questioned, and Kassandra knew that the girl had made the assumption that Markos was her father. The older girl simply blinked, somewhat taken aback by the inquiry but ultimately somewhat willing to address the issue in her usual blunt manner.

  It was true. Kassandra didn’t like to speak about her parents. However, she was not one to hold back the truth. Especially to Phoibe when it was matters that did not involve serious issues too old for young ears to overhear.

  “I… My mater is gone,” Kassandra answered. And her father might as well be gone. However, she did not voice that particularly resentful thought aloud. Truthfully, she didn’t know what had come of any of her family except for the poor baby boy that she had so terribly failed.

  “I… Well, I had a dream tonight,” Phoibe finally told Kassandra, and she looked at her carefully, her brow furrowed in one of those very occasional open expressions of concern for the little one. Kassandra knew it wouldn’t take long for the girl to break, but it was still odd that she had so soon.

  “It was about my parents,” Phoibe continued. “We were all happy together, and… Well, it was so wonderful. We all lived in Athens, and my pater was a great playwright, and my mater was a magnificent seamstress,” Phoibe described, a large smile on her face as she described it all. However, that happiness quickly dissipated as she lowered her gaze sadly. Kassandra slightly furrowed her brow, looking down at the girl and tilting her head just barely.

  “And that is when I woke up,” Phoibe finished sadly. Kassandra sighed lightly, looking up at the stars. The young woman quite honestly was not sure what to say in comforting. She never was too good with words. She was always a woman of action.

  “Kassandra?”

  “Hmm?” Kassandra made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a hum in reply.

  “I know that Markos raised you, but… what about your mother?” Phoibe questioned.

  “Do you ever… Do you ever dream of her?” Phoibe continued, and Kassandra paused, fighting her initial urge to keep her silence as all of the many nightmares surrounding that fateful night flooded her mind. However, she forcefully shook herself from those thoughts, knowing that to keep quiet for too long would raise suspicion. Besides, the child needed comfort.

  “Yes, I do,” Kassandra replied somewhat guardedly, but she knew she needed to find a better manner in which to make Phoibe feel less sad.

  “Would you tell me about one?” Phoibe questioned so innocently in a manner that was so opposite of her usual conniving self. It was in these rare moments that Kassandra truly saw her as the small child she was. Kassandra took a deep breath, trying to think of one of the more pleasant dreams that she had. Perhaps one with her mother. Unfortunately, none came to mind. So, therefore, she took a memory that she had of her mother, deciding that it would be the best option that she had.

  “Well,” Kassandra started slowly, recalling a particularly meaningful and happy one that she had. She could feel Phoibe’s gaze glued to the side of her face as she spoke.

  “We were out in the middle of a forest. A gorgeous forest alight with the rays of the midday sun,” Kassandra began, calling the memory more fully back to her.

  “Everything was lit up in a golden haze,” Kassandra described, moving her hand in a sweeping motion before her to demonstrate the entire effect.

  “I was out hunting, and I was creeping up behind a boar. I hesitated too long before making my kill,” the young woman spoke slowly, telling her story with the proper reverence that such a sweet memory deserved.

  “But before I could make my move, a broken spear came flying toward the boar, landing just close enough to it so that it ran away,” Kassandra explained carefully.

  “Who threw the spear? Or did your dream end?” Phoibe questioned with a large yawn, and Kassandra smiled slightly, recalling the memory.

  “No, it did not end. It was my mater,” Kassandra told her with some mirth in her voice.

  “And was the broken spear the one that you carry?” Phoibe curiously asked, her voice sleepy. Kassandra hesitated, deciding that it would be best to simply keep this from the young girl.

  “Probably similar to it,” Kassandra finally settled on explaining it in that manner. It was the best option that she had, and she most certainly did not want to directly lie to the child.

  “And when she came out from behind a nearby tree, showing herself to me, she said that hesitation only hastens—”

  “The grave?” Phoibe guessed, and Kassandra raised an eyebrow, looking at the little girl curiously.

  “Yes. How did you know that?” Kassandra asked with a bit of a smile curving the corners of her lips.

  “You have told me that many times. This dream must have really impacted your life,” Phoibe jokingly spoke, yawning widely again and sounding very tired indeed, and Kassandra shook her head.

  “Something like that. But she then complimented me on my form and resolve before commenting on my hesitation,” Kassandra recounted, and it was then that she realized that she would need to revise the end of this tale. If she were to uncover the fact that at that moment was when her mother gave her the spear of Leonidas, it would give away the fact that Kassandra was indeed not retelling a dream but rather a memory.

  “And then we decided to hunt together, chasing after the boar with both of our broken spears. And then I woke up,” Kassandra finished her story, feeling a little strange since she had to conjure a random story in her mind. She was, after all, not a poet.

  “Sounds like a wonderful dream,” Phoibe pointed out, and Kassandra nodded solemnly.

  “I wish I could have seen your mater,” Phoibe admitted, letting her head fall against Kassandra’s shoulder. Kassandra stiffened slightly, immediately looking down at the girl. Phoibe was quite obviously very tired and had decided that Kassandra was a great resting place.

  Kassandra was completely at a loss as to how to handle the sudden contact. Kassandra had become accustomed to the fact that any physical contact was either in the form of unwanted advances or in the form of some sort of violence.

  But this… This was actually nice. Kassandra was not too sure how to react, but the weight of Phoibe’s head against the muscle of her shoulder was actually quite comforting, and she found it to be rather endearing.

  Kassandra swallowed lightly, afraid to move in case the girl would awaken, and she just settled for looking at the stars above them. She loosened herself and allowed herself to simply enjoy the warm touch.

  And when she finally laid down with Phoibe resting against her, it was the first night in quite a long time that she had actually had a restful sleep.

     ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

      I sniff hard, trying to hold back the stream of tears and the mess resulting. I cannot allow myself to grieve outwardly over this any longer.

  The time for tears has passed. She is gone. The poor girl is gone, and there is a blackened hole within my heart that has been left behind in her wake. It is another broken shard of me that I shall never be able to regain.

  I swallow, closing my eyes before looking to the sky.

  “Aniazo. I shall forever, sweet child.”

  And with that small admission, I climb down from the temple and depart.

[captainchrisfics]

The Book

About: A first person pov narrator released a book about S.H.I.E.L.D. and let’s just say she didn’t give it a stellar review after Natasha released all of the records. It struck a chord with Steve so he tries to confront the author, but ultimately she ends up comforting him instead.

Word Count: 2,901

“One of the best contemporary attempts at grappling with the unfortunate truth that even our heroes are human. This book is a triumph for unraveling and understanding the honest history of America.” -The New York Times

I leaned back in my office chair for support, absolutely astonished that my work had received such a positive review. My book about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s, for lack of a better word, shit-stained history was just recently released into the world. It was my first and I’d been working on it forever, although when Black Widow released all of their classified files it made my job a hell of a lot easier. Still, it felt like baring my soul to the whole world and allowing them to judge me, giving everyone with an opinion the opportunity to pick me apart. Much to my relief, most of the feedback was praise.

Publishing this book was more nerve-wracking and all-consuming than I could ever even start to explain- it’s taken years, but thankfully the countless late nights I spent typing away at my laptop paid off. After receiving my post as a history professor at NYU, I felt like I’ve been playing catch up constantly. It’s not that I’m under-qualified. Just that most of my colleagues were much older and more established than myself, which has been entirely daunting. But the success of my book has given me the leg up I needed to stop second-guessing if I belong at this desk.

I was pulled from my thoughts by an angry voice calling my name from down the hall and asking where my office was. I sat straighter, craning my neck to try to get a better look as I listened. “Where is she?” whoever it was repeated again, this time with more urgency and anger. Through the crack of my office door which hung ajar, I saw the silhouette of a man with a frame that made me feel dwarfed just looking at him.

The secretary surrendered once he slammed a hand on her desk, probably scaring the hell out of her. He took a step back from her and apologized profusely for his outburst in a guilt-ridden tone. Then, he stepped toward my door, slowly at first then all at once. I braced myself, trying to swallow every ounce of anxiety trying to burst from my stomach. He knocked on my door, pushing it open with an arm swollen with intimidating muscles, without waiting for my welcome.

He took a seat opposite me at the other side of my desk so quickly I didn’t have time to protest. I noticed he carried a copy of my book, one that was already so worn and filled with post-its popping out from all of its edges, even though it had to be a recent purchase. I thought, maybe he was a curious student at best? A crazed fan at worst? As I tried to rationalize what gave this man any right to storm into my office, all of my questions were answered when he took off his disguise (if you could even call it that, I don’t know how I didn’t recognize him sooner).

Without the raised hood and tinted sunglasses, it was apparent that the person sitting about two feet away from me was none other than Captain America himself. I cleared my throat, trying to sit straighter if it was even possible. Stunned, I closed my mouth and opened it again a few times before stuttering, “Steve Rogers, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I reached across my desk as I extended my hand to him. I watched as it hovered in the air, shaking with my nerves while he stared for too long before finally meeting me in the middle for a handshake. “I wish it was under better circumstances ma’am,” he said in a tone that toed the line between measured and seething.

My eyebrows stitched together in confusion as I gulped down my nerves again. I certainly didn’t want to be on this super hero’s shit list. “I imagine it has something to do with my book,” I said, eyeing the copy in his hand.

“It is a gross assassination of an organization that has done more to protect you and millions of other Americans than you will ever know,” Steve asserted, cracking the spine as he opened the book too harshly. He read a number of my lines to me, followed by the well-worded critiques I assumed he’d scribbled on his notes.

“And this thing you wrote here about when my team and I rescued Bucky from Hydra- that isn’t even how it happened!” Steve went on, tossing a hand up in the air as if it gave his point any more power. He told me the story in a way I’d never heard it in any other account, but it wasn’t fair.

“Can I stop you there?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest with a little huff. Steve paused as he turned the page, the breath he’d sucked in to fuel his next rant sitting idle in his puffed chest. I pushed up my glasses, trying to appear more authoritative in the face of the super soldier. “I’ve dedicated the past few years of my life to following others’ research and doing my own extensively. I understand that you know the truth since you were there, but the rest of us weren’t so you can’t hold historians to your standard as a breathing primary source when we’ve been picking through false narratives and speculation since you crash landed in Antarctica.” I raised my eyebrows at him, inviting him to challenge me.

“With all due respect,” Steve said, though his tone would suggest otherwise. He was all but seething, the muscle tightening with the clench of his jaw gave him away despite his attempt to appear unbothered. “I’ve dedicated the past few years to ensuring you have that freedom and before that it was Peggy. We’re a part of that history and if you’re going to tell our stories then you should be telling the truth. I’m not saying you should know everything, but if you aren’t at least trying then why are you writing this book at all?”

I let Steve’s question hang in the air, familiar with the sharp look on his face. I’ve been teaching long enough to know when someone would always insist they were right. Especially in a field like history, where so much is left to interpretation, there’s so many disagreements and so many people who refuse to accept that they might be wrong. The sureness in his hard, blue eyes and tightness of his jaw told me he wouldn’t accept anything short of being right about this.

In an attempt to remain open to criticism. I sighed, leaning back in my chair as I waved a hand to signify he had the floor. “Go on,” I muttered. I had to give it to Steve, he made some great points. From his perspective, I could see how I hadn’t countered my bias as much as I could have and I was open to considering that I may not have every fact straight.

Some points however, like how he said I criticized Peggy Carter for failing to ensure there weren’t any double agents when that was often impossible especially in an organization as large as S.H.I.E.L.D., were unfounded. Steve went on and on as he vented more than anything, tearing each post it out after he said his piece and tossed them into my recycling bin. The pile was so high I worried they would start an avalanche. He reached a point where he was projecting his frustrations onto my work and misinterpreting what I meant, which was coincidentally when his voice started to raise and the veins on his forehead became more pronounced. Once Steve stopped to take a breath, I seized my opportunity to interject.

“Mr. Rogers, firstly allow me to thank you for your service. I should have earlier, but I was pretty caught off guard by all of this,” I laughed nervously, gesturing between the two of us. He nodded and muttered a quiet thank you, leaning back in the chair he barely fit in between the arms of. “Now,” I continued, not pegging Steve Rogers as the interrupting type. “You of all people should know the destruction S.H.I.E.L.D. caused, all of the damage they were capable of doing. I mean, for decades there were Nazis embedded in the structure of an organization meant to protect us and we were none the wiser,” I said, trying to refrain from using my lecture voice on a guy who could be my grandpa.

Steve cracked a smile, though I didn't get the joke. He was probably thinking about how I didn’t know the half of it- which was partly true. Nothing I could read could compare to his life experience. I had to stop my internal nerd from entirely reveling in the fact that such an important piece of living history was just an arm’s reach away from me. I had to stay on task, especially since I was defending myself and my work.

“I’m a historian first and an American citizen second, in my opinion. I want to pursue the truth, understand it and help others make sense of it, even if it paints my country in a poor light and especially when it is difficult to do so,” I said, gaining confidence with each moment he continued to listen to me. Steve nodded, seeming to find common ground with me on this sentiment at least. After all, he has the reputation of prioritizing his moral compass over the law and order even as a soldier.

“I apologize for any hurt or frustration my book has caused you and I assure you that some of your criticisms were just misunderstandings, maybe due to my presentation.” I bit my lip, always one to have trouble with actually admitting when I was wrong. Even so, Steve had a right to how my book made him feel and I felt an obligation to apologize for it.

I could see the hurt rise in his perfectly blue eyes again once I brought it up. Steve shrunk even more into the chair, looking like a dud firecracker that’d finally fizzled out. “It’s just that-” Steve’s voice caught in his throat, seemingly unsure of how to find its way out. He swallowed and started again. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping any bounds, ma’am. Your book just struck a chord with me. Since Peggy’s death,” his voice cracked, stopping him for a second as he composed himself. “I just miss her so much and…” Steve didn’t finish his thought. As the tears started to escape his eyes, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

It was strange watching a superhero break down. Sure, we always see their victories on every news station and even hear about their shortcomings on occasion. But watching Captain America cry, his shoulders shaking and his lungs gasping as he wept, somehow made me feel weak. Seeing the symbol of America’s strength, someone so intrinsically connected to this country, grieving the loss of Peggy Carter was almost appropriate. It didn’t stop my heart from trying to leap out of my chest or the yearning I had to wrap this stranger up in a hug until he could breathe again. Before I could process what I was feeling, let alone make an attempt to comfort him, Steve sat up straight again. He had a stoic expression and seemed to be begging me to ignore what had just happened with his puffy eyes. I couldn’t.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I said softly, reaching across the desk to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. I tried not to notice how his muscle bulged, tightening uncomfortably at my touch. “I can understand how you could take my criticism of her creation as an attack on her character. Honestly, I love Peggy Carter so much,” I gushed, letting a little bit of that nerd loose.

“As a kid with a passion for U.S. history, you can imagine there aren’t many women to look up to. Fewer compare to her strength and courage. She’s such an inspiration to me and so many others, I never meant to speak badly of her.” I tried to maintain a steady tone as I held such intense eye contact with Steve, his eyes welling up with tears again.

Steve chuckled a little, though it was still so sad. “She was a badass huh?” he smiled as he remembered her fondly. Peggy had just died recently. It still must have been so raw for Steve, someone who knew her so well. I always thought their story was so interesting; the way they loved each other to each of their ends was the kind of fascinating story that made history so interesting to me.

That changed when Steve Rogers of all people stormed into my office. They weren’t just characters in my textbook. He was a real person whose strong jaw tightened when he was angry, who defended those he cared about, who cried until he couldn’t catch his breath. She was someone he loved so deeply, and so much more than that.

“Language,” I chastised jokingly. Steve grew tense and apologized, taken aback by my scolding. Watching him squirm only made me laugh harder. Once I reassured him I was only kidding, Steve seemed to think it was pretty funny.

“She definitely was,” I resigned as we grew serious again before launching into a story about how she fought fiercely on behalf of the first woman who was elected to Congress, defending her in the face of every press-concocted scandal. Steve’s eyes lit up as he laughed, saying that the Peggy he knew was no different. He told me about the time she punched some pig-headed soldier so hard he passed out after he’d called her Queen Victoria.

By the end of our meeting, which lasted nearly two hours even though it felt like minutes, we’d swapped so many stories it felt like I knew her. Steve caught his breath from laughing after I told him a particularly funny thing about a time she told off Howard Stark. He cleared his throat before saying, “Thank you for this.” I tried to brush it off and tell him not to worry about it, but Steve cut in. “Really, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like someone gets it.” He reached across my desk and held my hand as if I was anchoring him. It sent sparks up like watching that firecracker reignite with my touch.

I just smiled at him, not quite sure where to go from here. Steve stood and I followed suit. We just looked at each other for what seemed like too long of a moment. I smiled awkwardly, ready to excuse us from this uncomfortable situation with the justification that I had a class soon, which wasn’t a lie. Instead, Steve pulled me close to his chest from across my desk as he wrapped his arms around me. I was immediately enveloped in a comforting safety. Steve seemed to radiate protection, even more so when you’re pressed so tightly against his chest you could almost feel his heartbeat. “Thank you again,” he whispered in my ear, causing my skin to erupt with goosebumps.

I nodded, feeling so small and feeble in comparison. I felt like that wasn’t good enough though. I mean, I know there’s no instruction manual for handling a superhero who stormed into your office before bursting into tears. Still, it didn’t feel like this was the way we were supposed to end. Steve pulled away, smiling at me so sweetly with a tenderness in those beautiful baby blues I couldn’t ignore.

Before I could think twice, my lips moved almost in muscle memory despite being so out of my depth. “I have to go teach a class soon,” I said too quickly as the words tumbled out of my mouth. I had to ask before I could get in my own way. Steve sighed and nodded slightly, stepping to the side to make room for me to leave. I couldn’t say if it was true, but I thought he looked disappointed with his eyes to the ground and the corners of his mouth drooping ever so slightly. Throughout our conversation, I noticed Steve seemed to be too stoic to read half the time.

Instead of grabbing my briefcase and making my way to the education building a few blocks over, I kept talking. “Would you maybe want to get coffee later? We could keep doing… whatever this is,” I concluded, nervously rocking from my heels to my tiptoes subconsciously. Steve perked up immediately, lifting his head to look at me with this adorable twinkle in his eye. He hid it behind his sunglasses before pulling up his hoodie again, looking nothing like any random guy walking down the street now that I knew he was Captain America. The next thing I’d have to expose S.H.I.E.L.D. for would be their pathetic disguises. Steve’s smile was crooked as he said, “I’d really like that.”

[franeridart]

Hey! I wanted to ask something that has been on my mind for a while. When ever i see your arts for the bakusquad i think "oh i wish i had people like that in my life" then i start to think wait what about deku? I kinda have been wondering what do you think about baku owning up to all the things he has done to deku? He has done horrible deku over the years which are unforgiveable and have shown to have a deep affect on deku?

That was something i have been wonder for awhile! Not trying to start an argument or anything! I really adore your art and everthing you do i was just wondering about your input on the matter? I hope you a greay day! (you don’t have to answer this)

I don’t mind the question one bit, so don’t worry about that! But… well, all this answer is gonna be under the assumption that you read the manga, because honestly I can’t answer it in a believable way leaving out all the character development that went on in it? So if you don’t read the manga, I’m sorry this is gonna be a bit spoilery

Firstly, and I’m absolutely not trying to justify what Bakugou has done to Deku back in the past, I’m mostly just trying to explain the things as they are in canon, you said that what Bakugou has done to Deku has left lasting effects, but which are exactly these effects? Bakugou was a dick, sure, and he said and did things to Deku no thirteen years old should be said/have done to, but Deku actually appears to have gotten over his past with Bakugou way faster than Bakugou did. Deku cuts his ties with what Bakugou did to him when he picks Deku as his hero name, reclaims his past for himself, lets all his friends and their love for him overshadow what Bakugou did with an easiness that speaks of an incredible strength of character

Actually, Deku stops letting Bakugou get to him the moment he meets All Might and finds a way to become a hero - from that point on Deku’s story is nearly completely detached from Bakugou, aside from when Bakugou himself, being unable to just get over his complex, pushes his way back into Deku’s life. Every single time there’s a confrontation between the two Deku has the high ground gained from his lack of resentment towards Bakugou - he’s got nothing to prove to him, because he doesn’t care about what he did to him or his opinions about him, and you see that since the first fight they have (Bakugou loses specifically because all he can see is Deku, while Deku keeps his mind on the goal from start to end and ignores his one-on-one with Bakugou, in the end, to make his team win) then later in the Sports Fest (Bakugou spends it all wanting a one on one with Deku, Deku pretty much drops out of the games without even glancing at Bakugou once) then during the End of Terms Exam (Bakugou can’t bring himself to cooperate and is ready to fail, Deku actually yells at him for it, he’s not scared of him, there’s no emotional scar left there, he literally tells him that the reason why they can’t ever talk - he wants communication - is because Bakugou just keeps on yelling always) and so on

Deku keeps growing and growing and growing, the Stain Arc and his training with Gran Torino, the Camp, The License Exam, all the while taking from Bakugou to reach his own goals, letting go of his admiration for him to pick from other people, constantly learning and bettering himself, and all the while Bakugou is stuck in the past, unable to improve or take steps forward, because he’s too busy looking at Deku grow. This reaches its culmination in the fight they have after the License Exam, you read the argument they have and Bakugou’s side is all “why are you better why are you stronger why am I always behind you why did All Might choose you” while Deku’s side is all “are you kidding me you utter imbecile I spent the last sixteen years of my life admiring you and you’re still stuck on the idea that I’m looking down on you!” - about that, Deku does say it, that he admires Bakugou more than he admires All Might. That he knows Bakugou’s the worst, but he’s also got all the qualities Deku can admire in a hero

Like, what Bakugou did to Deku before UA is pretty hard to forgive, but… Deku did forgive him already. And to be completely honest the way I see it Inko, who’s someone Deku loves and trusts and builds his life around, did way more permanent, visible damage to Deku’s self-esteem telling him since he was four that there was no way he could ever become a hero than Bakugou ever did. At least Bakugou was scared enough of falling behind Deku to never dismiss the possibility of him actually making it, somehow (he used to say stuff like “if you get into UA I’ll kill you”, which, let’s be real, is incredibly horrible - what the actual shit, Bakugou - but still doesn’t dismiss the fact that there is a chance of him making it as much as “I’m so sorry Izuku” repeated over and over again does)

So yeah while I don’t think what Bakugou did in the past is something people should just forget, I feel like Deku’s moved on pretty early on in the manga and the one actually suffering from it for big part of the story is Bakugou himself (which I’m pretty sure is part of his atonement for what he did)

As far as owning up to what he did goes, I… well, I don’t think we’re ever getting an I’m sorry out of him, so if for you his owning up to it equates to him apologizing, at least for now I don’t think there’s any possibility of it happening. But the story has been forcing Bakugou to re-evaluate Deku since day one, and he’s actually admitted he was at fault before, has actually voiced the possibility of Deku having been in the right since the start (”If your aspirations were so much better than mines, does it mean I’ve been wrong my whole life?”) - he’s told Deku (in a roundabout way) that he accepts him as All Might’s successor, and has offered actual advice for him to improve his fighting. And Bakugou, while he doesn’t outright apologize, never pretends that what he did never happened, or tries to push the blame on people when he knows it’s his fault (for example Aizawa asking who threw the first punch and Bakugou without a second to spare answering “I did”, 100% ready to take all the blame, doesn’t even try to justify himself) and all of this might not be enough for you, but it obviously is for Deku.

Like, you might think that Bakugou’s getting out of it too easily (I personally don’t see it, considering how much he’s been suffering, how nothing has gone his way ever, but some people might) but when you keep in mind Deku’s actual canon reactions to what Bakugou does, when you think about him perking up when he thinks Bakugou’s complimented him, when you think about him actually smiling when Bakugou does compliment him, getting 100% hype when Bakugou offers advice, it’s pretty obvious he’s completely over what Bakugou used to do to him and he’s ready to have a civil, friendly relationship with him

And, ah, there’s that too. It’s true that Bakugou used to be horrible to Deku, but the key word here is used to - he hasn’t acted that way once ever since he entered UA, he’s changing and growing, bettering himself. The fact itself that the squad would gather around him, offer their friendships and love him, support him, laugh with him, when they’re all such sweet and loving and good kids, is proof enough that he isn’t as bad as he used to be. The fact that Bakugou used to be a bully doesn’t change that he’s becoming better, that he’s trying to be better, and I don’t think the actions of a thirteen years old with an inferiority complex surrounded by adults that used to let him get away with being a complete asshole as if it were normal should decide whether, once that kid grows up and learns and changes, he should be allowed to have friends and be happy or not

And all in all I don’t think Deku cares. Like, why would he. As I said, I do have the very distinct feeling he’s grown out of Bakugou’s actions pretty fast, but even if some things had remained with him, does Deku really seem to you like the type of person to hold a grudge against Bakugou big enough that he would wish for him to stay alone forever, even though he’s actually growing up? Deku definitely doesn’t seem to mind Kirishima, even though it’s canon he knows that Bakugou and Kirishima are best friends, that he’s known about it since before even Bakugou and Kirishima themselves realized. I mean, this is the kid that’s nearly died thrice to save Bakugou’s life, why would he be against Bakugou having friends

Anyway tl;dr I guess the original question could have been boiled down to “considering what Bakugou used to do to Deku, is it fair for him to be happy now?” and my answer is yeah! Because he’s atoning for it! Because he hasn’t kept the behaviour up! Because Deku doesn’t actually seem to suffer any permanent damage from their shared past, but seems to actually like Bakugou himself! Because as long as Bakugou isn’t actively being a shit right now, as long as he’s changing his way of interacting with Deku so that it might actually be considered positive, as long as he keeps on walking the path to become a great hero with right morals and will to do good, his efforts to become a better person shouldn’t be overshadowed by what he did in the past when he still hadn’t had any chance to grow!

Bakugou’s plot is a beautiful one. A heartwrenching, complex, right one. A starts from the lowest of lows to reach the highest of highs one. And his being allowed to be happy with people that actually turn him into a better person is integral part of it, imho

[storytime-reviews]

Sherlock Review-The Final Problem

If you’ve read my reviews for the other two episodes this season, then you will know that I have been largely critical with what I have seen from Sherlock in series 4. However, I feel vastly different about those two episodes compared to this one. Everything that was wrong with those episodes was put right in this episode. Of course, that does not mean that this episode was without flaws, the most obvious one being it’s severe lack of female characters (barring Eurus), but at the end of the day it was an infinitely more enjoyable episode to watch, rather than the unconnected mess of the first two episodes. I genuinely, completely disliked the first episode of this season, it was horrendously dull, and as for the second episode, whilst I enjoyed aspects of it, there was still plenty I disliked and found boring. Yet somehow, this final episode of the season managed to be as engrossing as all of the previous seasons, and for that I am thankful. I was not constantly checking the time hoping for the episode to be over, in fact, I enjoyed it immensely. All I wish is that the two previous episodes had been just as good!

Speak of the Devil

I must admit that I wished that Moriarty had been a bigger part of this season, as had been suggested by the end scenes of both His Last Vow and The Abominable Bride. The idea of Moriarty’s crime network setting up such a thing after Moriarty’s death was intriguing and I hoped to see much more of it. But apart from Sherlock obsessing over Moriarty’s end game a few times, the first two episodes lacked him at all, and whilst this episode finally answered our questions, I must admit that it did not play out the way I had hoped. Rather, the five minute meeting between Moriarty and Eurus had enabled both of them to terrorise Sherlock in different ways. Eurus’ knowledge of Sherlock, particularly the Redbeard incident, undoubtedly enabled Moriarty to proceed further with the game between he and Sherlock, whilst Moriarty clearly helped Eurus with her long-term plans to play with Sherlock herself. It was Eurus in fact who released the footage of Moriarty after his death, just as she had asked him to create clips for her to use once she puts her plan into effect. Just as Eurus provides childhood knowledge of Sherlock for Moriarty’s benefit, Moriarty provides knowledge of Sherlock in the present, now they both have more context in which to use against Sherlock. With Moriarty’s death, Eurus plays puppet master in order to bring Sherlock, Mycroft and John to Sherrinford, in which to conduct her experiment on Sherlock. Whilst it is not spelled out during their five minute meeting, it appears that Moriarty’s death was orchestrated between he and Eurus, in order to proceed to the next stage of Eurus’ plan, because as Eurus said, Moriarty was comfortable with dying if it could cause more trouble. However, whilst I did enjoy this episode, I wish that Moriarty had been a greater part of this season, rather than some sidekick to Eurus’ evil plot.

On the other hand, I loved that we got to see Moriarty again, albeit Moriarty from five years ago when he was Eurus’ Christmas present, and spent five minutes with her. I must admit that I was momentarily fooled by Moriarty showing up until they added five years earlier, which made me sad. But his entrance was everything we could have expected of Moriarty and more. ‘I want to break free’ was clearly one of the best scenes throughout this episode, and was in typical melodramatic Moriarty style, it’s why he and Sherlock make such great nemeses, given their inclinations towards the dramatic. I had sorely missed Moriarty during the first two episodes, but hadn’t realised quite how much until this scene. I’ve missed Moriarty’s excitement and joy in causing mayhem, and am at least glad that he got to be part of Eurus’ moment, with all of his recordings, suggestions and predictions. Moriarty is part of Eurus’ plan in spirit, as she tells the three captive men exactly what Moriarty had predicted would happen.

The Long Game

This episode makes it clear that Eurus has been playing the long game. Much as we see Sherlock actively predicting John’s actions two weeks in advance throughout the second episode of this season, Eurus has been predicting the actions of Sherlock, and making him play right into her hands, for years. Thanks to Moriarty’s assistance five years ago, she has knowledge of Sherlock that she might otherwise not have had access to, and I’m sure the fact that she could control her prison meant that she had ways of accessing information about her brothers for years as well. After all, all we know is that everyone who spoke to her was compromised, we don’t know exactly how long this has been happening. As I mentioned in my review of the previous episode, I very much enjoyed the plot twist of Sherlock having a sister, who has been playing with him this whole time. Again, the audience is subject to a few further plot twists, one of these being that the situation with the girl on the plane is all in Eurus’ head, she is in fact the girl. The whole time, as Sherlock, Mycroft and John play Eurus’ twisted game in order to help the little girl, we have also been duped into believing in the reality of the situation. This was certainly a surprise towards the end of the episode when it was revealed as Sherlock finds his sister. It was also a little sad, for whilst Eurus has certainly done some terrible things that will never be forgiven, she is also quite clearly ill.

Eurus was behind the events with Culverton Smith, convincing him to get on board with her plan, because he clearly was desperate to confess to his actions. In doing so, she was able to gain some access into Sherlock’s life, and play him as a fiddle by interfering in his investigation and providing him with knowledge of the serial killings by pretending to be Culverton’s daughter. Of course, by revealing herself to John at the end of the last episode, she knew that Sherlock would confront Mycroft, and that together they would all visit her at Sherrinford. Eurus managed to accurately predict how these events would unfold. I particularly enjoyed the opening scene with Mycroft clearly frightened of her, but especially that what Mycroft was seeing was deliberately set up by both Sherlock and John in order to determine the truth of Eurus’ existence from Mycroft, and convince him that he needs their help. Of course, once Sherlock, Mycroft and John successfully infiltrate the prison with a series of disguises, they soon learn that Eurus has complete control of the prison, having reprogrammed everyone she ever came into contact with, which was against Mycroft’s express orders. She needs complete control of the prison in order to conduct her experiments on Sherlock, and in this she is successful.

Emotional Context

This episode is the culmination of every time Sherlock has been accused of sentimentality and emotions, often by Mycroft himself, but even in the previous episode when Mrs Hudson acknowledges that Sherlock is in fact quite emotional, leading her to deduce several things that both Mycroft and John are unable to. Sherlock’s sentimentality comes to the forefront through Eurus’ experiments on him, acknowledging that the indifference that Sherlock exhibits is in fact a mask he has cultivated over many years. This episode works not only because the terrible writing mess of the previous two episodes is non-existent, but because of the focus on Sherlock’s emotions and finally bringing the truth of who he is to light. As we know now, the cold mask is likely a byproduct of Eurus’ murder of Sherlock’s childhood best friend, in an attempt to never be hurt again. But even Sherlock is incapable of success in this. Even from earlier in the episode, Sherlock is clearly emotional when he, John and Mycroft are potentially about to die in his apartment. He and Mycroft have never been great with emotions, or telling each other how they feel, but in this moment, as Sherlock states that Mycroft was great in his role as Lady Bracknell, it’s a kind of acknowledgement of affection between the two. An acknowledgement of how they care for each other, even if neither of them will say so. The reactions on both of their faces demonstrates a depth of feeling between them in this scene. 

Eurus has picked Sherlock for her experiment precisely because he is emotional, emotional in ways she cannot comprehend, and emotional in ways that Mycroft will never be. Being her brother, she has some insight into his person that can only help the conclusions that she draws after each experiment, and he is the perfect subject particularly because of his propensity for trying to cut off emotion. In order to learn about emotions, and come to understand them, who better to experiment on than the man who on the inside is emotional, but on the outside not only refuses to acknowledge this, but deliberately attempts to conceal it with a cold mask of indifference. Sherlock chooses Mycroft to shoot the governor simply because he cares more about not hurting John by asking him to do so, and maybe because Mycroft might be more likely to do so. On the one hand, I completely understand the hesitation of both Mycroft and John regarding shooting the governor, but on the other hand they were foolish to refuse, for their refusal led two people to their deaths instead of one. Furthermore, the governor himself pleaded with them to shoot him in order to spare his wife, and whilst the murder of a man would be on their conscience, they would also know that in doing so they had saved his wife and acted as he had wished. In this way, perhaps their conscience wouldn’t be so affected. But because they chose the moral high ground, they condemned two people to die. 

They must complete Eurus’ challenges in order to be given time to figure out how to save the girl on the plane. Sherlock quickly deduces the guilty man in the second challenge, and must condemn this man to die in order to move forward. For Eurus wants to see firsthand how Sherlock represses his emotions in order to refine his deductive skills, specifically in the knowledge of what will happen when he deduces the truth. Sherlock manages to hold back his emotions, he must soldier on in order to save the little girl, but the third task is not so easy. This third task is when the emotional context really comes to hurt Sherlock. This is no experiment, it as, as Sherlock describes, vivisection. Whilst Sherlock deduces that the coffin is for a small, unmarried woman with no close relatives, it is Mycroft who really cracks the case when he reads the coffin lid. Only, instead of a name are the words ‘I love you’, indicating to him that this coffin belongs to someone who loves Sherlock.

This is one of the most painful scenes in Sherlock, witnessing as Sherlock progressively breaks down over hurting Molly. There’s so much desperation in his voice and expressions as he practically begs Molly to say ‘I love you’, and in how he keeps trying to convince her to say these words as she says she isn’t an experiment. That’s what this whole situation is to Eurus though, providing the emotional context to see how this would affect Sherlock’s deductive abilities. He cannot even say the words at first when Molly answers, because he knows how hard this is going to be for her. Because he has come a long way from the man that has rudely deduced so many things about her in the past, and can’t bear to hurt her emotionally in this way, even though he must in order to save her life. When Molly makes Sherlock say it first, the second time he says ‘I love you’ it definitely sounds real, and I’m sure it is, whether you believe he loves Molly as a friend or in another way, it’s believable.

The most heartbreaking moment of this scene however is once Sherlock has managed to make Molly say these words just before the time runs out, and after Eurus hangs up she states that there were never any explosives, Molly was never in any danger. Sherlock didn’t win this game, she did because she got him to so utterly destroy Molly with only three words. In this moment, Sherlock goes wild with guilt, anger and frustration, for he has proven Eurus to be right. With the right emotional context, he was unable to deduce the truth that there were never any explosives, that Molly was never in any danger. His love and fear for Molly overtook him, and proved just how emotional he really is. Sherlock’s cold facade comes crumbling down as he smashes the coffin with his bare hands. This scene proves not only that much of Sherlock’s cold indifference is simply a mask, but also how much emotions rule him unlike his siblings. He can hardly bare how much he has had to hurt Molly, especially when it turns out that she was never in danger.

In the final task, the sentiment that the Holmes brothers feel for each other is felt in full, if subtle, force. Whilst Eurus tells Sherlock he must shoot either John or Mycroft, Mycroft immediately begins to insult John, essentially reducing him to a stupid pet that Sherlock keeps around for attention and praise. John is of course immediately incensed, but I for one felt that this seemed rather out of character for Mycroft, that he had essentially decided that he was the one that was going to die. And the truth comes out, Sherlock deducing that Mycroft is making his decision harder precisely because he is trying to make it easier on Sherlock. Mycroft knows that Sherlock will choose John, so by acting in this manner he hopes to make Sherlock feel less guilty for his choice. We see sentiment from Mycroft a lot less frequently than from Sherlock, and it’s a difficult scene to witness. Of course Sherlock chooses John eventually, and then Eurus reveals that Moriarty predicted this, and I love this reference to Moriarty, as well as proof of how well he knew Sherlock. But when Mycroft mentions that he should die because this is his fault in gifting Moriarty as Eurus’ christmas present, Sherlock tips the game on its head by turning the gun on himself. After all, without making a choice between these two men, Sherlock protests against this game. Eurus cannot have this, because Sherlock is the one that interests her, he is the one she is explicitly experimenting on in order to understand emotions. Without him, she cannot complete her experiment, so of course she must put an end to this and they all live.

Redbeard

Redbeard has been a hint all along as to the events of this season, but we were all duped, just as Sherlock was, as to Redbeard’s particular identity. The story of Eurus’ kidnapping of the dog and subsequent burning of the family home was bad enough, that is, until we learned the truth from Eurus herself and Sherlock’s memories begin to return. We know from the third season and the special that Redbeard is a pressure point for Sherlock, and emotionally compromises him. The fact that Sherlock’s forgotten sister was responsible for Redbeard’s death would certainly explain this, but there’s a better explanation as to why Redbeard always seems to be at the back of Sherlock’s thoughts, an elusive memory if anything. Because all of this time, not only had Sherlock replaced memories of his sister, he had also changed the memories of his best friend. Redbeard was not a dog, Redbeard was Sherlock’s human best friend, who loved to play pirates with Sherlock, he was Redbeard whilst Sherlock played Yellowbeard.

This adds a devastating depth to the emotional turmoil that Sherlock clearly continues to hold due to Redbeard’s death, and certainly may suggest why Sherlock felt the need to hold in his emotions and present a facade of indifference to the world, if only to control how he felt after this moment, and to ensure he would never feel it again. Sherlock’s lack of empathy may easily be linked to this childhood trauma-his sister killing his best friend. Eurus wants to make this more than a childhood trauma, for she is going to drown John just as she drowned Sherlock’s childhood best friend, the past re-living itself. This scene of Eurus’ attempted drowning of John is more shocking precisely because of the emotions it must arise in Sherlock at the thought of his current best friend ending up the same way as his childhood best friend. I was definitely surprised by this twist of Redbeard not actually being a dog, as I’m sure many people were, and I think it was handled brilliantly.

A Good Man

In the very first episode of Sherlock, when John wonders how Lestrade puts up with Sherlock, Lestrade responds, ‘because Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.’ It certainly does seem to sum up the man that is Sherlock Holmes, and towards the end of this episode, this moment from the premiere of the show is paralleled. But instead, Lestrade tells the policeman who refers to Sherlock as a great man, ‘No, he's better than that. He's a good one.’ It all seems to come full circle at this point, and this scene (along with others) seems to suggest that this will be the final episode of Sherlock. Of course, the title of this episode appears to hint at that as well. Significantly though, Lestrade’s words are true in a way. Certainly there will be many that continue to state that Sherlock is not a good man, for he is brusque, selfish and self-centred, arrogant, inconsiderate and rude. But to only focus on these attributes means ignoring just how far he has come. On some level he does appear to be the same man we saw in the very first episode, but he has changed. He has become kinder, more considerate, thoughtful, although to compare him to the average person may not highlight this, we need only look at his first appearance to see the difference. Sherlock has changed. After all, this season was all about highlighting Sherlock’s emotional nature, for so long concealed under a mask of arrogance, disdain and indifference, although it is now clear he cares deeply about things. We need only look at Eurus’ experiments to know this. For some, Lestrade’s statement may be an over-exaggeration, at the very least however, it highlights at what may be the last ever episode of this show that Sherlock’s journey has made him into a better man. 

Ending

The ending, with Mary’s message, appears to indicate that this will be the final episode of Sherlock. For what better way to end this series than with the voice-over of a woman who knew them both so well, and loved them both so well. And the reminder of all of the stories and adventures that they’ve been a part of, and will continue to be a part of. It’s the perfection summation of what the show has been all about from the start, the murder and mysteries, and the friendship between these two men. If anything, this is the finale of this show, and a reminder of everything that it has been. This conclusion perfectly encompasses the show from beginning to end, ending on an uplifting note, which I enjoyed as much as I’ve had my issues with this season. I won’t ever get over the fact that the writers chose to kill off Mary, and the other female characters in this show were utilised so infrequently throughout this season, but at the same time, on the whole, I’ve absolutely adored this series. Of course, in some ways I would want it to continue, but in other ways I’m satisfied with this ending, especially due to the writing mess that was this season. If it is the end, I’ll look back fondly on the earlier episodes, even though I doubt I’ll ever truly love this season.