In the words of River Song: Spoilers

Taken as a whole, the three episodes of this series were a ridiculous amount of fan service with a nice undercurrent of love/loyalty/mystery running through it. Even the finale was relatively satisfying - which I wasn’t expecting. And we got more Mama and Papa Cumberbabe!!!!

BUT

There are no tears here, unless they’re tears of outrage.

Because…

FUCKING MOFFAT

*throws things*

*stomps angrily around room*

There’s an ever growing complaint in the WhoLock fandom that Moffat couldn’t write a strong, interesting woman if his life depended on it. (As much as I love Amy Pond and River Song he did them huge disservices as a show runner on Who. And don’t even get me started on the waste of space that was Clara.)

*throws more things*

He gives Mary this wonderful - absolutely fucking amazing - back story.

Like *BOOM* mind blowing back story…

and then what does he do?

He completely fucks it up.

COMPLETELY.

*stomps around room some more*

*does best velociraptor impersonation*

*scares dogs with screams of rage*

*throws even more things*

John forgave her for having this nefarious past. Doesn’t even want to know who she was. (Mary Morstan is not her real name, although I had that pegged when Sherlock deduced that she was a liar. I also knew that Mofftiss was “expanding” on ACD canon with some of their own head canon. So, again, not a huge surprise.)

She had the potential to be completely fascinating and amazing and wonderful and and and and and…

HE TURNED HER BACK INTO A WEAK WOMAN WHO IS DEFINED BY A FUCKING MAN.

Seriously.

If we turned “How many times was she referred to as ‘Mary Watson’” into a drinking game, we’d all be pretty shitfaced.

WE KNOW SHE MARRIED JOHN WATSON, SHITHEAD. YOU DON’T NEED TO KEEP REMINDING US THAT SHE IS JOHN’S WIFE.

(For the record, one of the reasons I didn’t take J’s last name is because it’s not mine. I’m not losing my name, my identity, because I got married. Sorry. I don’t play that game. I think it’s fine if other women want to take their husband’s name, but I have a ridiculously strong sense of self, which apparently manifests itself in Borderline Personality Disorder and my “inability to accept” that I got married by “not acknowledging what that truly means and bowing to societal norms”. Or some bullshit like that. I have the file somewhere from when I changed doctors…  (Um, since I’m raging anyway: FUCK YOU, USELESS SHRINK!) )

*looks around for more things to throw*

*ends up shaking fist and screaming MOOOOFFFATTTT! as loud as possible*

*scares dogs again*

*gets look of death from J*

I can’t even… I was expecting a case of feels on a level with the Reichenfeels, but all I got was an empty feeling that everything they had built to was solved by just another fucking weak ass deus ex machina moment.

Mark Gatiss, for the love of all that is good and holy, KEEP MOFFAT AWAY FROM SHERLOCK! Bounce ideas off of him all you want, but DO NOT LET HIM WRITE ANOTHER EPISODE THAT HAS MARY MORSTAN IN IT. OR ANY OTHER INTERESTING FEMALE CHARACTER.

Let him continue to fuck up Who. The NewWhovians already hate his guts, so - you know, let’s just embrace the status quo.

(Oh, and actually, that whole Sherlock’s girlfriend thing? I’m fine with MOST of it because it is canon, but her last minute ‘double cross’? LAME. LAME. LAME. LAME. LAME. LAME. LAME. LAME. LAME. She, too, had the capability to be more than she was. More that just a punchline to a fandom that knows ACD canon.)

I can’t even get on tumblr right now. It’s either going to be six shades of ugly or a thousand flavours of rainbows and kittens and I can’t deal with either.

*curls up on couch in ball and reads more Drarry fan fiction because it’s not pissing me off like the new round of “fix-it” Sherlock fic is*

How to decorate your flat. A tutorial by BBC Sherlock

idea one: pin a cluedo board to the wall with a knife

A few years ago, we went to see BU play BC at Fenway Park. Great idea for a one-off.

And then they decided to repeat it and repeat it and repeat it, until it lost the specialness.

That year it was 7 degrees.

Today, BU plays Maine and it is almost 50 degrees outside.

50 degrees is not hockey weather. Especially if you’re playing at a baseball park that is uncovered. They had to crank the refrigeration in an effort to get the rain to freeze on the surface. It didn’t look like they were succeeding.

They’re currently experiencing a rain delay because it’s absolutely POURING (including thunder and lightening) in Boston.

Currently, the rink has so much water on it that I made the lame joke about them really playing ‘pond hockey’.

I’ve never been so happy to skip a hockey game in my life.

Teenaged girls are fucking annoying.

it’s a timey-wimey thing. // timey-wimey? // i have no idea where he picks that stuff up.

Have I mentioned that I work in an ice rink?

You know - the type with ice that people skate on.

Like hockey players and fucking figure skaters.

Teenaged girls who are figure skaters.

Who compete.

At ice rinks.

Like the one I work in.

Today.

Our office is right off the lobby where the box office is, so we were basically near the area where the teams were hanging out / checking in. I spent the day listening to little girls gossip. And scream. And generally being annoying little fuckwits.

And pounding on the fucking bathroom door.

The fucking pounding.

The bathroom next to our office has a big sign on it that says it’s only one stall and if the door is locked, go find somewhere else to take a piss. (Or something along those lines.)

All fucking day: BANG! BANG! BANG! Is there someone in there? BANG! BANG! BANG! Oh! Sorry!

My fucking head…

And that’s after spending two hours trying to make it to work in a snow storm. (Generally a 45 minute commute on a bad day.)

BUT! I do still love my job.

And I very much love the fact that I have a job to bitch about.

And I very, very, very much love the fact that the skating competition will be over by the time I go back into work on Monday.

Life. Is. Good.

The new job…

i’d watch it

So.

Four days in and I’m loving the job.

I’m not working for the rink, per se, but I’m working IN the rink.

I’m working for another building that we manage - a theatre that does Broadway shows. Like one called “Spank”. (I’ve laughed every. single. time. I’ve seen that name pop up in the financial reports.)

Whatever. Books are books. Numbers are numbers.

The commute’s not bad.

The people rock.

I finally have an email address that works, a desk, a computer, and work to do… tomorrow, I get another email address and then I have to go get my ID card for the University.

I’m happy there.

Really happy.

Here’s hoping they like me as much as I’m loving them…

The shit I learn in the name of fan fic…

aren’t they cute?

So.

I’ve been continually researching asexuality for my Johnlock fan fics (last night’s episode did absolutely nothing to help us out, btw *sigh*) and I came across this website called “The Thinking Asexual”.

Fascinating stuff.

No. Really.

I subscribe to their updates because the site is really good. Today’s update included the following quote:

I’m thinking of feelings that lead to what you could call “gray area relationships.” Relationships that are essentially a blending of common friendship and traditional romance, that fall in between the two standard categories. Relationships that look a lot like romance but are not sexual, don’t actually have to include any kind of romantic attraction, and are a hell of a lot more important and emotional and intimate than common friendships.

I’ve mentioned my “little brother” Jeff on here several times… and damned if that isn’t the best description of what he and I have.

When we were in college, he and I had that exact sort of relationship: it looked romantic / sexual but had none of that and was definitely more important than a common friendship. Which is exactly why he’ll always be my little brother. We thought about trying out a romantic relationship. Once. It was discarded just as quickly as it was brought up. Distance might have changed the parameters of our relationship, as did the spousal units and children, but he’s always going to be one of the most important people in my life. Even if we never speak again.

THAT’S what I’ve been trying to capture in my Johnlock stuff. (Because, again, I couldn’t write porn if my life depended on it, and I don’t really want to. Not for this relationship at least. It doesn’t feel right to me.)

THAT’S what yesterday’s Sherlock episode was about.

Is Sherlock asexual?

Who knows.

Canonically, we’ll probably never know… people have been guessing about the relationship between Holmes and Watson since ACD first wrote about them. Mofftiss hasn’t done much for us, either.

So, I read stuff like this and I *know* that no matter what comes out (HEE!) in the BBC canon, my Sherlock will always be an ace. His relationship with John is so much my relationship with Jeff that it’s scary.

I just hope that when I write those dynamics between Sherlock and John that I can do my friendship with Jeff justice, because at the end of the day, we write what we know…