wdhawthorne
Not Going Down Without a Fight
Johnlock Coulda Woulda Shoulda
Too Old for This Shit
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Reblog if you love AO3 and appreciate their volunteers who are working harder than God, fighting battle after battle, making sure the place that is a safe space for every fandom is staying up and running for all of us
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amen.
I think at this point I'm happy when a story only goes long enough to get a good and happy ending.
As much as I'd love to have more and more of the stories I love, I think I'd rather have less of them if means the story ends at a point where I can keep loving the small amount of it that I have forever without reservation.
I'd prefer that than getting more of the story, but having to cope with it becoming this cold, alienating thing that breaks what I loved most about it in the first place. And then if I'm lucky, maybe getting a lukewarm ending tacked on it that gives me only a faint sheen of what I liked about it in the first place. Then I have more of this story once loved, but I no longer have a story I love, because that last bit kind of poisoned the whole thing.
Sometimes you know a story is being created by good and smart people and it wasn't going to break if we and they had more time with it, and it's too bad that you don't get more of it to enjoy. But at least we have a beautiful ending with two beautiful men once broken and lost and now in love and full of hope, living their best lives forever, and not the disappointing mess that is Sherlock.
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I've gotta admit, the take that Ed and Stede are "running away" from their problems at the end of s2 absolutely baffles me.
The thesis statement of this show, as we know, is "a lot of the things we are taught about being a man are wrong." Harmful ideas of what it means to be a man are at the core of Ed and Stede's issues with themselves: Stede struggle to feel like as much of a man despite loving softer things, Ed's feeling forced into a hyper-masculine caricature of himself. These are the core problems at the heart of these characters, obviously there's more to it but when you boil it down that's what we're working with. This is why Stede's trying to live up the ideal pirate image in s2e7 is important; he's getting a taste of what he thought he wanted so he can choose to leave it behind for what's really important. Ed, too, is still struggling at the end of the season with figuring out who Ed is, once he can break free from the Blackbeard persona.
What would be solved by sailing away, planning to continue as pirates at the end of s2? How would that be addressing their problems or helping them live more authentically? Ed has wanted to leave piracy since we met him, and yes, Stede enjoys piracy, but the idea that piracy is the true and right end-state for him is a very basic reading of the text I think.
Ed and Stede making the decision to try building a life together in their new shack isn't running away from their problems - it's Stede prioritizing Ed over a life of piracy, because piracy isn't what he wanted in the first place. He wanted to be a part of something, he wanted to marry for love, he wanted to be appreciated for who he is. It's Ed finally realizing in the finale that he can use violence as a tool to protect the people he loves, but he's also allowed to step away from it. Will the inn idea work out? Maybe. Maybe not. Who cares? It's not the inn that's important, really, it's that they're both choosing to commit to each other and taking this step towards living more authentically.
We already know exactly what "running away from their problems" would look like, and it's the plan Ed proposed in s1e9. He wanted to run away to China so their old lives could be "gone, dead, never were." Ed just wanted to forget about his past, and Stede was riddled with guilt - wherever they go, there they are. The difference between that plan at the end of s1 and Ed and Stede's new plan at the end of the s2 is, first of all, they're both all in and they know it, and, secondly, they're both getting a lot better at meeting themselves where they're at.
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Can we just appreciate Mary Bonnet for a minute? In another story, she would be the heroine. She’s sold in marriage to a man she does not love—something which she has likely expected to happen her whole life—and she tries to make a life as best she can. She’s actually gotten quite lucky—he’s a kind man, he doesn’t hurt anyone, he cares for their children, he’s good to her. He’s distant and disconnected and spends too much time in his own head, but it could have been so much worse. She tries to talk to him and fails. She tries to get him to open up and he either can’t or won’t.
Then he just vanishes in the middle of the night. He’s run off to sea to be a pirate, of all things. And she collects herself (a woman who has been abandoned, with two small children) and begins making a life she wants. She indulges her creativity. She makes friends. She takes painting lessons and falls in love with her teacher. She has an orgasm for the first time! She’s happy.
When her husband suddenly comes back, she’s ANGRY. Of course she is—he abandoned them with a brief letter that closed with “fond regards.” And he’s changed. He’s colder. He’s meaner. He threatens the life she’s made and does it explicitly. He doesn’t love her or even really want to be there, but he will embarrass her and stop her from doing what she loves and being with whom she loves. So she takes the only way out that she can see, because she can't get divorced, and tries to kill him.
And then she learns that so much has happened to him. That he’s still the kind man she was married to, but his choices have changed him. He’s like her—he wants to be free, he wants to be loved, he wants to know what love feels like. Well, she can at least tell him that. When she does, she sees him change again. He lets go of so much; the pain drains from his face. He’s suddenly relieved and happy in a way she’s never seen him happy. Then he looks at her with warmth in his eyes and tells her he’s found the love she’s describing. And his name is Ed.
It’s relief to them both. She understands him now, this man she lived with for years and whom she knew cried at night and hid himself away where she couldn’t reach him. They play one last game together, and it’s a fun game, he’s actually fun, and they’re both happy. And then they’re both free.
Mary’s story is so wonderful.
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Something I like to think about is the moments that we don’t see after the bathtub scene. Imagine stede gently asking ed, who’s head is resting on his hand, if he’s ready to get up. Carrying the robe for him as he takes him by the hand and gently helps him step carefully out of the tub, giving him a cloth and water to clean his face with. Ed apologizing for taking his robe and making a scene, and stede telling him is perfectly alright in that soft whisper that he only uses with Ed. Holding his hand to steady him as he walks him back to the captains cabin and offers him the space to take his time calming down. Makes sure none of the other crew members see him, because he knows ed would be uncomfortable and he doesn’t want to betray Ed’s trust after he’s just let him in at such a vulnerable time.
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Tracy Chapman and Luke Combs performing Fast Car at the Grammys
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In 'things that Erin did not expect to say today', Psychology Today has published an article about the campaign to save OFMD.
And it has this slam-dunk in it.
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In 'things that Erin did not expect to say today', Psychology Today has published an article about the campaign to save OFMD.
And it has this slam-dunk in it.
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reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something
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I crochet dolls, and I wanted to share two recent creations.
15 inches tall, poseable, with rooted hair and yes, magnets to hold hands.
Last picture bonus: Stede’s salon and spa day!
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Sad
I would guess that so many on tumblr don’t know who he is was, but the news that David “Hutch” Soul passed away yesterday made me immensely sad. It was my affection for Starsky & Hutch that drew me into “organized” fandom, with fanfic zines, vids, cons, etc, many, many years ago. I met some of my best friends in S/H fandom, and I am still friends with them. We have wandered through so many other fandoms since then, but S/H will always hold a special place in my heart. Hearing that David is now gone feels like another little piece of my youth is gone too. Goodbye old friend, thanks for the memories.
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« You came back... »
« Never left. »
Just finished one of my favourite works! 🥰🌙🏴☠️ I hope you like them ☺️
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The second time he was kidnapped to the palace was a little more embarrassing since his nice white sheets were in the wash, and he only had his backup sheets.
[Here's the link to the fabric online.]
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Yes and No
“Do you love her?”
It had taken them less than thirty minutes to go from the Rizla game to just asking each other random questions. The only celebrities that Sherlock knew were nineteenth-century chemists and twentieth-century criminals, which had more or less spoiled the game, and Sherlock had declared it pointless.
Then he suggested Yes or No, which at least required some deductive reasoning, and John agreed. But Sherlock was very good at this game, having deduced nearly everything about John in the first days of their acquaintance. Without asking any question, he deduced that John would choose violin, a human liver, Mrs Hudson’s nephew, and Sherlock’s old mouse-coloured dressing gown.
John gives up. “Fine. What don’t you know about me?”
Do you love her is a real question, he gathers— from the look on Sherlock’s face, which is serious and a bit sad.
The answer, which should be yes, of course I love her, instead comes out, “I’m marrying her.”
“People marry for reasons other than—“ Sherlock stops, appearing to realise he is going in a direction that can only lead to bad feelings. “Sorry, not a fair question. Better: When did you know that you loved her?”
He remembers grief. The intense pain of the days after he saw Sherlock die on the sidewalk in front of Barts. There are few details he can recall after that moment. It was as if the pain had receded just enough to let him breathe, and a kind of grey fog had descended. Pain, then sorrow.
Somewhere during the sorrow part, Mary had appeared. She may have been there sooner, but he hadn’t noticed. At some point he became aware of her bringing him coffee, talking to him, urging him to come out for lunch. Always there, cheerfully bullying him back into life. Eventually he noticed that he wasn’t quite as sad, and that she was rather pretty.
But the pain was still there, a tender spot in his memory, and most days he still felt defeated. Mary helped, though, and he thought that if she stayed, everything would be easier. He didn’t need to explain; she understood. He could keep the memories at bay when she was around.
By then he was having sex with her. He didn’t remember exactly how that had begun. Maybe it was a pity fuck one night when he’d had too much to drink. He woke up in her bed hungover, waiting for the darkness to descend like a weight on his chest, and she was there, making him a cup of tea, urging him to have some toast, sweetly solicitous and not accepting any excuses.
Does he love her?
Sherlock is still looking at him, the question in his eyes.
“She was there when I needed someone,” he says. “I just knew.”
He’d known that morning that he needed to move on, to leave what had happened in the past and live his life. And there she was.
“Your turn,” Sherlock says.
John thinks of all the things he’s ever wanted to know about Sherlock, but has never asked because it has never seemed a good time. Sherlock has a way of warding off questions with just a look. An armour that does not allow anyone in, not even John. He’s wondered about a lot of things, but asking has never been an option. Sherlock never has to ask; he simply deduces. John is terrible at deductions, as Sherlock often reminds him.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Twice.”
“That was a yes-no question, so I get follow-up. So, the first. Who was he?”
Sherlock smiles. “You’re assuming it was a man.”
“Wasn’t it? I thought… you’re… erm…”
“Gay? Yes, I am.”
“You loved a man,” John says. Obviously.
“Well, a boy. I was twelve. I suppose it wasn’t love so much as infatuation and hormones. His name was Victor. I never told him until I met him again at uni.” He gives John one of those looks that makes him feel like he is being x-rayed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”
“I’m not gay,” he says at once. “I mean, why would I kiss a man if I knew I wasn’t gay?”
“Follow-up question, then. When did you know you were not gay?”
John’s mouth may have been open for a bit. It’s an odd question. Everybody knows they’re straight until something happens and they know they’re not. Isn’t that the way it works? “I just knew. When did you know you were gay?”
“When I was twelve. I was at a stupid birthday party my mother made me attend, and we were playing Forfeit. I was asked a question I didn’t like to answer and took the forfeit. Up until then the penalties were stupid things like singing a song or doing a dance, but this time it was kissing a girl. The girl was willing, and I was curious, so I agreed. That was when I realised girls weren’t my cup of tea, so to speak. I wanted to kiss Victor.”
John says nothing, though it’s his turn. He remembers a similar party, a boy who wanted to kiss him, and feeling terrified that his parents would find out if he did. Harry had just come out, and he was trying very hard to make up for all of her shortcomings.
Sherlock asks, “How do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never kissed a man?”
“I’ve kissed lots of women,” he replies. “I don’t need to kiss a man to know I’m not gay.”
Sherlock shrugs. “I assumed that I was like everyone else, that some day I would meet the right girl, get married, and have children. That was how it was supposed to work, and I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t like girls that way. All my fantasies were about boys, but I thought I would eventually be attracted to girls as I got older. That kiss told me I would never love a woman.”
“You think I should kiss a man just to see if I’m a bit gay?” He laughs.
“It’s your forfeit, for not having an answer.”
“I’m not going to kiss some random bloke just because you—“
“Not a random bloke. Me. Kiss me.”
This is dangerous ground. Somewhere in his libido lies something that he’s thought about. Maybe he’s even fantasised about kissing a man. Having sex with a man. Just a lark, maybe. Don’t lots of men go through that? It doesn’t mean anything.
But, Sherlock. He lived with him for a year and a half, and they’d been friends. And he grieved when Sherlock died. Not grieved like a friend. He’d lost friends before, and this was nothing like those losses. Pain, darkness, unending regret. Even after Mary, some of that darkness remained. Moments when he remembered something Sherlock had said or done, a stab of pain. If it hadn’t been for Mary—
And it came to him. Mary was balm for his wounds. She brought him back from the edge. He is grateful to her. But gratitude isn’t love. Being in such pain for so long, and then a bit of light— that isn’t love, it’s relief. He’s seen patients in physical pain become almost giddy when given a dose of something that takes their agony away, not even enough to make them high. Relief feels like intoxication when pain has gone on so long.
If it hadn’t been for Mary, he would have understood what he’d only begun to see. She helped him, saved him even. But she was a distraction from the pain, not a cure.
He glances at Sherlock, who is pulling back, looking like he wishes he hadn’t just asked for a kiss. Maybe he’ll make a joke about their game, move them towards goodnight, goodbye, see you at the wedding.
“Yes,” he says. It’s an answer to everything— regret, grief, sorrow, love. It’s an apology for not seeing sooner, for the night at the Landmark, for his anger and cruel rejection of the man he has loved for years. “Kiss me.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Sherlock is right. The kiss tells John things he’s tried hard to forget. It tells him that has loved men before, but called it friendship, that he has wanted to touch men and kiss them, and called it lust, or fantasy, or a phase that all men go through. Women attract him too, and he grabbed onto heterosexuality like a life-raft because he was afraid of the alternative. His sister and his father, yelling. Harry thrown out of the house. His father, looking at him, saying not you too. Never you, my boy.
The kiss tells him that has already met the love of his life.
“I need to call Mary,” he says when they break away.
Sherlock looks sad. He nods. “Of course.”
“One more question,” John says. “Who was the second person you loved?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” he says. “I’m about to call my fiancee and break our engagement just days before the wedding because I’m in love with my best friend. So please, answer the question.”
Sherlock’s face does something John has never seen. It crumples and tears fill his eyes, and then he’s laughing and crying and not able to speak.
John kisses him again.
Author note: This is an old ficlet, from Trifles, posted here.
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Brb screaming forever
Video from Leslie’s instagram 👑
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