#him and Jeremy are always treating her like a damsel in distress

[morningstargirl666]

So I gotta know the Matt headcanons??? Please? Only if you want to 🩶

Okay so @stars-and-darkness also asked for this but I have yet to reply so come over here bestie.

Mostly for Matt, it's all lore based. First off, the mansion the Mikaelsons move into? Normally in fics, people mention it as an old Fell mansion restored to its former glory, or some other founding family's ruin... but I wanted to do something different.

Apparently, according to the TVD wiki (I know I know it's a hellscape just bare with me) Maxwell was another founding family in Mystic Falls. And you know who's a relative of the Maxwells?

One Matt Donovan.

(you can see where I'm going with this)

Now, since it's not actually mentioned that Matt's from a founding family (Maxwell was his Dad's surname or name?? idk judging from the wiki it was a piece of lore introduced in waaaaay later seasons, far past what I watched but shhh it sparked an idea and I ran with it) I figured the Maxwells were a family that fell from grace. Maybe they were hit hardest when slavery was finally abolished (cough cough Mystic Falls was a conferderate town cough). Maybe they gambled all their wealth away. Whatever happened, it was a spectacular fall, which ended with a tragic fire that destroyed most of what was left of their remaining wealth and reputation. Unable to afford the repairs, they left the mansion to ruin, forgotten by time, and the family moved on, eventually down the line to Matt's father, who bailed out on his wife and kids when they were young.

Until one day, one Klaus Mikaelson stumbles upon it and thinks, ah yes. This will do. I can work with this. And renovates the delipadated ruin into the beauty we see at the Mikaelson Ball. He even has some new stables built.

Matt does not know the mansion he walks into that night used to be his family's home. He does not know his recent ancestors danced in that very ballroom, or how his Great Great Great Grandmother is still known to haunt the halls.

Which is why I find it particularly funny Rebekah and Kol nearly killed him inside it.

[justlostinautumn]

Abandoned 6

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!Reader:

After her friends and boyfriend continuously leave her in danger and abandon every plan she makes for them the Originals slowly mend her breaking heart. The gang’s enemies become her friends with her and they don’t know how to feel about it. The last straw is walking in and seeing her boyfriend cheating on her and she runs to the ones who always care for her. What will the gang do when they lose something irreplaceable?

Everyone:

“Y/N, let me…” Damon shot up startled by Y/N’s startled entrance, but Y/N held her hand up.

“Let you what? Explain? There is nothing to explain, we all know what’s happening.” Y/N growled pointing at him and Elena.

“You don’t understand!” Damon argued, Y/N looked on with disbelief did they really think that she was that stupid?

“What don’t I understand? That Miss Damsel in Distress over there needs you all the time? That you are willing to let me die, your girlfriend for some fucking manipulative bitch? Or the fact that it will always be Elena? Damon this is the problem I was always understanding, but I’m tired.” Y/N’s tone was even and calm but the look in her eyes froze Damon to his place. Everyone else was just standing there after running in after the shouting. On one side you had Damon and Elena with the rest of the gang minus Enzo and Tyler who stood by Y/N and on the other side, you had the Mikaelson's and co. 

“What the fuck Y/N?” Elena screeched at Y/N’s nickname for her, all Y/N did was roll her eyes and raised a brow asking her to try and argue with her.

“Put a muzzle on your bitch Damon.” Y/N sneered, Y/N was tired of being nice to them when all they do is walk over her and use her. There was also this burning rage inside her that was dying to explode out of her, it was something she has never felt before… ‘but, everyone has a breaking point, right?’ She thought to herself. It’s only fair she takes out her rage on them cause they do the same to her… after all they are friends, right?

“Y/N!” Caroline looked furious and Elena started to sniff loudly and let out a dramatic sob, Damon pulled her in close hugging her. ‘As always, cue the waterworks because Elena doesn’t like being called out.’ Y/N thought to herself as she rolls her eyes

“Just like always protecting defenceless Elena.” Y/N shakes her head, letting out a humourless laugh. “For a vampire, you suck. Can’t even defend yourself.”

“Shut up!” Elena snarls at Y/N, only making Y/N smirk broadly at her. Y/N knew this was wrong antagonising Elena like this but something in her wanted to see what she would do. She wasn’t scared about what could happen, she was just royally pissed at her friends. Why should she care when they don’t care for her?

“And you called Katherine manipulative… I guess you were right Kat.” Y/N looked at Katherine, they shared a knowing smile and Y/N looked back at a furious Elena, she was going red with her rage and Y/N could see it beginning to boil over… it was working! Y/N couldn’t help her smirk broadening at Elena’s reaction. God this felt good! It felt good to stand up and say what was on her mind for a change.

“I’m nothing like her!” Elena shouted, taking a step forward. Y/N wanted to see what she would do; would Elena be stupid enough to attack her with this many Originals in the room. In a cruel, twisted way she kind of hoped she would.

“You’re right, you’re nothing like Kat… you’re worse!” Y/N smirked as she watched Elena’s smug smile fall quickly, realising she wasn’t going to get her way. Y/N was pinned to the wall by Elena who snarled viciously at her and Y/N laughed. It left everyone shocked that she wasn’t screaming, that she was just laughing at Elena’s anger. The next thing anyone knew Elena was on the floor, neck broken and Klaus was looking at Y/N with a stern look but a smirk pulling on his lips as he tried to contain his amusement. This was a new side to her and he was loving it, there was something so powerful about the way she held herself and fought back… a fire he’d never seen before and he loved it.

“Do you have to antagonise everyone in the room?” He smirked, shaking his head at her and all Y/N did in return was smirk with a small shrug. She looked around the room to see everyone was tense about what was happening, eyes locking with Damon and she could see a mixture of emotions running through his crystal blue orbs.

“Just being truthful.” Y/N said walking past Klaus stepping over Elena. Damon quickly ran to Elena, picked her up and put her on the sofa sitting next to her holding her hand. A coldness ran through Y/N at the sight, it still hurt as much as she didn’t care. She’d loved him, he should’ve treated her like that at least once.

“You need blood.” Klaus said, catching Y/N’s arm, lifting her chin with a soft touch and observing the bruises forming around her neck. But the look Y/N gave him said enough to know she wouldn’t be taking any of his blood anytime soon, with a slight shake of her head she pulls away and looks back at the gang. A silence filled the room as both groups watched one another waiting, tension was thick and no one wanted to break the silence.

The girl that was now in front of them wasn’t their friend, this girl was something else. She looked at each of them and they saw the darkness in her eyes and they were scared of what might be said… what might be done. There was almost something cruel about her and maybe they brought it upon themselves, but they thought they were all friends and she would forgive them and move on like always. Tyler and Enzo watched on with amused looks on their faces, they knew this would eventually happen. The gang was hoping that their friends would help them but they seemed to receive no help from them.

“You know what I find interesting?” Y/N asks almost like she’s talking to herself.

“What?” Jeremy was pissed off, his harsh tone caused Y/N’s piercing E/C orbs to focus on him and he repressed a shiver at her cold look.

“That none of you are surprised about Damon and Elena. I know they are about as subtle as a gun, but I thought my friends would tell me about my supposed best friend is hooking up with my boyfriend.” Y/N tilted her head at them, the look in her eyes was almost sinister. Daring them to lie to her, daring them to try and make it not their fault, daring them to do anything.

“There was always speculation, but nothing confirmed.” Caroline answered, she had always been a good liar but Y/N could see through the excuse. It was always excuses with them, in one form or another… did they ever get tired of it?

“Always quick to defend and with the excuses Caroline.” Y/N shakes her head and Elena begins to stir on the sofa, Y/N ignores her and closes her eyes and composes herself. She wasn’t going to let herself cry in front of them, they didn’t deserve anymore of her tears.

“It’s the truth!” Jeremy answers sternly trying to drive the point home, he would always defend his sister. A Hunter who protects those he is meant to hunt… it’s a little twisted.

“George Orwell said ‘The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the world. Lies will pass into history.’ I don’t think you know what the truth is anymore.” Y/N said and there was a look of pity in her eye and they all stood there shocked.

“You think they tell you the truth about themselves? All the things they’ve done to us? All the things they’ve ever done?” Damon got up leaving Elena’s side and was standing in front of Y/N, his eyes were black , none of the beautiful blue shining through. He pointed at everyone behind her and she didn’t take her eyes off him. It left him with an unsettled feeling in his stomach because when she looks at him he doesn’t see the love she normally has for him in her eyes. He’s met with nothing, an empty look… the lights are on but no one's home.

“I know exactly who they are and what they’ve done. They told me the truth when it comes to their plans, but you know that Damon. Otherwise, you wouldn’t use me, would you?” Y/N tilting her head and Damon saw a flash of something in her eyes, something familiar and he could feel something in him squeeze. Was that pain? Did he see pain flash in her eyes, a look he’s seen often after they used her to get information. When they used her for bait and they lied about the reason why they needed her, when they used her as a puppet for their own personal gain and her safety and security was just an afterthought, when they put their happiness over her own or when they would compare her to Elena or someone else. There were many times he’d seen that look, but yet she always came back… she was always there for them no matter what, was this the straw that broke the camel's back?

“Y/N…” Damon started but trailed off there was nothing he could say that would fix this. He had ruined it and it was no one’s fault but his own.

“Why?” Stefan looks at Y/N with a furrowed brow, drawing her attention to him and away from Damon who was pulled into an embrace by Elena. Y/N stiffened at their intimacy, he didn’t push her away like he did with Y/N, he didn’t flinch at her touch or brush her aways or take a step back so she wasn’t crowding his space.

“That’s my question. Why me?” Y/N tilting her head, her eyes leaving Damon to look at Stefan. They soften slightly when she looks at Stefan. She had a soft spot for the younger Salvatore you can’t pick your family.

“Everyone loves you, I don’t know why but they do. You have this thing that draws people in and no matter what they do or how bad they are you are willing to stand by them not forcing them to change unless they want to. You are a magnet and you draw people in, no matter how hard they try to run from you. Sending you in always worked, people want to be in your light and we used it to get what we wanted… we never told you anything about them because we knew you’d say no. So, we would send you in blind so that you could distract them without knowing and it would sometimes lead you to get hurt.” Stefan spoke he looked ashamed at the fact he knew the answer, it was almost like he wanted to say he didn’t know why. But, Stefan swore to himself if something like this happened he’d be honest with her… he knew that they’d break her and he’d have to do this, so why didn’t he do anything to stop it? He just stood by and watched.

“Y/N, please.” Damon pleaded, looking at her.

“What Damon? Please what? Understand? Forgive you? There’s nothing left for us and you made sure of that. I’m tired of waking up to an empty bed, to a note… sometimes saying where you are. I’m tired of being stood up on our dates because you forget… maybe you don’t forget and you’re too busy getting your dick wet. Damon I’m done being second fiddle in my life! I’m done with you and I’m done with everyone who thinks it’s okay to use me to get their fucking way. Why should I forgive you? Because you’re going to change and be there?” Y/N growled at Damon she couldn’t seem to contain her fury any longer.

“You think they won’t use you?” Damon barked laughter as he was trying to antagonise her now to react to him. He was pissed that she was almost so calm about everything happening, he wanted her to feel as hurt as he did.

“The fuck!” Klaus bellowed making his way to Damon, eyes shining yellow, but Y/N got in the way, not taking her eyes off Damon as she rested one of her hands on Klaus’ chest and the other on his cheek gently stroking it. Damon got the reaction he wanted just from the wrong person, but he was going to push and see where it went. He didn’t like the way his girl was touching Klaus.

“You heard me! You are going to use her and then dump her.” Damon sneered at the hybrid and Y/N tensed at his words, her hand calming Klaus froze in place and a threatening growl not only leaving Klaus but the others as well. Klaus pushed forward to go for Damon but Y/N’s hands became firmer on his chest and he looked down to see Y/N hadn’t taken her eyes off Damon.

“He’s not worth the energy.” Y/N said coldly and she saw the light in Damon’s eyes dim and the realisation hit him. Damon felt hollow, he took a step back and was met with Elena’s arms that felt wrong… she wasn’t the one he wanted soothing him.

The room was thick with tension and silence. Letting out a deep breath Y/N turned her back to the gang and looked Klaus in the eye, she was tired and over this all she wanted to do was go.

“I think I should get home. I’m sure my parents want to talk to me before they leave.” Y/N sighs, this was another conversation she wasn’t looking forward to. Before Klaus could talk he was interrupted.

“Y/N… I’m sorry.” Damon spoke softly and Y/N’s head snapped in his direction, something in her wanted to soothe him. But, she also knew she could never forgive him. “I never deserved you and you never deserved to be treated like that.”

“We accept the love we think we deserve.” Y/N said her voice and face showing nothing, Damon lowered his head as he thought about her words. “I didn’t deserve to be treated the way you treated me, but that never meant you never deserved my love or forgiveness… this isn’t just using me as bait, this is using me and then throwing me away like I was nothing more than a dirty sock. I was your girlfriend and I was always your last priority unless I was needed.”

“You can’t leave me.” Damon continued softly, almost begging.

“I was always here, the person who was always leaving and never here was you. I can’t even count the number of times I woke up to a cold bed sometimes with a note, more often without and always for the same reason. Damon, I’m tired. Tired of being alone, being used as bait, you only being with me when it’s convenient.” Damon looked into her eyes and could see the dam was about to break and took in a deep breath and realised he had truly fucked up.

Klaus pulled her close to him fearing that she might go back to him, but when he felt her lean into his embrace he relaxed slightly. He watched as the gang watched them closely and he saw how broken Damon looked as he watched his girlfriend, well now ex-girlfriend, relax in the arms of his enemy.

Y/N let out one final sigh and decided it was time for her to leave, but before she could leave she was called back.

“Y/N!” Elena shouted, Y/N sighed what more was left to be said?

“What? You got everything you want, what more from me could you possibly want?” Y/N was tired and wanted to curl up in bed, her parents would be leaving soon and she knew they’d want to talk to her. Who knows how that was gonna go!

“I wish things could have been different.” Elena looks just above Y/N’s head and she knew Elena was lying.

“Don’t lie to me!” Y/N moved forward growling to be caught around the waist by Klaus. Y/N was fed up with the lies she had been told and her overall frustration at both Damon and Elena was at its peak. All Y/N wanted to do was break Elena’s neck.

“Not worth it.” Klaus threw the gang a dirty look, trying to keep her close to him but she pulled away.

“You’re right.” Y/N turned quickly leaving everyone to watch as she left, not saying another word. They weren’t worth it, she was done.

Tags:

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[autolenaphilia]

A review of BBC Sherlock

BBC Sherlock is a terrible show. I’m not the first to say so, and I’m certainly repeating things here that other people have said, like Hbomberguy, who did a flawed but mostly fine critical look at the show. But I still think I have some original ideas to bring to the table, and even if this essay is long by itself, it is probably more approachable case against Sherlock than Hbomb’s long if compelling video (which I liked but don’t entirely agree with. He for example criticizes the show for not playing fair with its mysteries, which I think is fine for a Sherlock Holmes adaptation to do, because the original stories don’t “play fair” either. They pre-date that convention in mystery writing)

The main problem with the show, lies with its main character, Sherlock. The tv series had a problem with hero worshipping Sherlock and having an excessive and uncritical focus on him. The show revolved around the main character of Sherlock Holmes in a way that the original Holmes stories didn’t. Everything in the writing and the world it created was about Sherlock, and how cool he is.

The show makes airs of being a character study, but it is not interested in doing the work required for actually being that. Ultimately, Sherlock is the hero, and for Moffat & Gatiss this means he can do no wrong, even when he is wrong.

Sherlock is an arrogant jerk, being not only rude but outright cruel at times. He does this all the time, including to people who are supposedly his friends, like Watson. The good doctor actually gets the worst of it. In the show’s supposed “adaptation” of “The Hound of the Baskervilles”, Holmes drugs Watson without his consent or knowledge, just to test the drug out.

The show never reckons with all the cruelties the hero commits to his supposed friends. He never apologizes, nor is he confronted with his behaviour, never decides or is compelled to change. Instead Watson and co. remain loyal to the very end. He thinks it is permissible for him to act that way because he is a genius, and alarmingly, the very writing of the show seems to support him in that line of thought.

This is not at all due to the show reflecting the original short stories. The Holmes depicted in the canonical stories can be rude and inconsiderate to others, but seldom outright cruel. Compare the scene in Sherlock described above with a similar scene in The Devil’s Foot. In that short story, Holmes also tests out a drug he found on Watson, but everything else is different. Holmes explains the situation to Watson beforehand, asks if he wants to take part, and exposes himself for the same dangers as his companion. When things turn out badly, Holmes even earnestly apologizes for putting both Watson and himself in danger.

The Canonical stories weren’t afraid to make Holmes fallible either. He is a hero, but one with faults that can make mistakes and loses. Good examples are A Scandal in Bohemia and the charming anti-racist story The Adventure of the Yellow Face.

The original version of Holmes is genuinely heroic. The BBC show has in comparison a very warped view of heroism, being the hero means Sherlock is never wrong, even when he is wrong. The hero is a special person, who can’t obey ordinary rules. It feeds into a form of wish fulfilment. A male power fantasy (and this type of hero is always a man) where you are very clever and being that clever means you can mistreat people as you like.

This focus on Sherlock himself can also be seen in the diminished role given to the supporting cast. Martin Freeman’s Watson is used well in the first episode, as the normal person who acts as our introduction to the strange mind and world of Sherlock (the first episode is maybe the strongest of the entire show). This captures how he is used in the books and does that even without the intimacy of Watson’s first person narration. But that is all we get, he is a non-entity in the rest of the show. He doesn’t do much in the episodes that follow, and basically only exists to marvel and be shocked at how weird Sherlock is, and to be abused by him.

Mycroft exists mainly to provide missions for Sherlock and get him out of legal problems. There is an original female character, Molly Hooper, but the sexism of the writers means she matters even less. Her whole existence is determined by being a fangirl who has a crush on Sherlock, yet is treated horribly by him.

The show’s dubious idea of a hero is why the show has to make Moriarty into an overarching villain, who is behind pretty much every other villain they meet. Their Holmes is too important for ordinary crimes, he is a superhero who can only face a supervillain of equal stature, so Moriarty is changed into that type of villain.  

Certainly the original Moriarty has traits that predicts later supervillains, but ultimately he is just a crime boss, albeit a very intelligent and dangerous one. And making everything about this epic mind duel between Holmes and Moriarty contradicts the tone of the original stories. The cases Holmes takes on in the canon seldom concern more than the people directly involved and often don’t even involve murders. Holmes occasionally takes on bigger things, but the stakes are seldom world threatening. In comparison to the Sherlock show, the lack of empty bombast and faux-epicness in the original stories are very charming.

The character of Moriarty is played very energetically by Andrew Scott, but ultimately he is boring, because his motivations are simply that he is insane and gay. I’m not kidding. Moriarty wants to play mind games with Sherlock, because he is attracted to Sherlock and his intelligence. This, as bizarre as it sounds, literally makes most of the plot of this show caused by Sherlock being attractive .

(Hilariously, they later retcon this to Moriarty being mind controlled by Sherlock’s evil sister. Her motivation, incidentally, is that she is angry because Sherlock didn’t play with her as children.)

It is also unconnected to what Holmes actually does. In the original story, the reason Moriarty is interested in Holmes is because Sherlock was able to figure out that Moriarty is the head of a criminal organization, which is what makes him dangerous to Moriarty. In Sherlock, Moriarty knows of and admires Sherlock from before the first episode even happens and Holmes only figures out who Moriarty is later. It is treated as natural fact in this world that Sherlock is so awesome that people admire and are obsessed with him, without him even having to do anything that proves it.

I can see the appeal of shipping heroes and villains with sexual tension behind them, like Holmes and Moriarty in many versions. But when the hero-villain relationship in this case just reinforces the show’s excessive infatuation with its main character, it turns the whole thing distasteful for me (and that is not getting into the problems with coding your villain as insane and gay in general, as fun as this kind of villain can be).

I can also see the usefulness in setting up Moriarty by having him involved in crimes before he is actually introduced. The original stories don’t really do it, so Moriarty comes out of nowhere in The Final Problem. The Granada Tv show by Jeremy Brett did it by having Moriarty be behind The Red-Headed League case, and that worked fine.

But the way BBC Sherlock just drains the show of any interest in the villains except Moriarty. They are just Moriarty’s henchpeople, their motivation simply becomes that Moriarty pays them. The reason why the Granada version worked so well is that the villains in the orginal short story about The Red-Headed League were almost non-entities, the sole interesting thing about them is their scheme, so Moriarty being behind them makes things more interesting.

Sherlock however doles out the same treatment to some of the most interesting antagonists of the original stories, such as Jefferson Hope and Irene Adler. The treatment of Irene is perhaps the very worst thing the show ever did, and perhaps the worst adaptation of the character ever (and this is a character that is so often distorted in adaptations)

The original short story, A Scandal in Bohemia is the story of Irene Adler defeating Sherlock. She is not a villain, doesn’t actually blackmail anyone, and is not a love interest for Holmes. She actually marries someone else right in front of his face. It is a good story, with Irene defeating him teaching both Sherlock and the audience that women can also be smart.

The episode of Sherlock which “adapts” this story is pretty much the opposite. Irene Adler is a villain who blackmails people. Instead of being an opera singer, she is now a dominatrix, and this is treated with all the sensitivity of a Frank Miller. And also a lesbian with stereotypical man-hating tendencies.

Now a lesbian villain could still be interesting, but the writing makes sure she is not. She is not even a truly independent villain, instead she is like most villains in Sherlock on Moriarty’s payroll. And the lesbian thing turns out to mean naught, as she falls in love with Sherlock. Apparently Sherlock is so attractive that he can turn lesbians straight. This infatuation leads to her losing to Sherlock and afterwards becoming a damsel in distress that Sherlock rescues.

It is amazing how something written and broadcast in 2012 is far more misogynistic than a short story from 1891, but BBC Sherlock managed to do it.

Jefferson Hope isn’t treated as bad, because he doesn’t have to contend with the writer’s misogyny. But it is still a terrible adaptation of the character. In the original A Study in Scarlet, half of the novel is given to depict his backstory and his sympathetic reasons for killing the people he did.  Some readers dislike that part of the book, but it makes the story much better for being there. It gives the murderer a more complex character.

The show makes a hash out of this when adapting the character for the first episode. Now Hope is a simplistically evil character, who kills people because Moriarty pays him to. Thanks to some decent acting, he gets an ok Hannibal Lecter style confrontation with Sherlock, but it has more to do with Thomas Harris than Arthur Conan Doyle.

And it demonstrates maybe one of the most important differences between the canon and Sherlock. The Canon is very much interested in characters who are not Holmes. The stories are often more about the people Holmes and Watson meet while investigating their cases, than the detective himself.

Sherlock doesn’t give a damn about anyone who isn’t the main character. So despite having one of the most cruel versions of Holmes ever filmed, the stories are actually less morally ambiguous than the original stories. People who were antagonists to Holmes but not evil in the books are turned  into malevolent villains. The show isn’t concerned with creating relatable and complex motivations and backstories for them and make them into characters in their own right, they are only interesting as foils for Sherlock.

The show’s version of Charles Augustus Milverton, who is turned into a Dane named Magnussen, is one of the few villains which are not neutered by being a pawn for Moriarty. His episode, “His Last Vow” is therefore one of the better episodes that don’t directly involve Moriarty. It is helped by a delightfully slimy performance from Lars Mikkelsen, which is enjoyable in a similar way to Andrew Scott’s Moriarty. But the episode also illustrates the show’s problems.

Again the writers decide Sherlock is too important to deal with an ordinary if particularly reprehensible blackmailer, so the show turns Milverton into a supervillain who uses blackmail to control entire governments and has become one of the most powerful people on the planet.

Any tension that is created by the performance and the high stakes is however undercut by perhaps the most serious writing problem this show has: the nonsensical plots and mysteries. The episode’s big reveal is a case in point. The finale reveals Magnussen doesn’t have any physical or digital evidence of the stuff he uses to blackmail people with, he just uses his impressive memory to memorize the information.

The problem with this is that it turns Magnussen into just a huge bluff, with a blackmail empire built on sand. Anyone of his victims could have stopped his rise to becoming one of the most powerful men on the planet by just asking him for proof. Of course, this also means there is nothing stopping anyone from just killing him which is what Sherlock promptly does once Magnussen tells Sherlock his secret for no good reason. This show builds up this super-clever villain and reveals that he is actually just a fool with a good memory, except it treats this as if this ludicrous scheme makes him even more clever.

Sherlock shooting Magnussen is a change from the original story that is very emblematic of how this show works. Milverton is shot in the original story, but by a female victim of his taking revenge. Sherlock and Watson’s role in the story’s finale is merely destroying Milverton’s physical blackmail evidence.

Moffat and Gatiss have removed agency from a female character in the canon and transferred her actions to the male hero. They even suggest the original story by having Mary Watson break into Magnussen’s mansion and hold him at gunpoint.

And her shooting him would have worked so much better as well, for they had prior in the episode made the bizarre reveal that mary was once a professional contract killer. It is an absurd backstory for it comes out of nowhere, but it could have made sense as part of the plot if it explains why Mary is able to break into Magnussen’s home and kill him. But no, Holmes stops Mary from killng Magnussen, and sedates her.  The only reason for this seems to be the scriptwriter’s firm belief that women characters can not affect the plot in BBC’s Sherlock, only the male hero can.

And that seemingly minor change in adapting the story perhaps sums up the show perfectly. It adapts the original short stories with carelessness, picking the bits it pleases for the sole purpose to glorify and idealize its cruel male fantasy in the form of its supposed hero, who bears little in common with the character created by Arthur Conan Doyle.

[certifiablyplatinum]

Can you save my heavydirtysoul?(Please say you can.)Twenty One Pilots concert story, 10/22/19

As I had missed my GA Floor seat show in June at home in Cbus due to my woeful injury,  I decided to buy tickets when the boyz announced their second leg and  stop in Cincinnati.  I mean, why not? Fangirling all over the place here. Of course, I was taking Jordan, as the summer of 2016 was the Blurryface summer and we played it out on our deck almost every night. I am secure in my vast music knowledge and boldly admit my love for Twenty One Pilots just as I do my more bizarre and obscure bands. Diversity is where it’s at, babies, ya like what ya like.

The brilliant blue October day arrived, and my preparations were made.  

First, I chose a hotel north of Cinci. I had a work retreat on the south side of Columbus the next morning, so shaving off those ends saved me time.

Secondly, I told the wayward Jordan “Meet me at XXX South High Street with your bags packed at 3:30 pm.” (referring to the event space I needed to be at the day after the show.)  Jordan: Huh? Where? Why?  Me: Just meet me there.

Third, I called the event space to ensure I could leave a car parked there overnight.

Fourth, I packed an overnight bag with 17 different outfits. I am not sure why.

 I left work and drove to the space I was to be at the next morning, and Jordy showed up VERY promptly. (Me texting her: It’s just past the bridge going over 71.  Her reply: I have GPS.)

 She tossed her bags in my car,  locked her car up, and off we went together.  She drove, as I needed to focus up with a call and verbal beatdown to  A T & T and a little light  bill paying. An hour and a half later we arrived at our Blu hotel in Blue Ash, freshened up, poured a Citron and G2, and called an Uber to US Bank Arena.

 Our driver pulled up, we tossed our cardboard coffee cups in the trash, and hopped in. He looked back at us randomly asked, “Do you like country music?”  I diplomatically and cheerfully answered, “I do if you do!” He seemed to doubt my sincerity, as he wordlessly handed me his phone. I chose a 90s alt-rock playlist and, well…. Pearl Jam’s Jeremy came on first.  I believe this set the tone for the whole evening and led to my overall uninhibited abandon. Because here’s the deal—I have this thing where I have a primal need to sing Pearl Jam loudly and also in a PREEEEETY spot-on Eddie Vedder voice. I simply can’t not do it. So when  I began to bellow along in my Eddie voice, Mohammed turned the radio up so loud that my ears were bleeding, as if to urge me along. Still, I sang on. (OOoooh my jaw left hurtin’, OOoohhh dropped wide open…)

 Anyway, we got dropped off and headed to get food and drinks at the Holy Grail Tavern.  Both Jordan and I couldn’t stop looking at our attractive server.  It got so that we were laughing out loud when she whizzed past us because we (the server and me) were always accidentally locking eyes.  I said, “Oh my God she’s going to think – who is this perv staring at me?”  And Jordan said, “Well,  *I* get to see her as she walks away and she has a great butt.” This led us to the conclusion that we couldn’t stop looking at her because we, as a species, are so used to ugly being the norm  (“Have you BEEN to the BMV, Elaine?”) that we can’t stop looking at people who are attractive.  We drink them in like a scarce hidden spring in a dusty desert.   The server asked, “One check or two?”  as soon as we finished our food and apparently I spoke loudly and with a bit of shock: “Well I am HAVING another drink!”  

 We chugged away and then around 7 we headed out the door.  I was in a bit of a conundrum because I had already walked a great deal and I didn’t know what side of the stadium we were on, and I didn’t want to walk in circles for nothing, as BabyCalf and BionicTendon were a lil sore. Just then, (of course, because this is how things happen to witchy little me), a jolly man called from one lone open-air shuttle across the street: “Need a ride?”  And how!  Not only did we get a ride, we got the VIP drop off at the secret back elevator!  Up we went,  got scanned in, and found our kickass seats—basically 6 rows up from the floor.

 Once we knew where our seats were, we went up to the stuffed and crammed hallway overflowing with yellow and camo-clad Cliquers, and made our way to a hallway bar cart.  The windows behind the bar cart looked out to the open air terrace.  We figured we would go out and get some fresh air rather than wait in our seats, and asked the bartender, “Can we have someone let us back in if we go out there?” She said “No, but you can keep walking around the corner and come back in the main entrance.”  No problem! But was it? We soon found it was, as we wandered back up to the main entrance with our brazenly open containers and were told, “No re-entry!” by a shocked looking person who may as well have added, “You dumbasses!”

 “BUT! BUT! She said we could come back in this way!” I eloquently burst forth.

The ‘who are these stupid people’ gate attendant said with some ‘tude: “Who. Is. ‘She’?”

“The bartender!” I pouted.

“You can’t have open containers either!” he parried again, noticing our drinks.

“Well what do we DO!?” I demanded, my Scarlett O’Hara inconvenience bubbling up.

He sighed and pointed. “That guy in the blazer is the manager. Go talk to him.”

 Another witchy win: the plaza was empty except for the one, lone, blazered manager, talking to a cop! What are the chances he was right there?  I strolled up, my drink still blatant AF, and explained our predicament.

“No re-entry,” he said.

“Oh my God! We were clearly here! We had to get in to even be here with a drink in our hand. She told us we could go out on the terrace and walk around to get back in!”

“Who is ‘she’? And no open containers.” he chided.

 Amazingly,  our damsel in distress act got us back in and the manager bellowed “Let ‘em through!” to all the ticket attendants, and we sailed on through, triumphant. “Comin through!” I waved my hands. Back to our seats we went!

 MIsterwives opened up, and I get it, auburn-maned singer Mandy Lee has a wild falsetto that yips and yodels and leaps around, putting me in mind of Kate Bush’s vocal style. Their wavy, colorful set and lighting was bright and cheery with rainbow tones and pops of pinks and yellows. The highlight was their cover of Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts”.   Ballsy move!  They bopped, boogied and bounced with great gusto all over the stage and when they finished with a rollicking “Our Own House”  with its zesty horn riffs, the crowd was getting into it.  (Jordan and I happened to be sitting in the “Family Section” and felt chastened by the uncertain-faced teens at their first show, not quite sure how to let loose, and their basic and somewhat resigned parents – neither of which group had a drink in their hands. Jordan made several trips up and back, soaking these poor people with vodka as she sloshed her way back to her seat.)

 FINALLY – the main event! The arena seethed with anticipation when the curtain billowed back and forth, sooo close to unveiling the set and stage. Finally, in a burst of red lasers and flames, Josh and Tyler appeared on the scene and ripped right into Jumpsuit, performed as a car on fire burned behind them. JUMPSUIT! JUMPSUIT! COVER ME! He screamed at the close, as we all did.

 Visually, the evening was a treat for the senses.  Kaledoscopic shifting colors and shapes, lasers, catwalks, a B Stage…. Costume changes and bridges,  Josh Dun and his abs on full display, Tyler with his various hats and costumes and instruments,  a glittering swath of twinkling lights for the gentle “Neon Gravestones” shining like stars caught in a net: The production of this tour was top-notch and stunning, allowing for a visual orgy to accompany the talent of the hometown boys. I stumbled across a line that I think puts it perfectly:

“This wasn’t a band rocking out, despite how hard Dun plays the drums. This was a post-apocalyptic rapper-hero performing songs with his drummer-sidekick nearby, in the midst of lasers and explosions.” They really do have a kind of anime’,  lone-wolf kind of renegade vibe going, especially with the way their albums tend to run with storylines: The Blurryface character, and now the bishops and mysterious DEMA of Trench.

Their setlist was packed full of the goodies…. Stressed Out (“what’s my name?” Tyler would chant rhythmically.)  The frenetic insanity and staccato rapping of Heavy Dirty Soul. My favorite from Trench, The Hype, or as I say “The song with the best ukulele-backed bridge ever written.” God that song is tight! They shifted stages during the end of “Nico and the Niners” and returned back on the main stage by the time Holding On To You started….. ahhhh, where Josh does his perfectly timed backflip from the piano! Lean with it, rock with it. Swoon, y’all.   Tyler’s laid-bare confessions are what resonate, causing the band’s wildfire-like leap to global fame.

 Something that is becoming a bit of tradition with the duo is that every show, as far as I know, has always ended with Trees. It’s a euphoric communal outpouring to close the night, everyone jumping up and down singing “LA LA…. LA LA LA LA LA LA….. HELLOOOOOOO!”  It’s a soft start, a gentle and sad build, and then a sweaty screamfest at the end. PERF!

 As we made our way out the doors and across the plaza, we made up songs like “My momma needs to take an elevator because of her busted tendon” – Jordan, and “OOooh but I got ma fishnet stockings on, yeahh” -Me.  Jordan also stepped on my foot and I howled in pain as she knelt before with remorse, boozily patting and stroking my foot.

 Sooo we grabbed another Uber, and here’s where things shifts from a normal boozy concert night to one for the books. Our dude, Dean, pulled up with the license plate that began with LGR.  Our relationship began with my opening sentence: “Your license plate says LIGER, like Napoleon Dynamite.  It’s a lion—and a tiger!”  And bam! Merrily we roll along!

 I am not quite sure how this went from polite chatter to veering off the rails, but I will condense and recount what went down as best I can recall.

Jordan: She had her achilles’ tendon repaired!

Dean: Oh, I can fix that.

(Like, totally matter of fact. Oh, I can fix that.)

 Jordan: Really?  YES!

Dean: Sure. We’re all made of electricity.  We’re just made of electric particles and neurons. I consult all over to doctors because I fix people.

Jordan: Why are you driving an Uber?

Me: .

Dean: Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.

Me: …How???

Dean: Electricity.

Jordan: How do you know how to do this?

Dean: I’m just kind of brilliant with this kind of stuff.

 OK, so, I’m kind of brushing it off at this point, thinking I’ll ditch him when we arrive at the ol’ Blu. Dean says he’s going to find a place to park and he will be right in. Jord and I get out and stand outside for a minute as we watch him drive around the corner.  “Let’s just go in,” I say.  “Yeah,” she agrees, “I think he left.”  My brain was so jumbled with confusion I wasn’t sure what was going on.  Was he actually planning on coming up to the hotel room?  “Let’s get inside,” I said, relieved that he probably was just messing with us and took off.

 The automatic glass doors blew open to the lobby and we walked in. Right behind us, a dude with a bag of City BBQ carryout and a gray medical-looking case followed us in.

Jordan: What’s that?

City BBQ dude: This is my (blah, blah, blah.)  It uses electricity to heal injuiries. (He says a name similar to   something like the Electralux El Diablo 5000.)

Jordan: She tore her achilles!

City BBQ dude: Yes, this equipment will heal it.

ME: (whipping my head back toward him):  OH MY GOD!!!! MY UBER DRIVER JUST SAID THAT TOO!  WHAT ARE THE CHANCES!?

Like, seriously, I am thinking this guest of the hotel is maybe a doctor in for a conference, or whatever.  It was only through muddled bits and pieces clicking together in my brain during the ride up in the elevator and ending when the bbq-toting man did not go to his “room” but walked in OURS that I fucking realized…

This guy WAS MY UBER DRIVER.

Not 2 separate people, both coincidentally on a mission and willing to fix bodily injuries with a machine with the equipment on their person.

 I was so confused when faced with this reality it was like I was living in an alternate universe.  As I am sputtering around saying, “Oh my God, I never really saw your face in the car, just the back of your head” Dean is busily and efficiently placing electrodes on my ankles, calves, shins, even my goddamn glutes.  I find myself saying, “You know, my shoulder has hurt a bit lately too” and he briskly whips my arm around and jams his thumb right where it hurts, murmurs the word “Release…..” and then slaps an electrode on my shoulder. THEN he hooks Jordan up. “Is this a TENS unit?”  I ask. “Pfft.  This makes a TENS unit look like child’s play” he retorts proudly.

Jordan and I are now are standing next to each other looking like inmates of The Green Mile and sizzling with pulsating electricity.   Dean eats his corn pudding, yanking the current up and down based on our grunts of discomfort. My phone is in my hand at all times with the first two numbers of 9 – 1 punched in and on high alert.  But as he contentedly moves on to his green beans with his feet kicked up on the table in front of him, I have to admit he looks pretty harmless.  

 I think Dean the Electrode Machine was in our room until midnight, giving us confident tips on how to heal, saying he could bring his machine anywhere in the world, and I finally started giving signs of get-out-I’m-tired. In a gentlemanly way, he bid us adieu, as I babbled on about leaving him a big tip.  I mean, he invited himself to cure me, but isn’t his time and trouble worth something?  I tipped him 30 dollars and added him on Facebook.  

 Jordan and I try to get ready for bed but she then runs into a couple of questionable characters and starts talking to them. The three of them are standing outside (why did we go back outside? Perhaps to bid Dean adieu, I believe.) They start cooking up plans like long lost homies.  I say “Get upstairs” and take her arm.  (She can be hard to manage once she crosses that line.)  We get in bed.  It is nearing 1am. Jordan lays on top of me crying and blubbering “Promise me you won’t ever die.”   I say kindly as I smooth her hair, “I will though.”   We laugh about being electrocuted by our Uber driver.  I say I can’t believe he just invited himself to our hotel room.  She casually says with the air of a jaded and well-worn matriarch: “Please, Mom, everybody hangs out with their Uber drivers in their hotels now.” Then she gets up again and walks out the door.  I am fading fast but I manage to say, “GET BACK IN HERE! Where are you going?”  I close my eyes for a minute and I open them when I hear the door open again and Jordan puts her face right next to mine and whispers in a low, clear, concerned voice:

“Mom. There is a naked man sitting in the egg chair in the hallway masturbating.”

“Huh?” I whisper back.

She repeats it.

With STRANGE AND STOIC CALM considering my inebriated and disoriented state, I pick up the desk phone.  The next thing I know, I am whispering as calmly and clearly as Jordan did: “Hello. This is Room 303. I want you to know there is a naked man masturbating in the egg chair up here in the hallway.”

 DEAD ASS PAUSE on the other end. Finally: “Umm, ahh, ok, I… I .. uhhh… I’ll come check it out.”

Five minutes later the phone startles me out of my slip into slumber.  

“Hello?” I answer.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. The man. No man.”

“Okay.”

 It is 2:30 now and I don’t just fall asleep—I hurtle into it like a plane crashing into the ground, fading to black.  I don’t wake up until I hear something.  It sounds familiar.  It’s a ringing sound.  It’s that thing that makes you wake up. But where is it?  “Jordan,”  I hiss. “Huh?” she moans.  She bolts upright and grabs her phone and stares at it. “This is new,” she whispers.  “Make it stop!”  I cry. The ringing continues.  I realize it’s coming from my phone which is on the floor.  I remember how to make it stop.  It’s 6:45 am. I lay in exhausted torment until 7:15. Then 7:30.  Then with every ounce of strength I can muster, I get my ass up and get to the excruciating business of  getting my shit together and getting my shit together…( sayin’ wake up, ya need to make money!)  At 8:10 Jordan and I are both in the car with a cup of coffee.  You’re not hard core unless you live hard core, like Dewey Finn says.

 I sail up 71 without incident.  The coffee kicks in and I’m actually feeling pretty okay. At 9:49, I pull into the venue we are at for the day at work. Jordan’s car is safe and intact.  I find a parking spot, wave to my friend, and tell Jordy to wake up.

 She sits up, opens her eyes, retches, opens the door, and promptly vomits down the side of my car.

I squeal, then chant prayerfully: OMG PLEASE DO NOT PUKE IN FRONT OF MY CO-WORKERS!

 I don’t even see her leave.  She is gone, slinking away to her car, as I had practically pushed her out of a moving vehicle.

 So.  That’s my review of Twenty One Pilots and a little story thrown in to boot.  

 PS My foot doesn’t feel any better.

PSS Pics below of Tyler, Josh, me, Jordan,and Dean.