because of the 16 emotions that pass over her face in 5 seconds

On who the Real Showrunner is

We’ve always known that the psychopath monster Mary Morstan makes us vomit with disgust over her pure unadulterated evil, but the level of her supposed cleverness in being the actual title holder of Moriarty the criminal organization (or as Sherlock called it in the released S1 scripts, “Crime Ltd.”) really does make her a virus. The virus.

Mary Morstan Infected the Real Story Tellers

She has utterly corrupted the Story Tellers - Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss - that they are no longer recognizable as the writers who gave us S1 to TAB.

Did she reprogram Mofftiss? Drugged them with a powder from a folded paper? Tampered with their IV and threatened them while drugged and injured to “Never tell John” aka never tell us the true story that’s 130 years overdue?

Shot them for making a funny face?

She announced her fake birth in a far-right UK broadsheet as if she were either British or Queen-and-Country-ish. Of which she is neither.

She tried - and is successful so far - in usurping the title Story Teller from Steven and Mark that she tried to tell the story of her fake baby herself, making sure to throw shade at Sherlock in those very few words, and pass it off as a joke. Just to drive home the false point that Sherlock cares not about the “baby” nor John.

Mary Morstan Infected the Characters

She hired a cartoonish has-been (or never-was) actor who gave the most offensive portrayal of gayness and mental illness (the existence of which is offensive itself when perpetually paired with gayness), turning him into the stereotype of the creepy stalking sexual predator with the irritating antics of an attention-seeking 8-year old boy.

Mary hired an annoying caricature to make nauseating gifs and nightmarish soundbites that she could upload to every screen in England and Azkaban.

Then Mary killed him shortly after he says, “Nah, you talk big.” Thus rendering him forever a failure in “burning the heart out” of Sherlock. Was the irony lost on her or is she really that homophobic such that it was deliberate?

One could say Jiminy Creeper gave his life for his art. Or did he? If Mary can access MI-5 from a phone in seconds, then she could make up an entire public backstory about “Richard Brook” the allegedly multi-awarded actor. But is actually an over-the-top nobody.

Mary Morstan Infected the True Story

Mary Morstan’s presence all throughout S4 was intrusive (or as better writers have put it “it felt chaperoned”) because Mary was telling us S4 with the arrogance of a self-inserting malevolent author. Mary gets the last word in S4 (and far too many words besides) because she is its Story Teller.

Mary Morstan is also S4’s alt-right propagandist, conjuring a dystopian tale where Greg, John, Sherlock, and Mycroft are redundant, abusive, gullible, and spineless - respectively. Where POCs are rare, and stupid when they show up. Where little old ladies are road hazards. Where teams of government officials dedicate an entire room and resources for surveillance and nepotism. Where cross-dressing uncles lock up their 6-year old gifted nieces in prison.

An alt-right world Mary force feeds us through John’s and Sherlock’s drugged state where she recycles her homophobic script for the long-dead Jiminy Creeper and speaks them in a woman’s voice, another caricature of gayness and mental illness.

A bizarre world in which Molly is a sickeningly pathetic 40-year old woman with the emotional maturity of a 16-year old while her self-important nagging is ignored, her medical degree ultimately useless, and her public humiliation and torture make her come back for more.

An un-buy-able world in which Mary Morstan is a self-effacing, saccharine letter writing, saintly mommy with a cheating husband, but is “cute” and “better” than her army doctor husband as a crime-solving match for Sherlock.

A surreal world in which a smart, educated, insightful, articulate fan base of Sherlock is systematically engineered to paint them as sex-crazed gay fetishizers who, in their genius, could be nothing else than unnatural.

Mary Morstan’s wresting the story away from Moffat’s and Gatiss’ hands - and rewriting Mycroft as someone who would date a colleague old enough to be his mother (possibly because his own mother thinks him “very limited”) - is a heist that the literary, cinematic, artistic, and philosophical world has to either solve or else live with.

Mary Morstan Infected the Strong Woman Narrative

March is Women’s Month, today March 8 is Women’s Day. Mary Morstan’s idea of an empowered woman is one who murders her friends, betrays her colleagues to their deaths, abandons her infant daughter (fake as it is) to escape the consequences of her crimes, uses her husband as a human shield from the murderous colleague she betrayed, and runs away while his best friend lifts a table to shield her husband instead.

Mary Morstan has overtaken both the fictional and real universe even before S4 aired in her quest to quell the truth of the 130-year old tale. She infects every hopeful heart, hacks every clue to the truth, reformats perceptions, and distorts memories of all that is good and right and noble and beautiful and true.

And she laughs with glee in every available platform online and off each time a troll destroys hope for resolution.

Mary Morstan is a rogue character escaped from a fictional universe wreaking havoc in her wake. It’s about time we went after the actual villain and not the discredited heroes. Waiting 2 years for an acquittal with only the Andersons among us speculating and repenting is such a grave miscarriage of justice.

It’s time to take down Mary Morstan the Moriarty figurehead. Kill that virus.

Unleash the secret.

Divided - Part 2

Pairings: Steve x Reader eventual/possible Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Violence

Word Count: 1671

Summary: You head out on a retrieval mission with the team but things go awry when and unexpected player enters the field.  

Authors Note: There is something about this reader character that is just freaking doing it for me, so hopefully y’all are into it as well. Anyway I’m really excited about this one and can’t wait to see what you guys think. Tagging is open, just ask

Divided: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

@imhereforbvcky @iamtal @nickel5socks

You inch down the alleyway, your favorite knife poised in your hand as Steve advances in front of you, shield raised. “Be sure to be aware of your left flank beautiful, you always leave it vulnerable.” Steve says turning back to you as you roll your eyes at his observation, noticing before him the new presence of an opposing agent in the alleyway right in front of Steve.

You quickly raise your knife and propel it past Steve’s ear, imbedding it squarely in right shoulder of the hostile, causing Steve to whip round just in time to see the dropping body in front of him. “Yes Captain, please tell me more of my ineptitude.” You tease as you skip past him, retrieving your patterned handle from the chest of the man while he clutches at his wound.

Steve follows you as you turn the corner, seeing a guard with his back to you patrolling in your path. Without hesitation, you swap your signature close range knife for a heavier distance knife, the handle wrapped in black leather for added weight. You spin the knife delicately in your fingers, allowing the blade to point back towards you as your arm recoils into a 90-degree angle.

With a sharp flick of your wrist, you release the knife. It flies forward silently, embedding in the center of the guard’s shoulders, right below his neck, severing the spinal cord and killing him instantly. The guard silently crumples to the ground as Steve moves past you once more, “You could have just knocked him out, you didn’t have to kill him.” He scolds you, never fond of your emotional disconnect from the more violent aspects of your career.

Keep reading

All I Wanted; C.H. 21

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20

A few days had passed. Not many. Although, I’m not quite sure how much time had passed; I had thrown myself onto my schoolwork, leaving the internet and my phone aside. Meredith did ask a few times if I was feeling better and I lied – told her it was a simple bed bug that I needed to sweat out and I’d see her soon. I’m not sure if I were to hang out with them again; I was scared something might’ve leaked, or that I had to explain something – anything.

Of course I had taken the time to think everything over, convincing myself at first that I had overreacted; which, in a sense, indeed I did. But on the other hand, I don’t think any girl would appreciate being toyed with. And I think your reaction to something possibly life changing is a reflection of your emotions. So me reacting that way was an indication to myself.

I never thought I would ever admit it out loud, not even to myself, but there is no denying anymore. I had developed feelings for Calum which had come back to bite me in the ass. All the warning signs, alarm bells - read: Meredith - were there, but I simply chose to ignore them all. And now I had absolutely no idea what to do – to just let it go, to let him go or to let everything go.

So here I am, at one of the bars I completely despise because I can’t go where I want to anymore, all on my own. I wanted Meredith with me, I really did, because I used to always confide in her. This wasn’t about all I wanted anymore, it was about all that I did and the consequences it had carried along with my actions. My best friend didn’t even know what had crawled up my ass in the last few weeks – and I, well, I had done this to myself, after all.

“Another?” The older man asks as he pulls the empty beer glass from my hands, something that sounds like a growl but should’ve been a noise of agreement leaving my lips. I receive a pointed look; I am aware of that. But I can’t be bothered. “You know, Y/n, I don’t know you very well yet, but I’m fairly certain this isn’t you.”

“Oh, what made you think that? My never ending frown?” I laugh humourlessly. This older man, Paul, and I had spoken a few times when I was the only one in the bar. No, no. I wasn’t confiding in him either – but it was nice to talk to someone other than my parents even if he nagged me about the renovations of the back part of the bar that – in his opinion – took too damn long.

I try my best at a genuine smile when a new, filled glass is set in front of me and I’m quick to wrap my fingers around the wet glass. “You seem like a grumpy old man like this.” Luke’s voice startles me so much I always drop off of my seat, nails digging into the wood as I direct a glare at the blonde.

“Deep down inside that’s what I am.” I bark, crawling back properly on my bar seat, bringing the glass to my lips as Luke settles in the seat next to me. He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. But it nags at me. I like the silence when I’m surrounded by strangers - if you can call that silence – or when I’m alone. But knowing he’s here for one particular reason, one I don’t want to hear either, aggravates me. I sigh a few times, the volume of the breath escaping my lips increasing as time passes. “How did you find me?” I question eventually, glancing in his direction but facing straight ahead.

“Doesn’t matter. What have you been up to?” Luke motions to Paul for a beer and the man glances at me for a split second to see my initial reaction. I had never brought anyone here, I had never talked about anyone to him, I’m sure he’s quite bewildered as to why someone as handsome as Luke is dropping his scrawny ass beside me. And I wondered the same.

“Crying, sitting in the shower and eat my own weight in McDonald’s. Pretty productive.” I laugh humourlessly, but I know Luke is frowning. He doesn’t say anything to my statement though. I’m not sure if he is perplexed or he knows it’s best not to lecture me. I start to nervously tap against the wood of the bar as my other hand traces the rim of my half empty glass.

“One way or another you’ll have to explain this to Mer. And face Calum. Or are you planning on staying away completely?” Luke questions as he too focuses straight ahead, his own beer glass pressed against his lips. “I didn’t think of a game plan yet, to be honest. Other things have been occupying my mind.” I shrug nonchalantly. I had given it a thought, but I wasn’t ready to face the decision I had to make. I wasn’t quite certain what the right thing to do would be – yes, I did. Tell Meredith everything and eventually beg for her forgiveness – but anyhow, I was planning on taking my sweet time on deciding on which way I wanted to destroy the current life I was living.  

“Why are you even here?” It sounds like I suddenly realize he’s here, and I’m okay with him thinking that. Luke knew what was going on with Calum and I, but that didn’t mean that we had ever spoken more than a few words to one another. Luke didn’t seem like the guy I was going to have deep conversations with, so I usually stuck to Ash and Mikey. It seems as if Luke suddenly wants to become my knight in shining armour, something that had crossed my mind multiple times in the past weeks – mainly when he had seen Calum kiss me or me walking out of Calum’s room and he’d throw a wink in my direction. “I worried.”

“About me? Why would you?” For the first time since he entered I turn my head in his direction and grant him my full attention. I can’t help it; he has sparked my interest. I almost completely discard my drink and the soft radio tunes resonating from a speaker somewhere behind me on my right, eyes almost glued to Luke’s jaw.

“Not just you, Y/n. Calum has been my friend since we were four and shit he feels bad about this.” Luke groans, one of his hands rubbing over his stubbled chin. I think he realises that I’m not interested in hearing how Calum feels about this, because I have my own emotions to get in check. I don’t know why, but I feel the same burst of anger crawl on my back like a leech that Calum had erupted in me and I ball my hand into a small fist as I bark at Luke.

“Stop trying to convince me to talk to him.” Of course Calum would’ve sent one of his mates to do the dirty work for him. Sending Michael or Ashton wouldn’t have worked, and he knew that. I would rather listen to someone I barely know than to my own friends trying to suck me back in.  

“I am not. He doesn’t know that I was planning on talking to you. The others, including Meredith, may be blind but I am not. I’ve seen the way you look at him and even better - seen the way he has looked at you. I’ve known such intense longing as well and I am genuinely worried about your well-being, Y/n.”

This little speech of his seems heartfelt and somewhere in the beginning he has turned towards me, his blue eyes boring in to mine so I would pay attention and wouldn’t miss a thing he had to say. My heart flutters at the intentions of this man and if I weren’t so persistent on being a stoic bitch, I am certain I would’ve thrown myself against him and hugged him – something I had craved from someone other than my dad for days now.

“I’m fine. At least I will be. Give it time.” I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks, shaking my head slowly as I try to suppress my smile. It’s nice to feel loved and appreciated by someone you didn’t expect it from.

“Will you please hang out with us? I’ll promise you Calum won’t try to talk to you, I’ll make sure of it. We’re all missing our mate.” Luke smiles, probably hoping to have reached a break through. Sadly, a woman’s mind isn’t that simple to decipher. I can’t help but feel my stomach constrict at the thought of possibly seeing Calum; I want to avoid confrontation.

“Luke that isn’t a good idea… it would just be a thorn ripping my flesh open.” I shake my head violently, fingers tapping nervously along the by alcohol sticky wooden bar. I have so many of these little ticks, I’m starting to amaze myself. Maybe I should go for Guinness Book of World Records – how many ticks I can do under a minute.

“You’d make him crave you even more if you’d show him you’re perfectly fine without him.” Luke wiggles his eyebrows but he receives an eye roll in return.

“That’s absolutely what I live for. Taunting Calum when I’m desperate to drown memories of him in alcohol.” I laugh loudly, raising my glass once more. I finish the rest of my drink but keep my glass hoovering in the air as I turn towards Luke.
“So, you in?” I hadn’t even seen it, but I had heard it. Luke was smirking as his eyebrow raises in expectance of my answer. “Well?” He crosses his arms over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently. “Guess so.” I try to get the last droplets out of my glass – kind of to drink myself some courage – and slam the empty glass loudly on the counter top. “Well, let’s go.”


A/N:  And now for day 2! Very short, as I told you before since they’re all going to be drabbles of sorts. But I do hope you enjoy it, because I certainly did when I wrote this hoho

Day: (1, 3, 4, 5, 67, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18)

“You like him, don’t you?”

Marinette blushed, feeling the dread sinking in her gut as she whirled around to where Chat stood near her desk, but he was staring at her with a grin on his face and an amused twinkle in his eye. That caused a wave of embarrassment to crash onto her when she realised at what his thumb was pointing at, and she only stood a little straighter to appear defiant. “He’s a classmate,” she informed him evenly despite the warmth in her cheeks. “And I happen to find inspiration in his modelling carrier, since his dad is my idol.”

There was a flicker of emotion that passed through his face as he stared back at the posters of Adrien on the wall, and she saw the way how guarded he became. “His dad became your idol, huh?”

She shifted in her place, clearing her throat slightly from where she stood near the window. “Yeah, pretty much. Since Gabriel Agreste is everything I want to be.”

“A designer?” He enquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He hummed thoughtfully, before flashing her another grin. “Doesn’t explain why you have posters of Adrien Agreste all over your wall. You probably like to look at him posing for the camera.”

She spluttered, her flush becoming darker by the second. “He’s an inspiration, if I find any clothes he wore likeable, I’ll just cut the page of these magazines off and,” she gestured towards the posters almost frustratedly. “Paste them on the wall.”

“For inspiration, right?”

Yes.” She crossed her arms, trying to look intimidating. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not. It’s just that it’s odd, I guess, to see him alone on your walls when there’s actually a lot of models who wore pretty cool clothes with impressive designs,” he shrugged idly, but the grin was still there. “It’s almost as if you have a crush on him.”

“I don’t,” she protested defensively, ignoring the way her stomach somersaulted at how accurate his words were. “And since when do you read magazines?”

“Sometimes they’re scattered all over my house so when I’m bored, I look through them,” he gave her a tight smile. “And even I have to admit that the new line that came out at the latest season was quite remarkable.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were into fashion.”

He shrugged. “I have my share. But, come on,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she noticed the way how he quickly wanted to change the subject, but that was forgotten when he uttered his next words. “I know you have a crush on him.”

She bristled. “I do not.”

“Uh huh,” he leaned against the desk, mimicking her position. “And pigs fly.”

She huffed, stalking towards him as she started to rearrange the scattered papers on her desk, pointedly ignoring the smug smile he aimed at her. “Believe whatever you want, but I did my part in telling you that I don’t have a crush on Adrien Agreste.” She poked his arm with a stern look that did nothing to deter his amusement. “So please, no more prying.”

“So, you do have a crush on him.”

She groaned, slamming the papers to the side. “No.”

“Hey, it’s okay if you have a crush on him,” he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t deny it, and probably tell him or something.”

“I do not,” she began slowly, trying to not to wince at the attempts she tried in the past. “Have a crush on him.”

“Because,” he continued as if she hadn’t said anything at all and merely shrugged. “Who knows?”

She stared at him suspiciously, her impromptu cleaning ceased as her curiosity mounted. “Who knows what?”

He smiled, leaning forward as if to share a secret, his cheek barely grazing against hers that she felt her heart skipping a beat.

“If he likes you back or something.” He murmured.

A Pocketful of Jelly Beans, Ch.23

Summary: AU Accountant Tom and his wife are on their way to a party when they are overtaken by masked gunmen and secrets are forced to light.

Genre: Thriller/Angst

Rating: M (abduction/flashbacks, brief depiction of gun violence, bruising/marking, non-explicit sexual content…please see individual chapter warnings)

Author’s Notes: Thank you to icybluepenguin for her help! This chapter was very difficult for me to write.  I think we’ve all had experiences in which we feel like we have lost someone who is still alive and breathing in a different form; it’s about the loss of both memories and dreams also and that takes more than a week or two to heal (which is the amount of time this story has covered so far). Thank you for staying with the Jelly Beans and for your kind words.  <3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 -Chapter 7-Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 -Chapter 13 -Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 -Chapter 19 -Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 - Chapter 22


You can do this.  You want to. He’ll be so happy that you are ready for it.  

Keep reading

Revolution - Chapter 6

“Well, I felt really sorry back then, since my mother had to work because of me,” Shion explained. “To me, my life in Chronos was meaningless. It was something I could throw away without a second thought. But I felt sorry for her. Mom said I got our roles mixed up and that she’s a tough one.”

Six years have passed after Nezumi’s departure. Even though the progress of the Restructural Committee is like an untamed wave of changes and improvements, some people are unsatisfied and more than tired Shion thinks he has failed. Will he ever be able to look in these beautiful grey eyes again? Or will his guilt consume him?

If you want to know the answers to these questions, you can read the story on AO3 | | or right here!

Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Keep reading