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Moffat: Also, if you read [The Adventure Of] Charles Augustus Milverton, Dr. Watson in the opening paragraph tells you that he’s about to tell you a porkie. He says, ‘I even now must be very reticent.’ I think what Doyle is hinting at is that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson sat in Baker Street and said, ‘Right, we’re going to have to go and kill him, aren’t we? That’s the only way we can do this.’ So they break in, kill him, and then Dr. Watson writes up a version of the story that puts the murder [on someone else].

Gatiss: They’re hiding in their burglar masks behind the curtain, and this random woman comes and shoots Milverton in the face and then grinds her heel into his face. It’s odd, isn’t it? So I mean really, it’s just an extrapolation of saying, ‘Well, he probably did it, I think.’

Steven Moffat, Empire Interview

…Are you kidding me, Moffat and Gatiss? 

For those who aren’t familiar with the original ACD stories, “The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton” is one of the coolest, badass-lady-kicks-ass stories in canon. And here they’ve just decided that the only way that’s possible is that Watson was lying to us.

To recap the story: Holmes and Watson break into Milverton’s estate with the intention of removing the letters that Milverton has on their client, Lady Eva Blackwood. Upon breaking in, they pick the lock of the safe where Milverton keeps his letters for blackmail, and then hide behind a curtain when Milverton himself comes in. Milverton sits down in his chair and reads some legal papers for a while, and then a woman comes to the door, and it becomes evident that the two of them had prearranged this meeting. Milverton understands the woman is a maid who is prepared to sell letters that will incriminate her mistress.

It turns out, though, that the woman is actually one of Milverton’s victims; that he sent the letters he had on her to her husband, and it came as such a shock to the husband that he died of a broken heart. Furious and determined that Milverton will never victimize anyone else the same way again, the woman shoots Milverton and grinds her heel in his face.

At the time, Watson reports, he and Holmes have no idea what the woman’s identity is; at the end, Holmes has an epiphany and the story ends with Holmes showing Watson this:

"…a shop window filled with photographs of the celebrities and beauties of the day. Holmes’ eyes fixed themselves on one of them, and following his gaze I saw the picture of a regal and stately lady in Court dress, with a high diamond tiara upon her head. I looked at that delicately-curved nose, at the strong little chin beneath it. Then I caught my breath as I read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman and statesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes, and he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window."

So, let me get this straight. We have Watson telling us a completely believable story where a female character has agency for once and takes care of her own problem (and everyone else’s) by getting rid of Milverton, with perfectly good reason seeing as he’s been blackmailing everyone in town. it makes total sense that he would have shitloads of enemies and that someone would stand up to him eventually, especially if they had nothing left to lose as this woman does, and somehow that’s unbelievable? The only explanation is that Watson must have been lying to us? I’m not saying he would admit it if he and Holmes did commit murder, but the fact that he provided us with an alternative that gives us a woman with agency and an interesting, mysterious backstory makes me think that’s not the case. (Also, I take issue with Moffat’s reading of Holmes as someone who would be totally okay with murder and then letting Watson publish a story about it, but that’s a different post entirely.)

Combined with the fact that Moffat took the joy of Irene Adler beating Sherlock Holmes away from us (and then added insult to injury by having him save her as a damsel in distress), I am just too furious to speak right now. The man is apparently incapable of writing a female character with agency, who steals the spotlight away from Sherlock Holmes, ever. I can’t believe people still claim the man does not have any issues with sexism and misogyny. I absolutely cannot understand it. 

(via mymomoness)

Reblogging for truth.

lisanotsam:

John Oliver’s last night as a Daily Show correspondent. 🇬🇧

DANGER! DANGER! Get on the floor! Sing it! Been so long. Sing it!

If your friend would be good enough to remain…
Under the 2014 budget, this is the new maintenance plan for your 18th century historic house musuem.

whenyouworkatamuseum:

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[cries]

COULD ONLY BE TRUER IF THERE WERE A NEWLY INSTALLED #@$%^&!!! VIDEO WALL DIRECTLY ABOVE.

5 YEARS OF MERLIN

mrandmrseventwofive:

Jessica Williams

Oliver’s moving out, that better mean Williams is moving up.

ink-splotch:

There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.” - JK Rowling

Can we talk about Susan’s fabulous adventures after Narnia? The ones where she wears nylons and elegant blouses when she wants to, and short skirts and bright lipstick when she wants to, and hiking boots and tough jeans and big men’s plaid shirts when she feels like backpacking out into the mountains and remembering what it was to be lost in a world full of terrific beauty— I know her siblings say she stops talking about it, that Susan walks away from the memories of Narnia, but I don’t think she ever really forgot.

I want to read about Susan finishing out boarding school as a grown queen reigning from a teenaged girl’s body. School bullies and peer pressure from children and teachers who treat you like you’re less than sentient wouldn’t have the same impact. C’mon, Susan of the Horn, Susan who bested the DLF at archery, and rode a lion, and won wars, sitting in a school uniform with her eyebrows rising higher and higher as some old goon at the front of the room slams his fist on the lectern. 

Susan living through WW2, huddling with her siblings, a young adult (again), a fighting queen and champion marksman kept from the action, until she finally storms out against screaming parents’ wishes and volunteers as a nurse on the front. She keeps a knife or two hidden under her clothes because when it comes down to it, they called her Gentle, but sometimes loving means fighting for what you care for. 

She’ll apply to a women’s college on the East Coast, because she fell in love with America when her parents took her there before the war. She goes in majoring in Literature (her ability to decipher High Diction in historical texts is uncanny), but checks out every book she can on history, philosophy, political science. She sneaks into the boys’ school across town and borrows their books too. She was once responsible for a kingdom, roads and taxes and widows and crops and war. She grew from child to woman with that mantle of duty wrapped around her shoulders. Now, tossed here on this mundane land, forever forbidden from her true kingdom, Susan finds that she can give up Narnia but she cannot give up that responsibility. She looks around and thinks I could do this better.

I want Susan sneaking out to drink at pubs with the girls, her friends giggling at the boys checking them out from across the way, until Susan walks over (with her nylons, with her lipstick, with her sovereignty written out in whatever language she damn well pleases) and beats them all at pool. Susan studying for tests and bemoaning Aristotle and trading a boy with freckles all over his nose shooting lessons so that he will teach her calculus. Susan kissing boys and writing home to Lucy and kissing girls and helping smuggle birth control to the ladies in her dorm because Susan Pevensie is a queen and she understands the right of a woman to rule over her own body. 

Susan losing them all to a train crash, Edmund and Peter and Lucy, Jill and Eustace, and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy, who Susan’s always felt the most responsible for. Because this is a girl who breathes responsibility, the little mother to her three siblings until a wardrobe whisked them away and she became High Queen to a whole land, ruled it for more than a decade, then came back centuries later as a legend. What it must do to you, to be a legend in the body of a young girl, to have that weight on your shoulders and have a lion tell you that you have to let it go. What is must do to you, to be left alone to decide whether to bury your family in separate ceremonies, or all at once, the same way they died, all at once and without you. What it must do to you, to stand there in black, with your nylons, and your lipstick, and feel responsible for these people who you will never be able to explain yourself to and who you can never save. 

Maybe she dreams sometimes they made it back to Narnia after all. Peter is a king again. Lucy walks with Aslan and all the dryads dance. Maybe Susan dreams that she went with them— the train jerks, a bright light, a roar calling you home. 

Maybe she doesn’t. 

Susan grows older and grows up. Sometimes she hears Lucy’s horrified voice in her head, “Nylons? Lipstick, Susan? Who wants to grow up?”  and Susan thinks, “Well you never did, Luce.” Susan finishes her degree, stays in America (England looks too much like Narnia, too much like her siblings, and too little, all at once). She starts writing for the local paper under the pseudonym Frank Tumnus, because she wants to write about politics and social policy and be listened to, because the name would have made Edmund laugh. 

She writes as Susan Pevensie, too, about nylons and lipstick, how to give a winning smiles and throw parties, because she knows there is a kind of power there and she respects it. She won wars with war sometimes, in Narnia, but sometimes she stopped them before they began.

Peter had always looked disapprovingly on the care with which Susan applied her makeup back home in England, called it vanity. And even then, Susan would smile at him, say “I use what weapons I have at hand,” and not explain any more than that. The boy ruled at her side for more than a decade. He should know better. 

Vain is not the proper word. This is about power. But maybe Peter wouldn’t have liked the word “ambition” any more than “vanity.”

Susan is a young woman in the 50s and 60s. Frank Tumnus has quite the following now. He’s written a few books, controversial, incendiary. Susan gets wrapped up in the civil rights movement, because of course she would. It’s not her first war. All the same, she almost misses the White Witch. Greed is a cleaner villain than senseless hate. She gets on the Freedom Rider bus, mails Mr. Tumnus articles back home whenever there’s a chance, those rare occasions they’re not locked up or immediately threatened. She is older now than she ever was in Narnia. Susan dreams about Telemarines killing fauns. 

Time rolls on. Maybe she falls in love with a young activist or an old cynic. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Frank Tumnus, controversial in the moment, brilliant in retrospect, gets offered an honorary title from a prestigious university. She declines and publishes an editorial revealing her identity. Her paper fires her. Three others mail her job offers. 

When Vietnam rolls around, she protests in the streets. Susan understands the costs of war. She has lived through not just the brutal wars of one life, but two. 

Maybe she has children now. Maybe she tells them stories about a magical place and a magical lion, the stories Lucy and Edmund brought home about how if you sail long enough you reach the place where the seas fall off the edge of the world. But maybe she tells them about Cinderella instead, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, except Rapunzel cuts off her own hair and uses it to climb down the tower and escape. The damsel uses what tools she has at hand. 

A lion told her to walk away, and she did. He forbade her magic, he forbade her her own kingdom, so she made her own. 

Susan Pevensie did not lose faith. She found it. 

CUTEST. EVER.

copperbadge:

Nerds and their families in costumes.

Matt Bomer & Family | Tim DeKay & Family

boyinthemachine:

Okay, by just looking at the artwork I deduce that all Holmes and Watson are doing 24/7 is basically sitting around in chairs while judging everything (unless they get up to judge more ppl).

I mean, seriously:

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even each other

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