But does it matter that two middle-aged men with very large platforms were sitting at a table pathologising teenage girls’ sexuality – and making a whole load of potentially harmful assumptions about a topic they know literally nothing about? Absolutely.

elizabethminkel wrote in newstatesman article, “Why it doesn’t matter what Benedict Cumberbatch thinks of Sherlock fan fiction“ 

Finally, a mainstream media article that presents the human side of fandom, and talks about why it’s important to have alternative forms of media. 

I fangirl this woman so hard right now. 

(via wearitcounts)

The Mug Battle: Torchwood vs UNIT

jazzforthecaptain:

Merinda and I were talking about this, and after we’d recovered sufficiently from the giggles, she recommended posting it. So here it is.

It all started with Ianto’s well-intentioned failure of a Christmas gift for the team. Well, holiday gift, he insisted, as none of them ever really exchanged religious affiliation information. They could all be Jewish, for whatever he knew. Though he assumed Gwen wasn’t, due to the overall Protestant nature of her wedding.

Toshiko jokingly mentioned that they ought to have staff shirts, sometime in September. It was after they’d all become aware of how non-clandestine their little clandestine operation really was. Owen wasn’t the only one to blame for that – he might have ordered the pizza, but there was the bloody big logo on the fenders of the SUV. Plus Jack certainly never hesitated to introduce them by name. By now, if someone came round raving about aliens, Cardiff folk would wave vaguely towards the Plass and tell them to yell at a security camera.

The shirts were right out. Ianto wouldn’t be caught dead in a polo, and he wore tee shirts for the occasional banging about on a Sunday, or to bed. He wasn’t about to give Jack the satisfaction of seeing him in bed in a Torchwood shirt – the man’s ego already had enough power to fill the electrical needs of Splott. Right. Mugs it was. Ianto ordered a crate of them, thinking that all matching mugs at the Hub would give an air of unification to anyone who blundered in.

They never arrived.

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The Chemistry of Mycroft and Lestrade

mydwynter:

It occurs to me as I’m elbow-deep in editing this Mycroft/Lestrade story—and feeling that exquisite torment of loving this story, of being proud of it—that there are those who will never bother to read the thing simply because they can’t be bothered reading anything with the pairing. That gives me a sad. I wish I could convince them otherwise.

See, to me, there’s so much potential in these two. They’re visceral. They’re compelling. As someone who writes both, the problems, issues, and dynamics between Mycroft and Lestrade are just so different from those between John and Sherlock. There’s so much to explore between the two that isn’t often explored with John and Sherlock, or is explored in vastly different ways: Age. Experience. Interaction with work colleagues. The various manners in which they enact the business of caring for others. How the two must fight to fit a relationship between them into such busy, work-entrenched lives.

All pairings are different from one another, obviously. That’s the way of it. Well-written stories are the volatile combination of two or more characters, and that reaction is by definition going to be different with any other combination. However, I’ve talked to many people who have said, “oh, I read Johnlock, but I just don’t care about Mystrade.” And when I ask why, it turns out that they’ve built up this image of the pairing that may reflect the way Mycroft and Lestrade appear to be, but it doesn’t consider what happens beneath the surface when you put these two disparate elements in a room together, shake it up, and let it go.

It can be explosive. Illuminating. Rich. Satisfying. Real.

It can be a story of two men who have achieved within their own particular spheres negotiating how they interact with each other. Two men who have separate lives of their own who nevertheless decide to meet in the middle. Two men whose baggage doesn’t necessarily match, but they decide, regardless, to try.

The combination of Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade is so much more than the sum of its parts.

I admit, I didn’t get it at first. I read books, I wrote my own original pairings, I read and wrote Sherlock/John. My dance card was full up, I thought. I knew Mycroft/Lestrade existed, of course, but I just didn’t bother to get involved. Greg has silvering hair, and Mycroft carries an umbrella, and what else can there be between them? What more did I really need to know?

But then for some forgotten reason I read one of their stories, and all that changed. I read a story, and I finally understood that there was a there, there. I read a story, and all my barriers crumbled away into nothing the first time Greg made Mycroft smile. I fell in love.

If you’ve read good Mycroft/Lestrade and it’s not been your cup of tea, that’s one thing. I can understand that. But if you haven’t even tried any, if you’ve rejected them on spec, I just really wish I could convince you to give them a try.

I wonder if you wouldn’t fall just a bit in love, too.

Why poor people buy nice things

Why poor people buy nice things