#fandomdiscussion

Theory Time: Who Is the Girl in Pink? (And Why She Might Change Everything in Young Sherlock)

I just finished watching Young Sherlock, and I have to say—this show completely pulled me in.

Not just because of the mystery, but because it fits perfectly into this new wave of modernized period dramas. The kind that keep the historical setting but feel incredibly current through direction, music, pacing, and character dynamics.

In many ways, it reminds me a lot of The Artful Dodger.

Different stories, same energy.

And like any good mystery show… it leaves us with questions.

So today’s Theory Time is dedicated to the biggest one of them all:

Who is the girl in pink?

The Girl in Pink: Coincidence or Clue?

We first see her in Oxford.

She’s sitting on the grass, reading a book, while Sherlock is working—right at the beginning of the story.

At first, she feels like background.

Just another student.

But then… she keeps appearing.

Not just in Oxford.

But in completely unrelated places:

During conversations with Moriarty

Near Beatrice’s grave

In moments where she shouldn’t logically be

And that’s when it becomes clear:

She’s not just a random character.

Real… or a Hallucination?

At first, it’s easy to assume she’s a hallucination.

But there’s one detail that made me question that.

When Sherlock is arrested and put into the carriage, we see the crowd behind him.

Everyone is blurred.

Except her.

She’s still there.

Visible. Present. Real.

And that’s important.

Because usually, when a character is just a projection of the mind, they disappear when the perspective shifts.

But she doesn’t.

Which leads to a first, crucial theory:

👉 She was real at least once.

And what Sherlock sees later might be his mind holding onto her.

Theory #1: Irene Adler… or Someone Like Her

If she’s real, the most obvious answer is:

👉 She could be Irene Adler.

The one woman who, in classic lore, leaves a mark on Sherlock.

But here’s the thing.

This series isn’t strictly following Arthur Conan Doyle.

It’s inspired by the novels of Andrew Lane, which already reinterpret Sherlock’s youth.

So this girl could also be:

👉 A completely new character 👉 A rewritten version of Irene 👉 A future emotional anchor for Sherlock

Because unlike the original Sherlock, this version feels more open to emotional connections.

And that changes everything.

Theory #2: A Reflection of Beatrice? (Probably Not)

Another possibility is that she represents Beatrice.

A mental image.

A projection.

But this theory doesn’t fully work.

Because when Sherlock is presented with the fake Beatrice, he doesn’t hesitate.

He believes it instantly.

If he had already formed a mental image of his sister, there should have been at least a moment of doubt.

A pause.

A mismatch.

But there isn’t.

Which makes this theory… unlikely.

Theory #3: The Unknown Girl in the Grave

This is the darker theory.

The one that feels almost supernatural.

What if she is the girl buried in Beatrice’s place?

The unknown victim.

The one no one is looking for.

The one whose identity has been erased.

Could she be appearing to Sherlock as a way to push him toward the truth?

It’s a fascinating idea.

But it also feels… a bit too far removed from the tone of the show.

Still, not impossible.

The Bigger Picture: A Story That Isn’t Over

What makes this even more interesting is that the mystery isn’t actually resolved.

Yes, the father dies.

Yes, we uncover parts of the Apostles’ plan.

But then we get the key.

And that key clearly leads to something bigger.

So whatever the girl in pink represents…

She’s tied to something that hasn’t fully unfolded yet.

Moriarty and Beatrice: The Rise of a Villain Duo

There’s another layer to all of this.

And it’s one I find extremely compelling.

The show is clearly building something between:

James Moriarty

Beatrice Holmes

Not just as individuals.

But as a pair.

Not driven purely by hatred.

But by something more complex:

👉 Envy 👉 Competition 👉 The need to not be second to Sherlock

And that dynamic?

Feels like the foundation of a true villain duo.

Not one leading, one following.

But two forces on equal ground.

A Mirror Dynamic: Heroes vs Villains

If that’s the direction the show is taking, then we might be looking at something bigger:

A mirrored structure.

A dark duo → Moriarty & Beatrice

A light counterpart → Sherlock & someone else

And that’s where the girl in pink comes back into play.

Because if the villains are being built as a pair…

Then Sherlock might not be meant to stand alone.

She could be:

👉 His equal 👉 His counterpart 👉 His emotional balance

A dynamic similar to classic storytelling structures, where two opposing pairs reflect each other like pieces on a chessboard.

So… Who Is She Really?

Right now, the strongest theory remains:

👉 She is real 👉 She will matter 👉 She is not random

Whether she turns out to be Irene Adler, a new character, or something entirely unexpected…

She feels like a key piece of the future narrative.

Your Turn

That’s my Theory Time.

But now I’m curious.

Who do you think the girl in pink is?

And more importantly…

If someone destroyed Heaven to protect you

would you run from them

But I made the experience by myself that for some people it's very difficult to classify bisexual people. In fact there are still a lot of stereotypes and false informations out there about bisexuality in general.

So:

A bi-person has not become straight if they is in a heterosexual relationship. And a bi-person has not become gay if being in a homosexual relationship.

I will not getting tired to repeat it again and again so the last fu**ing guy on earth understands this. We bisexuals are part of the lgbtq+ community.

And last but not least: Kerry Eurodyne is canonically bisexual.

The Redemption Arc Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Never Gave Grant Ward

Today’s entry in They Deserved Better is one that still makes people spiral.

Grant Ward from Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D..

And yes, I know. I’m about to step into dangerous territory.

But here’s my take: Ward was a character they burned far too quickly — in every possible way.

He could have been:

A villain with a slow, painful, meaningful redemption arc.

Or a morally gray character who never fully crossed the line.

Or even a long-term anti-hero struggling between loyalty and identity.

Instead, he became something flatter than he ever needed to be.

Season 1 Ward: The Man We Thought We Knew

When we first meet Ward in Season 1, he’s rigid. Controlled. Hyper-competent. Almost emotionally closed off — but deeply loyal.

He protects his team. He risks himself for them. He’s not warm, but he’s solid.

That’s why the Hydra reveal hits so hard.

Yes, he was undercover. Yes, he was trained by Garrett. Yes, he had a traumatic childhood filled with abuse and manipulation. All of that tracks.

It makes sense that he would latch onto Garrett — the first person who gave him structure, power, control instead of victimhood.

But here’s the issue:

Some of Ward’s early emotional moments feel too real to be pure performance.

His private interactions with Fitz. With Simmons. With Skye.

There are scenes where he doesn’t need to pretend — where no one is watching — and yet he still shows depth. Concern. Vulnerability.

If it was all an act, it was written almost too sincerely.

And that’s where the fracture begins.

The Line He Crossed

Everything that follows — especially what he does to Fitz and Simmons — feels like a sharp escalation.

Leaving Fitz with permanent trauma. Causing neurological damage. Weaponizing emotional trust.

It’s brutal.

And that brutality clashes with the layered man we were introduced to.

I’m not saying he shouldn’t have become a villain.

I’m saying the transition could have been slower. More internal. More conflicted.

Because the show did give him trauma. It did give him complexity.

And then it pushed him fully into villain territory without giving that complexity room to breathe.

Skye, Daisy, and the Missed Opportunity

Let’s talk about Skye.

Later Daisy.

Their relationship mattered. It was never superficial.

Ward loved her. That much was clear.

And I’ll say something unpopular: I think Skye’s reaction to his past was too clean.

Too immediate.

Too absolute.

Instead of trying to understand the trauma that shaped him, she shuts the door entirely.

No struggle. No emotional tug-of-war. No attempt to reach the humanity she herself had witnessed.

She goes straight to “you’re a monster.”

And yes — he did monstrous things.

But if we compare it to how she later treats other characters, the inconsistency is glaring.

The Hive Arc: The Ghost of What Could’ve Been

When Hive takes over Ward’s body, something fascinating happens.

Daisy is manipulated. Controlled. Emotionally tethered.

And fans immediately asked the obvious question:

If Daisy truly felt nothing for Ward anymore — if it was all gone — what was Hive connecting to?

Where did that emotional entry point come from?

Something was still there.

The show never fully explored it.

And people held onto hope.

Hope that Daisy might break free not by rejecting Ward — but by confronting what remained of him.

Hope that Ward, even posthumously, might still matter as something more than a vessel.

It never happened.

The Framework: The Cruelest Irony

Then comes the Framework.

An alternate reality.

And in that reality?

Ward is good.

He’s with Skye. They’re in love.

And this is where my frustration peaks.

Skye knows this isn’t her reality. She knows things are altered. She sees Fitz become someone unrecognizable — and she desperately tries to remind him of who he used to be.

But with Ward?

She treats him with cold distance.

She never gives him the same grace she offers Fitz.

She doesn’t consider that this Ward — this version — is real within that world.

It felt inconsistent.

If you’re going to hold onto the “real” versions of people, do it across the board.

If you’re going to judge them only by this world’s reality, do that consistently too.

But she doesn’t.

And it reinforces the sense that Ward’s emotional weight was selectively minimized.

The Fan Service Paradox

Here’s the part that drives me crazy.

Sometimes TV shows bend over backward for fan service — forcing ships or arcs that were never organically built.

But here?

Ward and Skye were built from Season 1.

The foundation was there.

The audience saw it. Responded to it. Rooted for it.

And for once, continuing that arc wouldn’t have been fan service.

It would have been honoring what the show itself created.

Instead, they shut it down completely.

And gave him no redemption path. No meaningful attempt at one.

For a character with that much psychological layering, that much trauma, that much narrative setup… it felt abrupt.

Why Ward Deserved Better

Out of all the villains in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Ward had the most personal stakes.

The most internal conflict potential.

The strongest emotional ties to the core team.

After Coulson, he might have been the most narratively rich character on the show.

And yet, he was eventually reduced to a recurring antagonist — stripped of the nuance that made him compelling in the first place.

He deserved:

A slower fall.

A harder internal war.

A real redemption attempt.

Or at least a more detailed psychological descent.

Instead, we got fragments.

And the ghost of what could have been.

So now I’m asking you:

Did Ward deserve a redemption arc?

Were you a Ward/Skye fan?

Or do you think the show made the right call turning him fully into a villain?

Let’s talk.

The Character 9-1-1 Let Slip Away (And Why I’d Trade Him Back in a Heartbeat)

EDIT: I admit I wrote this two weeks ago and that my opinion of Ravi is changing slightly. That said, I stand by what I said about Albert and am posting the article anyway.

Sometimes, “They Deserved Better” isn’t just about a storyline.

It’s about a character.

A character who had everything: pot

#tvmeta

#unpopular opinion

ential, emotional depth, connections — and yet somehow got lost along the way.

Today, I want to talk about one of those characters in 9-1-1.

Because if there’s one name that perfectly fits this category, for me, it’s Albert Han.

Albert Han: The Potential That Was Actually There

Let’s start from the beginning.

Albert Han enters the show in Season 3, becomes more prominent in Season 4, appears as a recurring character afterward… and then disappears.

And that still doesn’t make sense to me.

From the moment he showed up, Albert felt like a character with a clear direction.

His story wasn’t random.

It was layered.

He was the younger half-brother of Howard "Chimney" Han, someone who had grown up without a real relationship with Chim, yet actively chose to build one.

And that alone already gave him something important:

emotional purpose.

Then came his decision to become a firefighter — inspired by Chim, just like Chim had once been inspired by Kevin.

That parallel?

Beautiful.

That kind of narrative symmetry is exactly what makes a character feel like they belong in a story.

Integration Matters — And Albert Had It

Albert didn’t just exist in Chim’s orbit.

He integrated.

He built relationships.

He connected with the group.

His dynamic with Evan "Buck" Buckley is one of the clearest examples.

It wasn’t forced.

It wasn’t superficial.

It felt natural.

He even lived with Buck for a while, creating that sense of found family that 9-1-1 does so well.

And when Buck was struck by lightning?

Albert was there.

Present. Worried. Invested.

That’s what makes a character matter.

And Then There’s Ravi…

Now, this is where my take might get a little controversial.

Because this isn’t about the actor.

This is strictly about the character.

Ravi Panikkar has been in the show since Season 4.

And yet…

What do we really know about him?

A childhood illness.

A few scattered traumatic moments.

And that’s pretty much it.

There’s no real backstory development.

No consistent emotional arc.

No real layering.

And that’s strange — because 9-1-1 is a show that usually excels at giving its characters depth.

Even side characters often get full emotional exploration.

But Ravi?

He’s remained, for the most part, a background presence.

When a Character Feels Like Filler

The problem isn’t that Ravi exists.

The problem is how he’s used.

Too often, he feels like a character who’s there to fill space.

To complete a scene.

To add a line.

To be “the extra person in the room.”

Even his more dramatic moments — the traumas, the struggles — feel isolated.

They don’t build into something bigger.

They don’t shape a long-term journey.

And now, it feels like the show is trying to give him relevance by pairing him with May.

Not because it makes sense.

But because:

He’s single.

She’s single.

And that’s… convenient.

But that’s not how you build meaningful characters.

Albert vs. Ravi: A Missed Opportunity

This is where my biggest frustration comes in.

Because Albert was already there.

Already developed.

Already integrated.

Already connected to the emotional core of the show.

And yet he was written out — partly due to external circumstances, yes — but in a way that never truly closed the door.

He didn’t die.

He didn’t disappear permanently.

He left.

Which means he could come back.

And honestly?

He should.

Because Albert had something Ravi still doesn’t:

a solid emotional foundation.

The Story That Could Have Been

I’ll go even further.

Back then, I actually saw potential for Albert and May Grant.

Not as an instant romance.

But as a slow build.

Friendship first.

Connection.

Growth.

They were close in age, both navigating their own paths, both tied to the 118 in different ways.

It could have been something meaningful.

Something organic.

Instead, we’re now watching dynamics that feel rushed, surface-level, and ultimately forgettable.

The Core Issue: Writing, Not Actors

I want to be very clear about something.

This is not about disliking actors.

This is about writing.

Because sometimes, characters fail not because they’re bad…

But because they’re never truly given the chance to exist.

Albert was given that chance — and proved it worked.

Ravi wasn’t — and still hasn’t.

The Trade I’d Make Instantly

If I had the choice?

I wouldn’t hesitate.

I’d trade Ravi for Albert in a heartbeat.

Because one of them had a future in the story.

And the other still feels like he’s trying to find a place in it.

Your Turn

This is my “They Deserved Better.”

But I’m curious.

Where do you stand?

Are you Team Albert?

Or Team Ravi?

Character Meltdown: May Grant Deserved Better — and 9-1-1 Knows It

How a once-sharp supporting character became a disappointing “main” by accident

Hook: I Knew This Meltdown Was Coming

It was only a matter of time before May Grant became my Character Meltdown.

Because the thing that hurts the most isn’t when a character is written badly from the start.

It’s when a character is written brilliantly for years… and then the show forgets why we loved them.

And that’s exactly what’s happening with May on 9-1-1 right now.

Why May Worked So Well in the Beginning

May’s introduction wasn’t “Athena’s daughter.” It was May as a person.

She was a teenager dealing with bullying, social pressure, and the brutal reality that being “pretty” doesn’t protect you from being targeted. The show didn’t sanitize it. It gave her storyline weight.

Her suicide attempt was devastating — but narratively, it also made a promise:

This isn’t a background kid we’ll forget. This is a character who’s going to grow.

And for a while, 9-1-1 actually kept that promise.

The Tsunami Episode: The Moment She Became More Than a Side Character

Then came the tsunami episode.

May trapped with Athena. Forced into action. Forced to hold it together. Forced to help someone else while terrified herself.

That’s one of the most effective “coming-of-age” pivots the show has ever done.

It didn’t just put her in danger — it proved she had courage and capability under pressure. It showed a version of May who could become an adult protagonist.

That episode didn’t just develop her.

It reframed her.

The Call Center Era: May’s Best Growth Arc

When May takes time off from USC and starts working at dispatch, it becomes the strongest stretch of her character development.

It’s the first time we see her truly in the adult world.

She’s not a kid in Athena’s house anymore. She’s a colleague. A trainee. A person learning how to be useful when things are messy and real.

And that season gave her something even better than romance:

purpose.

The Claudette storyline, the call center fire, “MayDay” — all of it cemented May as someone who belongs in the center of the show’s moral universe.

And the Bobby moment? Iconic.

May saying she has “two dads” is one of the most emotionally grounded lines the series has ever written. It wasn’t cheesy — it was earned.

And Then… The Show Dropped Her

After all that, May finally goes back to school.

And once she’s in college?

She basically disappears.

Then she returns later and the show acts like the last few years of growth didn’t happen — or worse, like it doesn’t matter.

That’s the real problem.

May was more of a “main character” when she was technically a supporting player than she is now that she’s supposedly more present.

The Current Version of May Feels Smaller Than the One We Earned

Here’s what we’re getting lately:

May as emotional support for Athena. May as emotional support for Harry. May as “around,” but not driving anything.

And yes — it makes sense that she would show up for her family. That’s consistent with who she is.

But the moment Athena stabilizes and Harry finds his direction, May’s story should naturally pivot to the big question:

“Okay… and what about me?”

Instead, the show doesn’t ask it.

So May becomes a prop.

And that’s wild, considering everything they built.

The Ravi Problem: A Relationship That Feels Like a Shortcut

Then the show tries to give her “a storyline” by tossing her into Ravi’s orbit.

And I’m sorry, but it reads like a narrative shortcut.

Not because I’m anti-romance for May — I’m not.

But because this doesn’t feel like something that grew from May’s character journey. It feels like something inserted so she’s not just standing in Grant family scenes.

It’s “Here! A pairing! Now she has plot!”

May deserves a romance that emerges from who she is and what she’s becoming — not a random spark meant to create instant buzz.

The Missed Opportunity: May’s Adult Life (Work, Home, Identity)

If I were writing May’s return, the arc would be obvious:

Start where the show did: May supporting Athena and Harry.

Then, once those fires calm down, we shift to May asking:

What career do I want? What kind of life do I want? Who am I when I’m not needed by my family?

Let us see her apartment. Her routines. Her friendships. Her loneliness. Her ambition. Her uncertainty.

Let us watch her build her adult identity the way the show once let Buck and Maddie and Eddie build theirs.

Because May’s entire call center era was proof she’s drawn to helping people — just not necessarily in the same way her mom is.

A path like social work would make so much sense: a bridge between her education and the purpose she found at dispatch.

It would also naturally connect her to the 118 and Athena’s cases without forcing it.

That’s how you write a character into the show’s ecosystem without reducing them to “someone’s daughter.”

The Relationships That Could’ve Actually Served Her Story

May doesn’t need a love interest first.

She needs connection that reflects her growth.

The show had so many options:

A real sibling dynamic with Harry where they talk about identity and purpose. A mentor reconnection with Maddie, now that May is older and they can meet more as equals. A bridge with Buck through Bobby — because both of them see Bobby as “father” in different ways. Even revisiting Eddie as a trusted sounding board, since they already built a quiet but meaningful rapport at dispatch.

Any of these would have felt like continuing the story that already exists.

Instead, we got a sudden romantic detour that doesn’t address the big missing piece:

May’s vocation.

The Tragedy: She’s Being Written Younger Than She Used to Be

And this is the part that genuinely frustrates me.

May used to feel like the most mature young character on the show — because her writing respected what she’d survived and learned.

Now she feels smaller. Softer. Less defined.

Not because May is immature.

Because the writing is treating her like she has nothing going on unless she’s attached to someone else’s storyline.

That’s not just disappointing.

It’s a downgrade.

Final Thought: May Was a Main Character Before the Show Realized It

May Grant used to be one of the best examples of how 9-1-1 can build someone quietly over time.

She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t constantly on screen. But when she showed up, it mattered.

Right now, it feels like the show doesn’t know what it has.

And that’s why this is a meltdown — because I love this character.

I don’t want May to be “support.” I want her to be a person with direction again.

Why Buck Buckley and Benedict Bridgerton Are the Same Man Waiting for Their Sophie

Two Men, Two Universes, One Emotional Blueprint

Here’s a theory that has been living in my head for a while now:

Buck Buckley and Benedict Bridgerton are essentially the same character.

Yes, they exist in completely different worlds — one in a modern emergency drama like 9-1-1, the other in the Regency romance universe of Bridgerton — but if you strip away the setting, the clothes, and the time period, the emotional structure of these two men is almost identical.

And the more I thought about it, the more obvious it became.

The Man Who Watches Everyone Else Find Their Direction

One of the most interesting things the show has done with Benedict Bridgerton is portray him as someone who has never truly had a direction.

Around him, everyone finds their path.

Daphne finds love. Anthony finds purpose and partnership. Colin finds identity through travel and romance. Francesca finds her own quiet version of belonging.

Slowly, the circle closes.

And Benedict is left standing in the middle of a room where everyone else has figured it out.

Buck exists in almost the same narrative position.

When Evan Buckley joins the 118, everyone seems to eventually find their person or their stability:

Hen and Karen already have it. Chimney finds it with Maddie. Bobby has Athena.

One by one, the people around Buck move forward in their lives.

And Buck is left wondering where exactly he fits.

Family Is Loud, Loving, and Not the Problem

Interestingly, neither of them lacks family.

Benedict has the chaotic, affectionate Bridgerton household.

Buck has something very similar — just chosen rather than biological.

Maddie. Chimney. The entire 118.

For Buck, that firehouse is his real family. It’s loud, protective, messy, and deeply loving in exactly the same way the Bridgertons are.

So their emotional problem is not loneliness.

It’s direction.

Everyone around them seems to know where they are going.

They don’t.

The Stage of Life Where “Knowing Yourself” Feels Like Enough

Right now, both characters are in a similar phase of life.

Benedict has discovered his sexuality, embraced it, and lives it freely without labels or shame. For a long time, that self-discovery becomes his center. It’s enough.

He convinces himself that the life he has — art, freedom, lovers, exploration — is perfectly fine as it is.

Buck has gone through something similar.

His journey toward understanding himself has been long, messy, and emotional. But now that he has begun to understand who he is, there is a moment where that realization feels like a destination.

Like maybe that’s the point.

Maybe he doesn’t need anything else right now.

And in both cases, the characters settle into a kind of emotional plateau.

Not unhappy.

Just… floating.

Why Sophie Changes Everything for Benedict

Then Sophie appears.

Sophie Beckett/Baek is powerful as a narrative device because Benedict is not looking for her.

He isn’t searching for love. He isn’t chasing a relationship. He isn’t trying to settle down.

She arrives unexpectedly.

And she completely dismantles his sense of stability.

What makes Sophie different is that she doesn’t treat him like everyone else does. Benedict is the charming Bridgerton bachelor — people flirt with him, admire him, orbit him.

Sophie doesn’t.

She challenges him. She calls him out. She tells him when he’s wrong. She sees the parts of him others don’t confront.

And that unexpected honesty becomes irresistible.

Suddenly, the man who was perfectly comfortable with his life realizes that something fundamental has shifted.

The Kind of Love That Rearranges a Life

There are moments in Benedict’s story that show this transformation perfectly.

He stops chasing pleasure the way he used to. He stops drifting from party to party. He becomes focused.

Not because he decided to change.

But because Sophie quietly changed the gravity of his world.

That’s the key to why their story works.

If Benedict had consciously decided to become a different man, it wouldn’t have happened.

But love — unexpected love — reorients him.

Why Buck’s Story Is Missing That Piece

This is where the parallel becomes fascinating.

Buck hasn’t had his Sophie yet.

And that’s why his arc still feels unfinished.

Many people argue that the answer for Buck already exists in the show — that the emotional resolution would be a romantic relationship with Eddie.

But narratively speaking, that dynamic is something Buck already knows.

It’s familiar territory.

And Sophie was never familiar territory for Benedict.

She was unexpected.

She was someone he would have never crossed paths with under normal circumstances.

She disrupted his life.

That kind of narrative disruption is exactly what Buck’s story still lacks.

The Love Story That Changes the Direction of a Character

Buck doesn’t need a relationship that fits neatly into his current life.

He needs the opposite.

Someone unexpected. Someone who challenges him. Someone who forces him into emotional waters he has never navigated before.

Someone who arrives when he isn’t looking.

In my own fanfiction universe, that person is an original character — Elara — someone Buck rescues during an accident who ends up temporarily paralyzed and with nowhere to go.

Buck offers to help her.

Everyone tells him it’s a terrible idea.

Not because it isn’t generous, but because it’s a huge emotional responsibility.

And yet he does it anyway.

Because that’s who Buck is.

And in doing so, he slowly finds himself transformed in ways he never expected.

That kind of arc mirrors exactly what Sophie does for Benedict.

The Difference Between Safe Water and Deep Water

There’s a metaphor in the Bridgerton story that perfectly captures this idea.

Benedict once says he prefers shallow water.

It’s warm. Comfortable. Easy.

Sophie replies that deep water is cold at first… but once you get used to it, you might discover things you never would have seen from the shore.

That metaphor applies beautifully to Buck’s journey.

Safe, predictable relationships are shallow water. And now Buddie it is.

They’re comfortable.

But real transformation often happens when a character dives into something unexpected — something deeper, colder, more uncertain.

Because that’s where the real discoveries lie.

Sometimes characters feel like they belong to different stories.

Different eras.

Different genres.

Buck Buckley and Benedict Bridgerton live in completely separate universes, but emotionally they are walking the same path.

Two men who thought they had already found themselves.

Two men who didn’t realize their story was still waiting for one final, unexpected chapter.

And if Buck ever meets his Sophie?

When “Easy” Becomes Dangerous: Ravi x May (9-1-1)

This isn’t calm analysis.

This is the kind of Theory Time that happens when you love a show enough to feel physically disappointed by it.

And yes — I’m talking about 9-1-1.

I’m behind (Italy problems). I hate spoilers. I actively avoid them.

But you can’t exist in this fandom without seeing things.

And what I’ve seen about May and Ravi? It feels like my worst narrative fear coming true.

Let’s break it down properly.

This Is Not About Shipping

Before anyone jumps there: no.

This is not me being delusional about another ship. This is not jealousy. This is not “they didn’t give me what I wanted.”

This is about structure.

It’s about storytelling integrity.

If May and Ravi had been built carefully, slowly, with emotional groundwork, I might not ship them — but I would respect it.

That’s not what this feels like.

This feels convenient.

The Ravi Problem: Five Seasons of Almost Nothing

Ravi has been around since season four. Since “Jinx.”

That’s years.

What do we actually know about him?

• No real origin deep dive. • No meaningful personal arc. • No exploration of family, trauma, ambition, or internal conflict. • No visible evolution.

Every core character in this show has had at least one origin-focused narrative expansion.

Buck. Eddie. Maddie. Chimney. Even Karen.

Ravi?

Background energy.

That’s not a criticism of the actor. It’s a criticism of the writing.

If you suddenly elevate him through romance instead of development, you’re not building him — you’re attaching him.

And that’s lazy.

The May Problem: From Growth to Narrative Limbo

May had early development.

Dispatch. Emotional beats. Family tension. Clear growth trajectory.

Then she stepped away for college — fine.

But since her return?

What is her arc?

Where is her adult life? Her apartment? Her career? Her inner conflict?

We’ve seen her as support.

Daughter. Sister.

Not protagonist of her own journey.

And now?

She becomes narratively relevant because she’s paired.

That’s the part that makes my stomach turn.

The “Leftover Characters” Syndrome

This is the real issue.

It feels like two underdeveloped characters being paired because they’re the only ones left “available.”

Chimney and Maddie are stable, like Hen and Karen. Athena is grieving. Buck and Eddie are locked in their narrative orbit. Harry has an active arc.

So who’s left?

May. Ravi.

Put them together.

Done.

That’s not organic storytelling. That’s roster management.

And it’s beneath this show.

Relationships Should Follow Growth — Not Replace It

If you want to build a couple:

First build the individuals.

Give them: • Personal arcs. • Independent stakes. • Emotional depth. • Evolution outside romance.

Then let their paths cross.

But if the relationship is the first real development either of them gets?

That sends a terrible message.

“You matter now because you’re in a relationship.”

That’s not empowerment. That’s narrative dependency.

And yes, from a feminist perspective, that bothers me deeply.

May should not become central because she’s dating someone.

She should become central because she’s compelling.

The Bigger Fear: Is This the Beginning of Narrative Shortcuts?

This is where it stops being about one couple.

After Bobby’s death, early season nine was powerful. Focused. Intentional. Emotional.

Harry’s arc? Excellent. Compact but meaningful.

That’s good writing.

But when I start seeing convenient romantic shortcuts used as forward momentum?

I get nervous.

Because I’ve seen this before.

I dropped Doc (the italian and original versione of tv series) for this exact reason: narrative choices that ignored established character growth.

And I watched the renewal battle for Manifest knowing that sometimes fewer seasons with integrity are better than dragging something past its natural lifespan.

If the trade-off for longevity is cheaper emotional storytelling?

End it earlier.

Protect the legacy.

This Is Disappointment, Not Hate

I respect this production.

That’s why this hits.

If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be this angry.

But when a show capable of layered character work makes what feels like the most obvious, safest, lowest-effort pairing choice?

It scares me.

Because 9-1-1 has always been better than easy.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’ll surprise me. Maybe they’ll build something meaningful.

I hope they do.

But right now?

It feels obvious, banal, easy and small.