#tvmeta

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…

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?

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?

The Doors Weren’t the Afterlife: The School Spirits Finale Just Opened a Second Limbo

Okay… we need to talk about the finale of School Spirits.

Because honestly?

What did we just witness.

This show keeps getting better in a way that reminds me of the first time I watched Being Human. That same eerie balance between supernatural mythology and emotional storytelling.

And what impresses me the most is how carefully the series treats the paranormal framework behind its story.

Yes, it’s still television — obviously some things are dramatized to serve the narrative. But the core concepts about energy, liminal spaces, and the veil between worlds are surprisingly aligned with real-world paranormal theories.

For someone like me who follows ghost-hunting research quite closely, that level of care is genuinely impressive.

When a Show Isn’t Writing for Fan Service

One thing that becomes very obvious watching School Spirits is the difference between writing driven by story and writing influenced by fandom pressure.

School Spirits has eight episodes per season.

But every single episode matters.

The narrative is tight. Nothing feels random. The mythology unfolds slowly but deliberately, and the writers clearly know where they’re going.

There’s no pandering, no shortcuts, no last-minute fan service.

Compare that to some mainstream network shows where audience expectations sometimes start steering the ship, and the difference becomes even more striking.

Ironically, I’m almost glad School Spirits isn’t massively mainstream yet.

Because it allows the writers to keep building their world exactly the way they want.

The Finale’s Biggest Twist: The Doors Aren’t the End

For the longest time, we assumed the mysterious doors were the way out.

The final step.

The moment where the trapped spirits finally move on.

But the finale completely flips that assumption.

Instead of leading to the “afterlife,” the doors appear to lead into another liminal space.

A second waiting room.

Another layer.

Which means the place where the ghosts were trapped before might already have been just the first level of something much larger.

And that’s where the show introduces one of the most fascinating concepts of the finale.

The Ley Lines Theory

Janet refers to the phenomenon as Ley Lines.

If you’re familiar with paranormal or esoteric theories, you probably recognized that term immediately.

Ley Lines were first popularized in 1921 by Alfred Watkins. Originally he theorized they were ancient pathways connecting landmarks used for navigation.

But over time, the concept evolved into something much more mystical.

Many researchers now believe Ley Lines are energy currents that run through the Earth, connecting powerful energetic locations across the planet.

Think of them as the energetic circulatory system of the Earth.

Some famous examples connect sacred or historically powerful locations — places that seem to share unusual energetic patterns.

And if School Spirits is using this concept, it changes everything about how their afterlife system works.

The Veil Between Worlds

In paranormal theory, increased energy activity along Ley Lines can thin the veil between dimensions.

Which means the barrier between the living and the dead becomes weaker.

This actually mirrors something many paranormal investigators claim to observe: that communication phenomena appear stronger now than decades ago.

School Spirits seems to be playing with that same idea.

The boundary that once trapped the spirits inside the school has now broken.

They can leave.

They can move.

And that suggests the Ley Lines are acting as corridors between different states of existence.

Not the final destination.

Just another passage.

The Forest Limbo

The forest sequence might be the most important clue in the entire finale.

Across the river, we see peaceful figures — including Simon’s mother and the pastor with the children.

They look calm.

They look… complete.

But the ghosts cannot reach them.

Dawnn warns that if you cross the river, you return.

At first I assumed that meant returning to the school world.

But now I think something more complex is happening.

Crossing the river may send a spirit back to the entry point of the Ley Line network.

Which explains why Dawnn says it’s incredibly difficult for spirits to find each other there.

The forest isn’t the afterlife.

It’s another liminal maze.

A transitional corridor.

And somewhere beyond that river might be the real “beyond.”

The Possession Twist

Then the finale drops another bombshell.

Van Aight is now inside Maddie’s mother’s body.

Which raises an enormous question:

Where is Maddie’s mother’s spirit?

The most logical explanation is the hospital scene.

If the possession happened there, then her spirit might now be trapped exactly the way Maddie once was.

And if that’s the case, there’s one very interesting implication.

Xavier might be able to see her.

The New Ghost Team in the Forest

Right now, the forest limbo contains:

Dawn

Janet

Wally

Maddie’s father

That combination alone suggests the next season could explore a completely new supernatural layer.

The show already expanded its mythology this season with the introduction of the Forgotten, and the explanation that if the place of death disappears, the door may never appear.

But the finale suggests we’re only scratching the surface of how this system works.

Are We Heading Toward the Final Act?

The biggest narrative shift is Van Aight.

This season introduced him as a mysterious figure pursuing his own goals.

But now?

Those goals are gone.

The protagonists ruined his plans.

Which means his motivation has shifted.

From ambition…

to revenge.

And in storytelling terms, that usually signals something important.

When the central villain moves from long-term plotting to personal conflict, the story is often approaching its endgame.

That’s why I suspect Season 4 might be the beginning of the final arc.

Maybe the last season.

At most, I could see the show stretching to a fifth.

But the story already feels like it’s heading toward its ultimate confrontation.

A Dark Possibility for Maddie

And here’s the theory that keeps haunting me.

The most logical ending might actually be tragic.

What if Maddie dies?

Not in a meaningless way — but as the final step in resolving the entire liminal system the show has built.

It would be heartbreaking.

But narratively?

It would make sense.

More Questions Than Answers

The finale didn’t just close a chapter.

It exploded the mythology.

Ley Lines. Multiple limbos. Possession. The forest maze.

We now have more questions than ever.

And honestly?

I love that.

Because if this finale proved anything, it’s that School Spirits is playing a much bigger game than we originally thought.

Your Turn

So now I’m curious.

What are your theories about the School Spirits finale?

What do you think the forest really is?

The New Language of Period Dramas: Why Modern Costume Series Feel So Different

Today’s post isn’t a traditional episode breakdown.

Instead, it’s something a little different — a costume drama breakdown, or rather a reflection on how modern television has started to reinterpret historical series and what that means for the genre itself.

I’ll start with a small confession.

I’m not usually the biggest fan of period dramas.

It’s not that I dislike them — I simply tend to struggle with very classical storytelling styles. That’s entirely a personal limitation on my side.

The one exception has always been historical biographical productions, which I absolutely love. In Italy we produce many of them because our history spans centuries filled with fascinating historical figures. Those projects, both Italian and international, are a category of their own.

But when it comes to pure costume dramas, I normally don’t gravitate toward them.

And yet recently I realized something surprising.

I’ve watched quite a few of them — and I’ve started noticing a new way of telling these stories.

The Debate Around “Modernized” Period Series

I should mention that this style of reinterpretation is sometimes controversial.

At least in Italy, many viewers — especially fans of classical literature — criticize modern period adaptations for being too modern.

Common criticisms include:

Historical clothing that isn’t perfectly accurate

Dialogue that feels too contemporary

Social dynamics that seem modernized

A tone that doesn’t fully reflect the dramatic realities of the historical period

For many viewers, these changes feel like they distort the authenticity of the era.

Personally, though, I see it differently.

I actually love these reinterpretations.

Because in many cases they don’t erase the historical setting. The environments, social structures, etiquette, and themes often remain intact.

What changes is the storytelling language.

Bridgerton and the Power of Creative Reinterpretation

A perfect example is Bridgerton.

I only started watching it when Season 3 was released. Before that, I had completely refused to watch it.

But once I gave it a chance, I binge-watched everything — Seasons 1, 2, and 3, plus Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story.

Then I ended up reading all of Julia Quinn’s novels as well.

What makes Bridgerton fascinating is how boldly modern it is while still existing inside a historical setting.

One of the clearest examples is the music.

Modern pop songs are transformed into classical violin arrangements, creating a bridge between the past and the present.

Another example is the show’s multiracial interpretation of Regency society. While controversial for some viewers, the series actually grounds this choice within its narrative through the “Great Experiment” storyline and theories surrounding the historical background of Queen Charlotte.

And personally, that contrast is one of the things I appreciate most.

Other Shows Following the Same Direction

This reinterpretation of period storytelling isn’t limited to Bridgerton.

Several other series I’ve recently been watching share the same modern sensibility:

The Artful Dodger

Young Sherlock

Zorro

Sandokan

Each of them approaches historical storytelling in slightly different ways, but they all share the same central idea:

bringing classic characters closer to modern audiences.

Sometimes that happens through music.

In Bridgerton it’s violin covers of modern songs. In other series like The Artful Dodger or Young Sherlock, the soundtrack is fully modern — something that a few decades ago would have felt completely out of place in a historical setting.

Today, however, it works surprisingly well.

Expanding Classic Stories with Modern Themes

Another fascinating aspect of these adaptations is how they expand the original stories.

Take Sandokan, originally created by Emilio Salgari in the late 19th century.

The novels focus primarily on Sandokan’s adventures and heroic exploits. But modern adaptations often explore deeper themes such as colonialism, indigenous identity, and the fight for autonomy.

Similarly, modern versions of Zorro add layers of cultural and political complexity that weren’t fully explored in early 20th-century stories.

These reinterpretations transform simple adventure narratives into stories about identity, justice, and historical memory.

Reinventing Classic Characters

Other projects, such as The Artful Dodger and Young Sherlock, take a different approach.

Both reinterpret famous literary characters in ways that make them feel almost contemporary.

The Artful Dodger originates from Oliver Twist, yet the television series essentially creates an entirely new narrative around the character.

Similarly, Young Sherlock reimagines the early life of Sherlock Holmes — much like Enola Holmes did with Sherlock’s sister.

These stories maintain their historical settings, yet their characters behave in ways that feel incredibly familiar to modern audiences.

Young geniuses questioning authority.

Students navigating ambition, friendships, and rivalry.

Young adults drinking, arguing, experimenting — while still displaying extraordinary intelligence.

In many ways, they feel like modern young people living in historical environments.

Respecting History While Speaking to the Present

As someone who deeply loves history, I want to be clear about one thing.

I’m usually the first person to say that history should not be rewritten.

What happened in the past — even when uncomfortable or unjust — must be understood as it truly occurred.

Only by acknowledging history honestly can we learn from it.

But what these modern period dramas do well is something different.

They respect historical settings while using them to tell contemporary stories.

They don’t erase the past.

They reinterpret it.

And when it’s done well, the result can be incredibly compelling.

A Small Italian Note: Two Early Examples

Before finishing, I want to mention two Italian series that, in hindsight, already hinted at this modern approach.

The first is Elisa di Rivombrosa, set in 18th-century Piedmont.

It’s a beautiful story blending romance, political intrigue, and historical atmosphere. Many of the castles used in the show can still be visited today.

The second is Orgoglio, set in Italy between 1911 and 1913 during the Belle Époque.

Both series captured something very special — a balance between historical storytelling and emotional accessibility.

Unfortunately, Italian television didn’t continue developing that style in the same way other countries have.

Today, however, international productions — especially British ones — seem to be embracing it fully.

The Future of Period Drama

If this is the direction period dramas are taking, I’m honestly excited.

Because these series prove that historical storytelling doesn’t have to feel distant or inaccessible.

It can feel vibrant.

Modern.

Emotionally immediate.

Episode Meltdown: Did Fan Service Kill Fitz’s Darkest (And Best) Arc in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.?

The Framework Was Brilliant. So Why Did It Flinch?

Hook: This Isn’t About One Episode — It’s About a Missed Turning Point

Today’s Episode Meltdown isn’t about a single episode.

It’s about an arc.

Because sometimes the meltdown isn’t one bad hour of television. Sometimes it’s a narrative choice that had the potential to redefine a character forever… and then blinked.

Let’s talk about the “Agent of Hydra” Framework arc in Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D..

Specifically?

Fitz.

And whether the show chose comfort over courage.

The Framework Arc Was Structurally Genius

Season 4 did something bold structurally. Instead of one long 22-episode stretch, it divided the season into clear arcs:

Ghost Rider

LMD

Agent of Hydra / The Framework

And honestly? I loved that format.

It avoided filler. It gave thematic cohesion. It made each arc feel like a contained chapter with a beginning, middle, and end.

And then we entered the Framework — AIDA’s artificial reality where Hydra rules instead of S.H.I.E.L.D., where heroes become villains, and villains become something else entirely.

It was high-concept, emotionally rich, morally twisted.

And it gave us something incredible:

Villain Fitz.

Fitz as “The Doctor” Was His Peak

Let’s be honest.

Iain De Caestecker delivered the performance of his career in this arc.

Fitz as The Doctor wasn’t just evil. He was controlled. Cold. Calculating. Confident. He wasn’t comic-book villain energy — he was terrifying because he made sense.

And here’s the key point:

Everyone else in the Framework chooses to wake up.

Coulson. Daisy. Mack.

They’re confronted with the truth, and at some point, they decide to leave.

Fitz doesn’t.

That detail matters.

When Simmons tries to wake him, he points a gun at her. He resists. He doesn’t choose reality. He is physically forced out when Simmons tackles him through the exit.

He is dragged out.

He does not willingly abandon that identity.

And that is narratively enormous.

The One Character Who Didn’t Choose

Why does this matter so much?

Because it suggests that something in that version of Fitz resonated.

Yes, AIDA altered the world. Yes, she shaped circumstances. But the Framework emotions were real. We see that repeatedly:

Mack’s grief over his daughter is real. Daisy’s trauma is real. Coulson’s moral conflict is real.

So why is Fitz’s connection to Ophelia/AIDA treated as entirely artificial?

Why is his villain identity dismissed as pure programming?

If the Framework amplified suppressed truths in everyone else, why wouldn’t it do the same for him?

There was something there. Something darker. Something self-contained and autonomous.

And the show almost explored it.

The Missed Opportunity: Let Him Stay Changed

For a moment — especially when Fitz is captured alongside AIDA — it genuinely felt like the show might do something radical.

It felt like he might not come back the same.

It even felt possible that he could choose her.

And narratively? That would have made sense.

It would have been far more organic than Ward’s half-redemption arcs. Imagine the inversion: Ward seeking redemption while Fitz embraces darkness.

That’s risk. That’s evolution.

Instead?

The story course-corrected.

Hard.

FitzSimmons: Growth… Then Reversal

Let’s talk about the elephant in the fandom.

Fitz and Simmons.

In early seasons, they worked. They were inseparable. The shared brain. The college-best-friends-to-lovers slow burn. It was sweet. Earned. Emotional.

But here’s the issue.

As the seasons progressed, both characters grew independently.

Simmons’ arc — especially post-monolith — was extraordinary. She developed strength, autonomy, emotional resilience. Her dynamic with Trip had natural progression. It wasn’t forced; it grew from her individual journey.

Fitz, too, evolved. His trauma. His instability. His brilliance. And then The Doctor.

Both characters were branching.

And then those branches were cut so they could be tied back together.

This Isn’t Fan Service — It’s the Fear of Letting Go

Fan service is when writers change direction to please the audience.

This felt like something slightly different — but just as limiting.

It felt like the writers were unwilling to let go of the original blueprint.

Fitz and Simmons were conceived as a unit.

So no matter how much they individually evolved, they had to end up back there.

Even if it meant ignoring the narrative implications of:

Fitz not choosing to leave the Framework

His genuine emotional bond with AIDA

The psychological fracture of being forced back into reality

You don’t write a character being dragged out of a false world against his will… and then pretend it has no lingering consequence.

That’s not a small detail.

That’s foundational.

The Deke Problem (Or: Destiny Over Development)

And then we get to Deke.

When he was introduced, I genuinely thought he might become Daisy’s love interest. It would have been unexpected, messy, interesting.

Instead, he becomes the grandson of Fitz and Simmons.

And suddenly, everything feels retroactively predestined.

Not organic.

Predestined.

As if the universe itself had to validate that FitzSimmons were always meant to be.

At that point, it stopped feeling like character growth.

It felt like narrative enforcement.

When Writers Don’t Follow the Characters

Here’s the thing.

As a writer, you can start with a plan.

But sometimes your characters evolve beyond it. They surprise you. They deepen. They branch out in ways that are richer than what you originally intended.

And when that happens, you have two choices:

Follow the growth.

Or force them back onto the outline.

The Framework arc showed us what Fitz could be when untethered from Simmons.

And it was fascinating.

Instead of leaning into that evolution, the show pulled him back to origin.

Not because it was the most interesting choice.

But because it was the safest.

Television Used to Be Braver

There was a time when shows made choices that angered fans — but strengthened storytelling.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer broke Buffy and Angel.

Charmed killed Prue.

Those decisions were explosive at the time.

But they served the larger arc.

Now?

There’s a visible hesitation. A fear of alienating fandoms. A fear of disrupting popular ships.

And when storytelling becomes afraid of its audience, it starts losing its edge.

Final Thought: The Framework Was the Best Arc — And Its Biggest Miss

The Agent of Hydra arc is, in my opinion, the strongest stretch of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

It was bold. Conceptually daring. Emotionally complex.

And yet.

The decision to reset Fitz — to minimize the significance of him not choosing to leave — feels like a massive missed opportunity.

He wasn’t awakened.

He was pulled out.

And that difference should have changed everything.

Let’s Talk

Were you Team FitzSimmons no matter what? Did you love Villain Fitz? Do you think the reunion felt earned — or inevitable? Was the Framework a masterpiece… or a tease of something braver that never happened?

What If Eddie Diaz Is Basically Marcus Holroyd in a Different Universe?

I did it with Buck, so now it’s Eddie’s turn

A while ago I said Buck Buckley and Benedict Bridgerton are basically built from the same emotional blueprint.

So naturally, I had to ask myself:

Who is Eddie’s Bridgertonverse counterpart?

And the answer, to me, is not Anthony Bridgerton.

But Marcus Holroyd from Just Like Heaven.

Not in every single trait, no.

But in the way that actually matters?

Absolutely.

The one part of Eddie that isn’t Marcus

Let me start with the only real exception.

Eddie has that occasional sharpness — that dry, slightly prickly edge — that actually reminds me more of Anthony Bridgerton.

Not because he’s cruel.

Not because he’s cold.

Just because sometimes he has that same clipped, thorny way of reacting when he feels boxed in.

That part? Anthony.

But the deeper emotional structure?

That’s Marcus all over.

They both build family outside of blood

Marcus grows up without a real family in the emotional sense, and Daniel Smythe-Smith’s family becomes his.

That’s where he belongs.

That’s where he roots.

Eddie does the same thing.

No, he isn’t an orphan. But emotionally? His real home is not his parents.

It’s the 118.

That’s his family.

That’s his emotional center.

That’s where he becomes himself.

So already, both men are built around the same idea:

family is not just where you come from — it’s where you are finally held.

Both men are ruled by duty

Marcus is a caretaker by instinct.

When Daniel leaves, Marcus steps in. He protects Honoria. He takes responsibility. He becomes the steady one because someone has to.

That is so Eddie-coded it hurts.

Because Eddie is exactly the same.

Protector.

Custodian.

The man who will put himself second if it means someone he loves stays safe.

Christopher, obviously, is the clearest example. But it goes beyond Chris. It’s who Eddie is in every room he walks into.

And Marcus is built from that exact same material.

Neither of them is shy. They’re reserved.

This is important.

Eddie is not shy. Marcus isn’t either.

But they are both reserved.

They do not seek out shallow social interaction just because it’s available.

They do not flirt for sport.

They do not perform interest when they feel none.

They do not chase noise to avoid silence.

If they’re not genuinely engaged, they’d rather stay home.

That is both of them.

Marcus is bored by balls and polite conversation.

Eddie is bored by superficiality in any form.

If he doesn’t care, he’s not pretending.

This is the key: barricaded men do not get unlocked by strangers

And this is where the theory really begins.

Marcus is not looking for love.

He has made peace with the life he has. He is not searching. He is not yearning. He is not waiting for some grand emotional revelation.

And after Kim?

Neither is Eddie.

That’s the point.

Kim didn’t just end badly. It reinforced every reason Eddie has to close himself off and say:

I’m fine alone. My son comes first. Stability matters more than desire. I can live like this.

Marcus arrives at that through Regency bachelor detachment.

Eddie arrives at it through trauma.

But once again: different cause, same internal structure.

And characters like that do not get changed by some random new woman entering the narrative and instantly becoming important.

It doesn’t work like that.

That’s why Marcus falls for Honoria

Marcus does not fall for an outsider.

He falls for Honoria.

Someone he has known forever.

Someone he has barely really looked at.

Someone who has always been there — just outside his emotional focus.

And that’s exactly why it works.

Because love doesn’t arrive as lightning. It arrives through proximity, rediscovery, and the horror of realizing that someone familiar suddenly doesn’t feel familiar at all.

That is what changes Marcus.

Not novelty.

Recognition.

And that’s why I keep coming back to May

Because Eddie and May already have the one thing Marcus and Honoria had:

history without intimacy.

They know each other.

They’ve shared space.

They’ve talked.

They’ve had moments that went beyond surface-level interaction.

Not romance.

Not even necessarily friendship in its fullest form.

But definitely more than nothing.

That dispatch year matters.

You cannot write scenes where she opens up to him, cries in front of him, lets him comfort her, lets him advise her, and then act like they should forever function as near-strangers.

That’s not how people work.

And that’s why May makes sense in this theory.

Not because they were secretly romantic all along.

But because the material already exists for a Marcus/Honoria-style reintroduction.

What’s missing is the trigger

Marcus and Honoria need the season to force them together.

That’s the trigger.

That’s what takes them from “I’ve always known you” to “why am I suddenly seeing you like this?”

Eddie and May need the same kind of trigger.

The auction could have been one. It wasn’t.

Fine.

That doesn’t mean another won’t come.

Because once you have two people with preexisting familiarity, emotional potential, and a mutual history that never fully disappeared, all it takes is one sustained reason to be around each other again.

Then the rest writes itself.

Not instantly.

Not dramatically.

Slowly.

Which is exactly how this kind of arc has to work.

Because for men like Marcus and Eddie, emotion comes before desire

This is another reason the comparison works so well.

Marcus does not begin with physical attraction as the main engine.

He begins with rediscovery.

With conversation.

With noticing.

With realizing that being around her feels good in a way he had never stopped to name before.

Only after that does desire become unavoidable.

Eddie is exactly that kind of character.

He would not start with “she’s hot.”

He would start with:

“Why do I keep wanting to talk to her?”

“Why does this feel easy?”

“Why do I care what she thinks?”

“Why does her being here suddenly matter?”

That is an Eddie arc.

And that is a Marcus arc.

The age-gap panic actually proves less than people think

One of the first objections people jump to is age.

But once I actually looked at the canon ages, the gap was nowhere near as dramatic as people act like it is.

So the real obstacle wouldn’t even be scandal in some huge external sense.

It would be internal.

Very Marcus internal.

“I’ve known you too long.”

“I never thought of you that way.”

“What is wrong with me that I am starting to now?”

That’s the kind of emotional panic Marcus goes through.

And honestly? That would fit Eddie much more than some big melodramatic taboo narrative.

Which is why Ravi/May does not worry me at all

Because if the writers were trying to build Ravi and May as some major long-term emotional anchor, they would not have burned through the beats that fast.

Auction.

Dinner.

Sex.

Then near-total irrelevance.

That’s not endgame writing.

That’s placeholder writing.

At best, it’s a temporary connection. At worst, it’s narrative filler.

And if it’s filler, then all it really does is keep the board moving until the actual trigger arrives.

Final take

Eddie Diaz, like Marcus Holroyd, is a man defined by restraint, duty, emotional reserve, and the kind of closure that only looks stable from the outside.

And men like that do not fall because someone brand new walks in and sweeps them off their feet.

They fall because someone they thought they already understood becomes impossible to ignore.

That is what happened to Marcus.

And if Eddie ever gets the right romantic arc?

Quick Thought: Are They Actually Building Anything for May… or Just Buying Time?

Something isn’t adding up

Okay, this is a quick one — not part of my usual series — but it’s been on my mind after the latest episode of 9-1-1.

For context: I’m a bit behind (I’ve fully watched 9x10), but I keep up with what happens afterward — just not scene by scene. I like to actually watch episodes in English with subtitles, because you catch way more nuance that way.

And honestly? Looking at everything together, something about May’s storyline feels… intentional in a very specific way.

The Ravi situation feels… already over

I said this before (in a longer post that’s coming later), but I had a strong feeling that May and Ravi Panikkar were never meant to be long-term.

And now?

I’m even more convinced.

The biggest clue for me is simple:

👉 the only kiss scene between them was cut from the episode, even though it exists in the stills.

And that’s not random.

Because if you want the audience to invest in a couple, you don’t remove one of their few explicitly romantic moments.

It’s not about the kiss — it’s about the absence of everything else

Here’s the real issue.

It’s not that they don’t kiss.

It’s that they don’t act like a couple anywhere else either.

No small gestures. No emotional check-ins. No meaningful conversations.

Nothing.

You could have shown them as a couple in a hundred subtle ways:

sitting close

leaning on each other

calling each other during stressful moments

actually being part of each other’s lives

But none of that is happening.

Which makes the whole dynamic feel… empty.

And then suddenly: a new guy

At the same time, we’re already seeing the introduction of another potential romantic interest for May Grant.

And that’s very telling.

Because if the show was truly invested in Ravi/May, they wouldn’t already be shifting her attention elsewhere.

So what does that suggest?

👉 That Ravi/May was never the destination 👉 Just a stop along the way

So what are they doing with May?

This is where it gets interesting.

Because I don’t think they’re building a love story for her right now.

I think they’re doing the opposite.

They’re giving her experiences.

Different dynamics. Different connections. Different directions.

Not to settle her story…

But to prepare it.

A setup, not a payoff

If you look at it this way, everything starts to make more sense:

the rushed connection with Ravi

the lack of emotional depth

the quick narrative drop-off

the introduction of new options

None of it feels like “endgame writing.”

It feels like groundwork.

Like they’re testing, moving, exploring — without committing.

My prediction (and yes, this is a theory 👀)

I don’t think anything we’re seeing right now for May is meant to last.

I think it’s all part of a setup for something bigger later on.

Probably not even this season.

👉 Season 10 feels like the real turning point.

And when it comes?

I don’t think it’ll be predictable.

I think it’ll be a plot twist kind of story.

Final thought

Right now, May’s romantic arc doesn’t feel like a story.

It feels like preparation for one.

And honestly?