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To follow up blog posts on gun control and police brutality, back to my normal standard of blogging: In The Night Garden.
So, the Pontipines and the Wottingers. Stuck in their houses in the middle of nowhere, miles from any other member of their species. All they have to do with their time is wander around the Garden, angst about their loneliness, go around to the other family’s house, and presumably, interbreed.
Which is all very well and good, but unless I’m very much mistaken, THIS IS WUTHERING HEIGHTS.
The fic must be written.
Bonus point: Greatest Mary-Sue writers in history, Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters?