and kept demanding

anonymous asked:

i'm scared to ask this but what happened in chile today?

I usually don’t discuss drama openly on this blog and will typically ask you guys to personally message me off anon, but this is way too important.

So apparently “fans” were bothering BTS at their hotel (i.e. screaming for them, making lots of noise) and they couldn’t even rest. Then when they left the hotel to try to relax and eat at a restaurant, the fans followed them there… They were again being loud and disturbing the boys. According to @we-breathe-bangtan-sonyeondan, there were videos of someone explaining to these “fans” that “the boys were tired and needed to eat and then to rest for the concert. However, a group of 20-30 people were arguing that they just wanted to see them or greet them. They even said that BTS were artists and that they owed(?) the fans some sort of greeting or recognition. The person tried to explain that there were fans screaming and disturbing BTS all day and that they just wanted to rest, but the “fans” kept demanding some sort of recognition.”

I really cannot stress how ridiculous this situation is. Yes, not all fans are like this, but these fans are the fans BTS were first greeted with upon their arrival to Chile. Imagine how stunned BTS is right now. So called “fans” are not even letting them eat or sleep? Are BTS not humans like us? 

This is not exclusive to Chile, as we all know from Bon Voyage, this happened in Europe as well. Fans chased after BTS, forced them to give signatures, recorded them, followed them to hotels, and many more horrifying things. BTS has no obligation or reason to interact with fans during their “free-time” and that’s that. Imagine if you were on a plane for hours, were tired, jetlagged, hungry, exhausted, and were then greeted with screams, groups of people following you, acting like YOU owed them something. How would you feel? Frustrated? Mad? Irritated? That’s probably exactly what BTS is feeling right now.

I know not all of us are seeing BTS in concert even though they are visiting our countries or cities, but that gives you absolutely no right to treat them the way they were treated today. 

Furthermore, if you guys don’t want to treat BTS like human beings and respect them, don’t call yourself a fan or an ARMY. Also don’t expect BTS to come to your country again and don’t complain if they don’t return. 
- Kylie


170720 TOP at the Court Hearing

*BIGBANG T.O.P: “I’m currently self-reflecting. I deeply regret my mistakes. I have nothing to say to everyone except that I’m very sorry”

*Official Sentence: T.O.P 10 months in prison on probation, suspended 24 months. T.O.P apologized again saying he is sincerely reflecting.

*The court hence kept the sentence demanded by prosecution. There will be no jail if TOP does not violate parole. Also T.O.P’s military service of the remaining 520 days can be resumed as sentence is below 18-month threshold.

*The judge kept the sentence that prosecution demanded. Remember, as long as T.O.P does not violate probation in 2 years, he won’t go to jail.

*Court: T.O.P acknowledged all of his crimes and pleaded guilty. He has disappointed many people but he promised not to do this ever again. Also T.O.P was first time offender, which was taken into account Drugs can make one vulnerable, which could have devastating effects.

*T.O.P only goes to jail for 10 months if he violates probation within 24 months. This is a suspended sentence, also called probation.

Credit: OH_mes : _BBmusic : balloon_wanted

Someone mentioned this term in a lower post where I was being harassed for refusing to argue with someone who I think is an obvious alt-right troll. I’d never heard of it before so off to urban dictionary I ran and man… It’s right on.

You do not have to engage with people like this. You don’t owe every person in your path an explanation.

This happened to me around Christmas. A guy messaged me, called me a dumb bitch, etc. I didn’t engaged with him because, why would I? He kept messaging me demanding why I didn’t respond. Citing his language to me I asked why would I want to.

He said he’d apologize if I would debate with him and answer his questions. I tried debating with him on and off for about a day. Finally it was Christmas Eve and I just realized I was getting no where so I told him that we had to agree to disagree. That angered him and said I’d promised I’d answer his questions. I’d felt like I had as best I could.

I told him again I was done.

He immediately took back his apology, resumed his insults, and essentially said that since I wouldn’t endlessly defend my case I was worthless and everything I said was worthless.

I realized then this whole conversation has been a mistake. He was willing to swear at and insult me and only apologize and show respect if I did everything he said no questions.

That was not respect and it was my mistake for not recognizing it earlier.

I’ll say again… You don’t owe everyone in your path an explanation. If you do decide to engage someone it can be on your terms.

Your worth and your beliefs don’t have to be validated by every troll under the bridge.

Yes or No? (Montgomery de la Cruz, 13 Reasons)

~To start off, this is the only thing I’ve written so far that I would even consider writing a part 2 for, if requested enough. This is a sad one lol. It also has a lot of Jeff in it. Thank you again for all of your support. Requests are open!!❤️~

Everyone was staring at you. You were the talk of the school. No matter what group, everyone knew what had happened to you. What had happened to your whole family. Everyone knew that you hadn’t been to school in almost a month. If it weren’t for your needing to be there for attendance, you probably would have stayed gone longer. Well, your parents were a factor too. You were heart broken and sad and confused. Everything imaginable. Your brother was dead. Jeff Atkins was dead.

You remembered that night like it was yesterday. You’d been at the same party as him. In fact, you were completely blasted. Your boyfriend, Montgomery De La Cruz was taking care of you as you blubbered about random things. Jeff had said he’d like to drop you off to your guys’ house while he was out on the beer run that he’d been asked to do. You’d refused, even after Jeff and Monty both persisted that you do so. So Jeff took off into the night. Little did you know, your drunken refusal would be your last interaction with your brother. And a mere hour and a half later you’d get a very frantic call from your mother. You, still out of it, were not comprehending the seriousness of the situation, forcing Monty to take your phone and work out what your mother was talking about. His teammate, and one of his best friends, had been in a fatal car accident. Without a word to anyone, he’d leapt up, throwing you over his shoulder, knowing he didn’t have time for your antics, and ran out to his car.

Five minutes later, you understood. No amount of drugs and alcohol could have ever kept you from noticing the body bag, and your mother hiding her face in your Father’s chest in sheer horror. Nothing was going to take away the fact that your brother was in the body bag, that he was dead.
You remembered screaming at the top of your lungs, eventually trying to run over to the paramedics that were tending to Jeff’s body. Monty stopped you, turning you back around and pulling you into him. You could feel his heart pounding. You kept demanding things, as if they could be done or changed. ‘Give him CPR’ you’d bellowed. ‘Wake him up.’

Monty refused to leave your side after that. His baseball coach had given him four games off without any grief. He felt the loss of Jeff too. Monty said he wanted to wait until you could handle yourself before he tried to go back to normal.

Your parents didn’t say anything when you refused the idea of Monty leaving your bed at night. In fact, Monty had spent every night with your emotionally drained body since the accident.

No one saw it coming, Montgomery caring about someone so much. Jeff had been suspicious of his motives when he’d first asked about you. But there was no mistaking the way his eyes lit up when he saw you in the stands at their games. Or the way he’d talk to himself, as though he was practicing what he was going to say to you. He liked you. And your lack of reluctance towards him scared not only Jeff, but your friends as well. He was, well he was a 'fuck boy’. It surprised everyone even more when he gave you a 'ring on a string’ for your six month anniversary, when the first I love you’s were said.

“Montgomery said he wished he could have walked you to class, Y/N.” Hannah’s voice shook you out of your daze. You nodded, she was right.

“I told him, baseball’s his future. If coach wants him to practice, he needs to.” You spoke in a hushed tone. A sharp contrast to your normally spunky, louder voice. But this was the voice you’d grown accustomed to. There was no reason to be so cheery or chirpy.

“You look nice in your dress.” Hannah continued. She was another person who’s sympathy you’d been receptive of. She seemed genuine, not nosy. You didn’t care what Monty had to say about how she 'got around’. She was a good person.

“Monty bought it for me last week.” You said. You could feel her wide smile on you.

“He takes good care of you, yeah?” She asked. You couldn’t help but smile, you liked the honest answer you were able to give.

“Yeah. I used to take care of him too.” Hannah stopped in the middle of the hallway, and turned you so you had to look at her.

“After everything, I’m sure he’s aware it’s his time to be caring for you, Y/N.” you nodded, not in the mood to wallow in your self pity aloud.

“See your knight in shining armor?” Hannah nudged you, gesturing for you to look forward. You looked up and saw Monty with his friend group. It was good to see him with them. He’d kind of wiped them out of his life to take care of you.

That didn’t stop him from perking up when he saw you walking down the hall. He smiled as he walked towards you. Hannah unlinked arms with you, as if her shift was over. There was a pregnant silence between Monty’s friends and Hannah. God, they were all judging her. And it clearly was making her uncomfortable.

“I’ll see you in gym, Y/N.” Hannah rubbed your shoulder softly before beginning to walk away.

“Stay?” You asked simply. Looking into her eyes. She paused, thinking about it for a moment.

“No, I think you’re in good hands now.” She smiled gently before walking away and out of the hallway.

“I don’t get why you like her so much.” Monty pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“She’s a good person, Montgomery. You all are so mean sometimes.” You whispered.

“Hey Y/N, Monty just doesn’t want her influence around.” Marcus spoke up. You hadn’t seen him since Jeff’s funeral. He hadn’t said much to you. Then again, you two hadn’t ever said much to one another.

“Hey so we’re all gonna workout at the country club later today, you down?” Marcus asked Monty. Your boyfriend traced small circles on your back as you took in the group of people, arms crossed over your chest.

“Dinner with her family tonight, sorry.” Monty said in return. That hadn’t been officially planned, but he did have dinner with you and your parents most nights.

“You haven’t worked out with us in forever, man. It’s the only day that I can get all of you into the club at once.” Bryce continued to try and convince your boyfriend.

“My girl comes first, sorry.” Monty thought that was the end of the conversation

“She can come. You just said how she’s gained all this depression weight and it’s getting to be a problem and-” Bryce was going to talk further, but Monty lunged at him, making him fall to the ground before he could.

“If anything about her EVER leaves your mouth again I swear to God I’ll kill you.” He growled. You pulled Monty off of Bryce, tears already slipping down your cheeks.

“She just lost her damn brother, Jesus.” Jessica, who had been standing by her boyfriend, Justin had rushed to your side out of protectiveness.

“That’s not how it was I just-” you couldn’t even let him finish his excuse.

“Did those words leave your mouth?” You didn’t even look up at him. Jessica has wrapped her arms around you. The hall had gotten quieter. This had officially been made a scene after Monty lunged at Bryce.

“Look princess it didn’t-”

“Answer the question! Did you say my weight was a problem? Yes or No?” Your voice was raised and louder than it had been in a month.

“Yes, but it was just-” you shook your head, laughing to yourself.

“That’s all I needed to know. But, let me relieve you of this said problem.” You pulled your hair to one side. You unhooked the necklace you wore. The necklace that hadn’t left your neck in almost four months. His little promise 'ring on a string’ anniversary gift. When he wouldn’t take it back, you handed it to Zach.

“Make sure he takes this. It’s his decision what he wants to do with it. Maybe he was who every girl in this school warned me he was all along.” You said, turning in the other direction. Jessica followed you, wanting to show you support. Monty tried to walk after you. You had no idea what he was frantically saying. All you knew was that Jessica was yelling at him to get away and that you now felt officially alone in this world.

Flood my Mornings: Climbing

Anon said: This is a prompt for Bonnie & FMM: since BabyBree is becoming quite the strong minded little lady, can we see her get into some antics at the worst possible time?

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

Fernacre, July, 1951 

JESUS, lass!” Jamie hissed as he lunged to snatch Bree mid-stride and prevent what would have been a flying leap off the picnic table. He forced himself to exhale before setting her onto her feet and asking, “Why in the name of all that is holy and right do ye turn demon the instant we go out in public?”

The demon giggled. 

“Brianna, hear me, it’s no’ a game, this.” He dropped to a crouch before her, trying to keep his already-worn temper in check. “I mean it. NO climbing up upon things, d’ye hear?” 

“Okayyyy!” she trilled, beaming with joy, already turning on her heel. 

“Wait just there, we’re not—” 

But she was already out of reach, scampering off to join a pack of other children headed toward the play-slides. 

“Stay within the yard!” he called after her. “Heaven BLOODY help me,” he groaned under his breath in Gaelic, getting back to his feet and his conversation. “I’m terribly sorry for that wee hooligan, Tom.” 

“It’s alright, bud,” Tom Harper laughed, handing him back his bottle of terrible American beer. “Kids will be kids, no harm done.”

“Perhaps it’s some great test of parenting, to see how well I cope wi’out Claire to hand….or how poorly, as the case might be.”

It was the annual Fernacre employee summer picnic, or as Bree saw it, a battlefield ripe for the carnage her impish soul apparently craved. Scarce an hour the two of them had been there, and she’d already knocked over a pitcher of Lemonade, bitten another child who had bumped into her, squirted tomato sauce all down her front, and managed to get a lollipop stuck in her hair. This was to say nothing of the tantrum on the car ride about not being able to see the clouds (it being a hot, blue day and there being no clouds), and several outbursts of language he was more than grateful Claire had not been present to overhear. Nine days out of ten, Bree’s heartbreaking sweetness outweighed the net destruction (though there was plenty of the latter in any given day, and no mistake); but there would be a full moon brewing in the sky this evening, certainly, for Brianna Fraser had come out IN FORCE. 

“Really, though, she’ll grow out of it,” Tom said with a veteran’s confidence. “Our Rob was just the same at that age. It’s your first kiddo’s job to put you through the wringer. It’s in their contract and everything!” His wink went suddenly sideways as both brows furrowed over his Sunglasses. “Speaking of which, Claire’s okay, I hope?” 

“Oh, aye, she’s well enough,” Jamie assured him, taking what restorative strength he could from the watery excuse for a draught. “The babe kept her up all through the night, and she didna think she could manage being out the heat, besides.” 

“Don’t blame her one bit.” He wiped sweat from his forehead before adding significantly, “Not long, now, huh?” 

“No,” he grinned back, “not long at all.” 

Earlier that morning

Will you absolutely hate me if I stay in bed today?”

“Of course not, mo nighean donn,” He tucked the covers more securely around her and then stood, looking around to see what he might bring her. 

“Would it be pressing my good luck to beg you to take the monster with you?”

He kissed her, then Ian. “…Which one?” 

“Oh, I’d happily give you BOTH, if I could!” She rubbed her now-still belly ruefully and winced a bit. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, little one, you have got to give Mummy a BREAK when she’s trying to sleep. We can’t keep having these midnight drill parades!”

A whinnying horse galloped into the room and catapulted herself onto the bed next to Claire. “Mum-ma, you comin’?”

“No, lovey,” Claire said, pulling Bree close into a great, warm hug. “Mummy’s going to stay here and take a nap.” 

“Nappin’ isna FUN!” 

“Oh, it’s LOADS of fun for me! But you and Daddy will go and have a lovely time at the picnic, just the two of you.”

Bree grumbled for a minute, then brightened. “Can’see iffee’s ‘wake? If Beeyin’s ‘wake?”

Claire smiled that warm, sweet smile he loved so well. She pulled up the hem of her nightshirt from under the blankets, patiently letting Bree inspect the whole expanse of her with exuberant pats. 

After a few moments, Bree glowered up and whispered in a confidential yell, “I dinna heer’im.”

“I don’t feel him ei—Oh! There he is!” 

Bree shrieked in delight, dissolving into insane giggles as she poked the heaving mass back to and fro. At such a degree of intensity, it was rather like the game Jamie had seen the Fair where you clubbed the stuffed groundhog with a mallet only to have another pop up on the other side. ‘Clubbed’ indeed, for Claire was obliged to grab Bree’s hands and croon, “Gently, Bree, baby, *gently*…” 

After a long, peaceful while, Claire happened to glance up and catch his expression. She was a canny one, his wife, and she gave him a gimlet eye at once. “And just what are you smirking at like a cat in the cream?”

In truth, he WAS grinning, so widely he must have looked positively deranged. “You. are. SO. BIG.”

“You ARSE,” she laughed, managing to land him a kick in the belly even through the blankets.

“Ye ARE! I mean, LOOK!” He came to sit on the edge of the bed and joined Bree in outlining just how massive she was. “Big as a—a—”

“A HOUSE!” Bree finished helpfully, “or A ‘POTTAMUS!” 

“I do hope wee Ian comes out a fair shade more polite and complimentary than YOU lot,” Claire said, splitting a glare between the pair of them. 

“And just think, you’ve *two weeks more,* forbye.”  

One and a half, thank you very much,” she corrected primly.

“But let’s just stop and consider.” He raised a significant brow. “Should wee Ian see fit to bide his time…

“Don’t EVEN suggest it.”

“….It could be THREE weeks more…” He was having trouble speaking normally through the bubbling laughter. “….or even FOUR, until—”

“You wish four more weeks upon me, Jamie Fraser, and I will make you wish otherwise.”

Bree turned her coat in a flash. “Don’ wisp that at Mum-ma, Da.” 

“Oh, verra well, if ye say so,” he said, mock-abashed, with a wink at his wife. Glancing at his watch, he groaned and straightened with a yawn. Claire’s tossing and turning in the night from Ian’s acrobatics hadn’t done him any favors, either.  “Alright, a leannan, let’s see to your clothes and get along to the picnic.”

“You really do delight in seeing me as huge as a beached whale, don’t you?” Claire asked sardonically as Bree scurried from the room, cheering.

“Aye, I do,” he admitted freely, wrapping both his arms around her and nuzzling his nose against hers. “Truly one of the happiest sights I’ve ever seen.” 

In the cave, he had many a time wondered—longingly—what Claire might look like at the time of her full term; and what he had imagined paled in comparison. She was full and lush in every single inch of her. Hair thick and glossy. Skin softly glowing like sunlight on a flower petal. Whisky eyes seeming to sparkle with the same light, heavy with a soft, sleepy happiness. Claire was absolutely exquisite in this height of her bearing, and he would happily spend all his days glorying in the memory of her, this way. 

“I never imagined…” He bent and laid a kiss on her straining navel, reflecting that spending a fair number of those days in good fun and laughter would *also* be greatly rewarding. “…that anyone could get even bigger wi’ child than JENNY.” 

“Bree!” Claire shouted, swatting him with a pillow as he lunged up to kiss her cheeks and neck ferociously, “tell your Da to take his imagination and shove it up his—”

A crash sounded from the other room, followed by a ‘whoops-eeee’, which, in retrospect, had not boded well for the rest of the day


His head whipped around so fast he heard his neck crack.

She was on the top rung of the fence separating the yard from the adjacent pasture, and he felt his heart stop as she fell from it headfirst. 

The next moments as he sprinted toward her seemed to pass as slowly as in a dream. He could hear shouts and cries behind him, but he didn’t stop for an instant until he was vaulting over the fence and snatching her up off her back. He didn’t remember what words he may have uttered, or in what language, but a few moments later, he was exhaling in great gasps of relief seeing that she was conscious and not injured, just badly scared with the breath knocked out of her. 

Dazed, she began to cry with great long wails that drove away the two mares that had come to investigate the visitor to their pasture. Thank the Lord she hadn’t chosen the next paddock over, where the true brawlers were kept. 

“You’re alright?” he demanded once more as he got back to the right side of the fence, vaguely aware he was speaking in Gaelic. “You’re not hurt?” 

She coughed and gasped for breath, considered, then showed him, lips trembling, a slightly-red patch on the fleshy part of her palm.

He laid a fervent kiss in her hand—silently praising heaven she hadn’t broken the wrist, for all that she was still crying like a banshee—and then could contain himself no longer. 

“What did I say about climbing?” His teeth were gritted tight and his hands were shaking even as they strove to remain gentle. “AND about wandering off??”

“I din’knowww,” she wailed, hearing his tone and trying to hide her face in his chest. 

“Ye DO know.” He pulled her up and made her look at him. “Brianna Ellen, ye must listen to what I say! Don’t ye understand ye could have gotten very badly hurt? Lass, look at me.”

She was sobbing, now, working herself up into hysterics. “C—can—na—

“Why not?”


He went completely still at that. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, deep breath. 

Help me, Da. 

With gestures and apologetic looks, he shooed the well-meaning onlookers back to their picnic and made for the big oak tree in the opposite corner of the yard. It was well-shaded, and he sat down against the trunk, holding his daughter to his chest as she sobbed against his shoulder. 

Thank God she wasn’t hurt. Thank GOD. 

“Bree, cub?” The walk had calmed him, and he was glad to hear his voice was gentle and soft. “Look at me, aye?” 

After a moment, she glanced timidly up (face red as an apple and covered in liquids of all description) and he smiled at her, stroking her cheek and her hair. “I’m here, a leannan. It’s just me…just Da… I love you.” 

“Love—” she hiccuped through her tears, “—too.” 

He kissed her and held her close for a minute before setting her on his legs facing him and saying gravely, “But ye made me verra afraid today, a chuisle. Ye disobeyed and could have hurt yourself.” 

“I did’nint mean to,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Aye, I ken ye didna mean to get hurt,” he said, gently pulling her fists away from her face, “but ye meant to be climbing the fence, even after I told ye not.” 

“…It was fun, though,” she offered with a shrug, voice tremulously defiant.

“Aye, well…” 

Come on, Da…. How would ye have explained this to me?  

A shrill whinny sounded in the distance, then another, and Jamie glanced around to see the two sorrel foals playing together in the south pasture, teasing and prancing about one another.  

He smiled and felt peace whispering through the grasses. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away. 

“Ye ken, when wee Ian is born, Bree, he’s going to grow up fast. Before long, he’ll be as big as you and running about on his own! And you’ll want your wee brother to be safe, aye?” 

She straightened at that, no longer crying. Bairn safety was no small matter, in her book. She nodded. 

“Say there were something like a great, nasty snake crawling about in the grass about to bite your brother on the foot…..Would ye just stand by and let him be hurt?”

Brianna looked up at him in absolute affront. “NO, I’d kill dat snake!”

He very nearly choked, but managed to keep a moderately straight face. Call upon a Fraser, and a Fraser ye shall get, he supposed;  but he cleared his throat and plunged on, determined to make his point. “But what if wee Ian didna understand the beast was dangerous? What if he went running to the snake because he thought it would be fun to play wi’ it?”

“Well…I jus’tell him not.”

“Aye, just so,” he said, “because we have to protect the people we love, d’ye see?” 

“Uh-huh.” She was staring up at him, rapt but not quite understanding. 

“So when I tell ye not to do things like climb the fence, mo chridhe, it’s only to keep ye safe, to keep ye getting hurt because I love you so. And when the bairn comes, it’ll be your job to keep him safe, too.”

She nodded emphatically. “I’ll do him safe, Da, promise.”

“But that means ye have to keep yourself safe, as well. Elder sisters have to be the best at obeying Mam and Da so the smaller bairns ken what’s the right way of things. Can ye do that?” 

“Aye,” she said at once. “I’ll ‘bey.” 

For precisely sixty seconds out of every hour, he predicted. 

“Hear me, though, Bree: the next time ye disobey like ye did today, I shall have to strap ye. I dinna want to do it, not one bit, but it’s how you’ll learn. Are we understood?

“….What’s s-tuh-rap?” 

“Getting smacked hard on the bottom wi’ a belt.” 

Hard?” she clarified, shocked. 

“Aye, hard enough that it hurts.” 

“But ye said—” She scrunched up her face and gestured with both hands. “NOT do things to KEEP me of getting hurted….”

A Dhia, Da, he laughed silently, how by all the saints did ye raise three—


His head snapped up and he saw Marian rushing down from the house, beckoning wildly, with a look of—

“Da—ddy—” Bree gasped out from where she bounced against his shoulder. “Why we runnin’?”

His heart was pounding.

“Because your brother has decided he’s going to arrive early.”  

Bad news

Since an hour ago i arrived at Santiago (where the concert is being held) and when i checked facebook i saw two videos being shared between Chilean fans.

Both videos showed whom I assume was an interpreter trying to keep fans away from the restaurant where BTS was eating. He was super polite and explained that the boys were tired and that they needed to eat and then to rest for the concert. However, a group of 20-30 people were arguing that they just wanted to see them or greet them. They even said that BTS were artist and that they owed(?) the fans some sort of greeting or recognition.

The dude tried to explain that there were fans screaming and disturbing BTS all day and that they just wanted to rest, but the “fans” kept demanding some sort of recognition.

I tried to download the video but Facebook didn’t let me.

On the other hand, this situation is being taken seriously by the Chilean fandom by trying to spread awareness between the fans.

I’m so mad and embarrassed. Really, I don’t know how some people can think that way and don’t care about the well being of people you supposedly like. I don’t know what to think of this, but at the same time I want overseas fans to understand that there were only 20-30 fans (maybe 100 if we count the ones from the morning) and that there are more than 20,000 fans who are going to both concerts. This a minority.

Ugh, I’m so sorry.

We returned to the gallery and Sherlock confronted the curator. She denied everything at first and she kept insisting that the painting was real. There didn’t seem to be much we could do. Then the phone rang once more.

It was a child.

A child!

The bomber had a child – a little boy – strapped to bombs!

The child started to count down from ten. Sherlock was screaming into the phone that the painting was a fake but the killer clearly wanted proof. Sherlock stared at the painting as the child continued to count down to his own death. Sherlock kept yelling, demanding the boy to stop, he kept insisting that it had to be a fake. For a moment I thought…

And then Sherlock, at the very last minute, brilliantly worked it out. It was how the security guard had guessed it was a fake and why he’d phoned a professor at a planetarium. There was a supernova in the painting that didn’t appear in our skies until 1858. Therefore, the painting couldn’t have been painted by an artist living in the 1640s. The child stopped counting.

The curator admitted that she’d arranged for the painting to be created. She’d been put in touch with various people and they’d all seemed to be working for one man. You’ve guessed it. Moriarty.

Moriarty has been behind all of this. Somehow, knowing this does not make things better or easier. From what I’ve heard, that man is a psychopath.

anonymous asked:

idk if this is too much but how do the main three deal with their s/o going through a miscarriage? (can be early or pretty late into the pregnancy! or the baby could be stillborn)

You guys just feed on sadness and melancholy, don’t ya? Hope this brings you to tears! ^-^


  • Some people believe that feeling too much happiness means something will eventually go wrong, and Yuuri was one of these. During the whole pregnancy he was so attentive, sometimes too much.
  • Everyday he woke up and throughout the whole day it would be him following you around all worried.
  • “Yuuri, I can walk just fine!” You giggled. He was so awkward around you, but that’s what made you love him so much.
  • “I just worry.” 
  • Lately you had been having constant lower back pains, sometimes in the abdomen area, and you had been spotting for a week now. You had discussed this symptoms with Yuuri and you both agreed to go to the doctor tomorrow. 
  • You were walking towards your room when you suddenly felt a very strong wave of pain in your lower abdomen. You fell to the floor, your legs giving away to the pain. You screamed out Yuuri’s name, urging him to come over.
  • “Y/N! What’s wrong?!” And that’s when he saw it: Big stains of blood on your pants.
  • “We need to call an ambulance! There’s blood!” When you heard those words you looked at yourself, inspecting to find the blood he was talking about. When you saw it your tears just started flowing out and your screams became much louder.
  • “The baby! Yuuri, the baby!” You were sobbing at this point. You hoped that the baby was fine, but you knew he was gone.
  • When the ambulance finally came to take you to the hospital, time seemed to pass by slower for you. Even though you knew the ambulance was rushing through the street it was still too slow. 
  • “Please go faster. Please save my baby..” You would whisper, hoping that somehow it would magically transport you to the hospital. 
  • When Yuuri would hear you say that he would just grab your hand, hoping to calm you even if just a little.
  • Finally at the hospital, everything seemed to happen in slow motion and every noise became dull. The nurses rushing through, the doctor taking you in. Suddenly everything seemed calm, but there was a strange tension in the air.
  • “I’m sorry. It seems that the fetus had been dead for two to three days already. Did you not notice any symptoms, ma’am?” And that’s when everything came together. The spotting, the pain, and how you could no longer feel the baby kick. It was so obvious, but how could you have not noticed it?
  • After discussing everything through, the doctor left, leaving you alone with your husband.
  • “Y/N?” Said Yuuri while slowly approaching you. His voice quivered, his steps were hesitant, and it was obvious he was trying not to cry.
  • When Yuuri grabbed your hand and kissed it, the emotions just came rushing over. You started screaming and sobbing, Yuuri followed, hugging you tightly.
  • Even though Yuuri felt devastated he was trying to be strong for you. Because even though he was suffering the same loss you had been the one carrying the baby around inside of your body.
  • He just hugged you and let you cry your heart out, giving you small pecks and running his hand through your hair. 
  • After some time passed, you became an empty shell. You wouldn’t get out of bed, you wouldn’t eat, you wouldn’t do anything.
  • Yuuri would try and get you to at least walk around the house, he would cook small meals to see if you would eat a little bit, but his efforts were futile.
  • One day Yuuri just couldn’t take it anymore.
  • “Do you think you are the only one who lost their child?! I haven’t had time to grieve taking care of you! But you won’t even TRY to help yourself!” 
  • “Do you think this is easy for me?!”
  • “Do you think it’s easy for ME?!”
  • Each day you and Yuuri would argue about the same thing. Your relationship was breaking apart.


  • Viktor had just gotten back to the hotel from the gala that had been held after the Grand Prix (in which he won gold). This time he was alone, his wife had stayed back in Russia since he had insisted on her resting as much as she could.
  • When he checked his phone he found that he had eighteen missed calls from you and Mila. He called your phone but the voice that answered was Mila’s.
  • “Viktor! I have been calling you and Yuri so much but you wouldn’t answer and my god I don’t know what to do this is bad really bad you need to come back to Russia NOW!”
  • “Mila! Speak slowly, I couldn’t understand you.”
  • “You need to come back to Russia. Y/N had a miscarriage.” Viktor didn’t have to hear anything more. He quickly threw everything in his suitcase and rushed over to the airport, booking the next flight back to Russia.
  • When he finally arrived in Russia and made his way to the hospital you were at he was a nervous wreck. He rushed over to your room, ignoring the calls from people who noticed who he was. His goal was to see you as soon as possible.
  • When he reached the room and finally saw you, he ran over to you and hugged you. 
  • “Viktor… I missed you” You hugged him back tightly, you needed this.
  • “I’m so sorry for not being here.”
  • “It’s ok. If it wasn’t meant to be then we just need to keep trying, don’t we?” You said, trying to sound confident but the tears started falling.
  • “We knew there was a high chance of this happening so we just… we just need to keep trying.” As much as you tried to mantain a strong expression, it was too much. Both of you were prepared for something like this to happen since the doctor had already told you you had a high chance of having a miscarriage early on in the pregnancy. But actually going through one was terrible.
  • It broke Viktor’s heart to see you like. He wiped your tears away and started kissing your whole face trying to cheer you up.
  • “Just like you said, we will keep trying. When the time comes you will have that baby in your hands. I love you” He soothed while petting your hair.
  • “I love you too..” It was a bittersweet moment, but you knew that this was life and if you fall down you just have to get up and keep going.


  • Yuri was such a caring husband. He would do anything for you, any time and anywhere. Of course you knew that he was treating you extra special only because you were pregnant.
  • If you wanted something and he was in practice, he would just ditch a very angry Yakov and go get it. If you felt lonely, he would ditch a much angrier Yakov and go to you. Eventually Yakov just gave up and told Yuri to take “maternity leave”.
  • The day finally came, your water broke and Yuri became a nervous wreck, running around the house getting all the bags and everything necessary. 
  • “Are you ok? Are you dying?!” He said while driving like a maniac.
  • “Well, I won’t die if you drive slower.”
  • At the hospital you are quickly taken in and let time pass as you dilate. Yuri wouldn’t stop pacing around the room, when you got waves of excruciating pain you would curse Yuri’s existence. In short, even though it was hectic, everybody was excited and patiently waiting for the little baby girl to get here. It was a happy atmosphere.
  • “Ok! You are completely dilated. Let’s push!” And so the very awaited moment came. 
  • You pushed and yelled, Yuri cried a little from his hand being crush. It was such a beautiful moment. After hours of pushing the baby was born. But what everybody was waiting for never came: the cries of your child.
  • The doctors rushed around, trying to revive the poor baby. But every attempt was futile, your baby was dead.
  • “I’m sorry to inform you that your child has passed away. We will give you some time.” You hadn’t really been paying attention to everything that had been going on so when you heard the doctor say that you were confused. You tried to stand up but you couldn’t, your body was too weak. 
  • “Yuri, what did the doctor mean? My baby is dead?” You couldn’t believe it. You turned to look at Yuri to find him over where the body of the lifeless baby was. He wasn’t showing any emotion, he was standing still just looking at it.
  • You kept calling his name demanding to see your child. Yuri looked at you and started crying.
  • “She’s dead. My baby girl is dead!” He yelled, punching the wall. You also cried, feeling frustrated that you couldn’t go see her, feeling heartbroken because you had just lost your baby.
  • After the loss of your baby, you and Yuri relied on each other for support. The both of you would stay together all the time because if you were left alone the thoughts of your deceased child would take over your mind. But as the years passed, it would become easier to cope with the pain. And even more when you were expecting another child.
  • “I miss her. Even though we didn’t get to live with her outside of the womb, I still felt a connection to her.” Yuri said as he lied his head on your lap, letting you play with his hair.
  • “I miss her too. But right now we have to give it our all for our baby boy. We need to make sure it doesn’t happen again” You smiled. 
  • “Your right,” said Yuri as he kissed your belly. 
  • “Let’s give it everything we’ve got!”

yardnoc3103  asked:

So Valentine's Day I had people asking about my plans and crap. Normally I ignore it, but one lady and her husband kept pestering me and demanded I tell them what I was getting my girlfriend. As a single male this was pissing me off because why do they care and they don't know me at all. So I looked them straight in the eye and said "I plan on buying him some lube." The look on their faces PRICELESS HORROR Walked away going "I shouldn't have asked, I shouldn't have asked." Didn't get in trouble

okay let me try to do a Roundup of notable events from the last couple… days? some time

- finnish man at the breakfast today and yesterday complaining about the coffee being too weak. we’re making the coffee the finnish way here - even some norwegian customers need to water it out which means we can’t start making it stronger. at this point i suspect he might just be too finnish for his own good……… also why does he add so much milk if he thinks it’s so weak

- the card reader losing connection to pretty much all the major credit card companies just as a large group of chinese bikers roll in. that was a fun time

- there’s always gotta be something Wrong. on popular demand we got the coffee machine up and running again, and it took one day before it stopped being able to make hot chocolates and two before it stopped working altogether in the middle of making cappucinos. currently the lamp above the counter has stopped working, shrouding whoever’s at the cashier (me) in shadows.. we were gonna get new stock today but it never came. COOL BEANS

- camping reception worker hailed me down so i could use my Norwegian Speaking Expertise to make a phonecall to ask if someone haven’t forgotten to deliver their room keys. i found said keys on the desk in the shop, but only after making the phonecall.

- please imagine your five foot one haiz going up to a german giant to ask if he has the breakfast coupon

- the breakfast is held in the dining hall, separate from the counter with all the cake and waffles and the cash machine, because the cakes and waffles are for sale and not part of the breakfast buffet. somehow the french always think the waffles are included in the breakfast.

- i keep having NO TRACK OF TIME whatsoever. i thought a customer was joking when he wished me a happy weekend on saturday. i kept telling people to visit the convenience store on sunday to get [item we don’t have] - the convenience store is notoriously Not Open on sundays. on friday,  in a moment of realization, i startingly said ‘it’s friday!!!’  to a coworker and she was equally startled and confused. my new wristwatch keeps going wrong every once in a while. help

- i was refilling stuff at the breakfast table when i thought an old lady was yelling a Certain Spanish Insult at me but she was just asking for more butter in a very thick french accent

- i missed out on receipt #9999 and #111111 so i guess that’s that :T

Ten Paces Fire! (G.Wash x Reader)

a/n: i was trying to think of a prompt for this gwash request and this idea just popped into my head and??? i couldn’t stop laughing lmao hope u guys enjoy! (ps if u want more all u have to do is ask ;)

request: Please please please write George Washington x reader fluff. I’m begging.

word count: 1011 words

“Burr, get a medic for the general.” Washington growled.

“Yes, Sir.” He stated as Lee was carried away.

After a talk with Hamilton, General Washington decided to check on Charles Lee.  Although Lee said some very rude things, it was his duty to make sure his men were ok.

“Lee, since you are unfit to serve here any longer I am afraid to tell you that you will be discharged.  Is there anyone we can contact to assist you on your way back home?” He asked formerly.

Lee hissed as he moved upright on the cot to look at the other general. “My sister, Sir.  She shouldn’t live too far away from here, although she might not be very pleasant when she arrives.” He shivered.

Washington furrowed his eyebrows and marched to his tent to write a letter to Ms. Lee about her brother’s current state and the situation that brought them to this conclusion.  After he was finished, he asked one of his men to deliver it.  Now all he had to do was wait.
“Where is he?!” Washington heard a women’s voice shriek as he was drafting plans for the next battle.  He heard Hamilton’s voice trying to calm her down but to no avail she kept demanding to see whomever “he” was.

His tent was flung open and saw Alexander walk in with a red face after being told off by said woman.

“Ms. Lee has arrived, Sir.”

George’s eyes widen as he put the pieces together and realized that it was Charles Lee the woman was searching for.

“Shall I escort her to him?” Hamilton asked.

Washington shook his head and stated he can do it as he grabbed his hat.  He opened the flap to his tent and held his hand to his face as the sun’s beams showered upon him. It took his eyes a bit to adjust to the new lighting and looked to see the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on.  

She had a simple navy blue dress, gorgeous (E/C) eyes, and hair that looked slightly messy from the journey to the camp.  Her lips, however, were knitted in a tight frown as she looked angrily at him.  Washington gulped as he made his way over to the furious but beautiful woman.

“I assume your-”

He barely got a few words out before she interrupted him.

“The sister of that idiot who got himself shot in a stupid duel over something stupid he said?” The woman spat.

The general moved slightly back, afraid if he said anything wrong she might release more of her wrath onto him.  He opened his mouth but was cut off yet again by the woman.

“I am so terribly sorry,” She said as she dragged her hand across her face. “It’s just that my brother is…not the brightest.”

Washington chuckled and shook his head. “It’s quite alright, Miss.  It’s completely understandable that you would be upset.” He smiled at her.

She smiled back. “I’m (Y/N) Lee.”

Washington bowed and took her hand to kiss her knuckles, “George Washington at your service, Ms. Lee.”

The lady blushed as she realized that she lashed out on the general and because he kissed her hand.

“Can I escort you to that ‘idiot brother’ of yours?” He asked as he looped an arm around hers.

Ms. Lee’s face flushed an even darker pink and nodded.  The general chuckled at her silence since it was very hard to keep the woman quiet almost moments ago.  

On their short walk to the medical tent, he asked about her life. She told him of her hobbies but the thing he was intrigued about her the most was that she was an assistant to a professor in the nearby college.

“You must be a brilliant woman then.” He told her.

She grinned at him, “I wouldn’t say brilliant but I would like to think I’m more educated than I should be.” She added with a wink.

The general laughed again, “You have quite the sense of humor, Ms. Lee!”

“Please call me (Y/N), General.” She told him.

“If you call me George I think we can arrange that.” He grinned at her.

When they arrived at the nurse’s station, the two were still chatting and giggling with one another and the men stationed at the tent stopped to gawk at the scene.  They have never seen the general so…happy, so carefree.  And to be completely honest George couldn’t remember the last time he felt this comfortable with someone else.  

“Don’t you boys have somewhere to be?” The general demanded.

The three soldiers’ eyes widened and stammered an apology while scurrying off.

Washington opened the tent and allowed (Y/N) to enter first.  She was about to walk in before she turned around to look at George.

“Could I have a moment alone with him?” She asked with her big (E/C) eyes.

George blushed and simply nodded his head so he didn’t say anything stupid. He watched her walk in and find her brother on his cot, dead asleep.  He smiled and turned around to walk back to his tent but before he could leave he felt a soft hand clutch his.  

The beautiful woman he was taken with stood up slightly on her tippy toes and whispered, “Write to me.” and kissed his cheek.

She smiled softly at him while closing the tent.

George stood outside in shock.  He simply stared at the opening while reaching up to gently touch the cheek she brushed her lips against.  Afterwards, he grinned and walked towards his tent to finish some business with a slight spring in his step.  He was only a little ways down before he heard a yell.


George’s grin widened and set down to already write a letter to the woman he was so suddenly infatuated with.

I laugh everytime I see an exclusionist use “lgbtpn"as the acronym.(Queer who? Intersex what?) It’s so painfully transparent.

Especially when ya’ll were just tripping over yourselves with that "lgbt is the full acronym!"bullshit only two months ago.

Don’t pretend to care about my non-binary ass when ya’ll were so dead set to shove us all under the T, despite us speaking out about it.

Don’t pretend to care about my panromantic ass now when ya’ll kept screaming over us, demanding we go under the B.

Ya’ll been speaking over us for damn near two years. Like am I supposed to be grateful that you graciously decided to tack our identities on the end to shut us up? Lmao fuck outta here

I think I’m about to have a stroke over this “Felicity’s superpower is empathy” bs. First off, Felicity should not need to be told (and for the second time in this show’s run) that she has a superpower on a team of (until recently) non-powered heroes. Instead of making me sympathize with her feeling inferior, it just grates on me that she gets people to feed her superiority complex. Like it’s not enough that she’s powerful, she has to be superpowerful. Somebody tell me if I’m wrong, but like, does Iris ever go fishing around for compliments like that?? No. And she’s surrounded by actual superheroes!

Also, where was Felicity’s empathy when:

  • Oliver revealed he was hallucinating a dead woman and she immediately implied he’d been having an Island Harem instead of fighting to survive the last five years
  • She called Moira diabolical at her own funeral
  • She treated her own mother like so much garbage
  • She messed around with Ray despite still having feelings for Oliver, then still kept making demands of him after their breakup
  • She didn’t want Oliver to trade his freedom for his sister’s life and considered it worth nothing when he asked her to help look after Thea in his absence
  • She was more concerned with Oliver marrying someone that wasn’t her rather than the lesbian who was being forced into marriage and implied future sex with a man by her own father
  • She ew’d Thea’s bloodstain
  • She insulted Amanda Waller at her memorial
  • Oliver had to say goodbye to his son he never got to raise
  • She told Oliver he would never recover from his trauma
  • She didn’t bother to see about getting her miracle microchip mass-produced until a villain suggested it, then knocked said villain into a coma and cheered about it
  • Her motivation for joining the team was retconned from “I want to save Walter” to “Oliver has abs”
  • She talked her ex into committing suicide and gave a half-hearted “sorry”
  • Pretty much everything involving Havenrock and Rory Regan
  • Pretty much everything involving Black Siren

I’m not going to say she has never displayed empathy (even if I’m having trouble recalling one to counterpoint), but like…don’t name somebody’s superpower something they rarely actually use?? Say she’s super-smart, say she’s a tech wiz, whatever. But don’t try to pretend to me that she’s suddenly this warm, caring, sympathetic individual when there is so much evidence stacked against her. Stop trying to make her everything. Stop trying especially to make her something she never was.

anonymous asked:

so... any more like that king james post?

Son, it’s time you learnt about… King Edward II of England.

Boring disclaimer: there is no explicit evidence of the true nature of Edward’s relationship with Piers Gaveston or Hugh Despenser. There are no love letters or saucy satirical poetry, a la King James I. There are no sex tapes. All we have is conjecture and circumstantial evidence (and some sources, but not many). It should also be noted that we can’t say with any certainty that Edward II was what we (although not him, as the terms and frameworks are modern) would term ‘homosexual’, ‘bisexual’ or ‘heterosexual’. Relationships between men were often incredibly close, bordering on romantic, with no clear definition between platonic and romantic. It was only really unusual when there was a sexual component involved, and the lack of evidence of this component means that it would be impossible to ascribe a definitive homosexual identity to the two men. However, the lack of evidence does not necessarily mean a lack of veracity, and it’s not impossible that the two were sexually involved. It’s just important to remember that modern labels don’t always fit past figures, because history and all.

Our merry historical jaunt begins with the saucy tale of

Piers Gaveston: in which the dangers of ignoring your barons and giving all your land, treasure and undivided attention to one man becomes apparent

  • So, this begins with King Edward I, who was the king of England from 1272-1307. He was also nicknamed ‘Longshanks’ because of his long legs, which is completely irrelevant, but interesting. In 1300, a saucy 16 year old (or thereabouts) named Piers Gaveston joined the household of Edward I, at the behest of Edward I, who thought he was a pretty decent chap and definitely not about to lead his son astray or anything like that. Fairly soon after that, Edward I became the human embodiment of that ‘I have made a terrible mistake’ gif that everyone used to post back in 2013, because Prince Edward and Gaveston became absolutely inseparable. Prince Edward kept demanding more and more titles for Gaveston and his family, giving him fancy gifts of treasure and land and probably those really expensive watches, and at one point the king became concerned that Gaveston might actually be a bit of a problem when it came to his son producing heirs, and Gaveston was banished from court and exiled, albeit with an allowance. 
  • Edward I died in 1307. His dying wish was that Gaveston should never be allowed back into the country, to which Prince Edward said ‘yes, dad, I will absolutely adhere to your last wish, because I am your respectful son and heir. Oh, you’re dead? I’m Edward II now? Cool! Time to fetch Gaveston and give him loads of land! What a guy.’
  • Edward II was crowned in 1308, and subsequently married Isabella of France, who was two things: an absolute badass, and also a 12 year old girl. That was fine in those days, so everyone just went along with it and assumed that Edward and Isabella would be happy together forever. They were not entirely correct.
  • Within a month of Edward I’s death, Edward II had made Gaveston the Earl of Cornwall, and was a bit naughty about it. By some accounts, Gaveston hadn’t known that this was his plan, and Edward claimed that he had asked his barons for advice, but that was a load of old wank, because the barons hated Gaveston and would probably rather construct a wall made of actual corn and slap a title on that. In 1308, in a pattern which should not have surprised anyone at this point, Edward’s courtiers began to worry about the extent of Gaveston’s influence on the king, with some describing him as being ‘like a second king’. By some accounts, the two were never apart, even sharing a bed on some occasions, and many noblemen began to worry that Gaveston was influencing royal policy, which, now that I think about it, might have been a euphemism. They forced Edward to exile Gaveston again in 1308 upon threat of excommunication, which he did, but Gaveston was allowed to serve in Ireland in a military capacity, as Lieutenant of Ireland (which Gaveston was weirdly great at. Legitimately.) Edward also gave him and his wife a lot of money. Like, a lot. So that’s nice.
  • In 1309, Edward began attempting to compromise with the barons who had ordered Gaveston’s exile. He promised them more land and power, and to stop his really annoying habit of refusing to meet any of them unless Gaveston was also in the room, if they would overturn the exile. They refused, probably accurately assuming that things would be just as bad as before. In response, Edward began to royally suck up to the powers that be, giving land and titles to members of the Pope’s family until he received a papal annulment of the threat of Gaveston’s exile and agreed to sign a statute relieving some of the earls’ problems, and Gaveston returned.
  • Things improved a lot after that, by which I mean that Gaveston began to give all the earls horrible nicknames and Edward II gave him his own personal armed guard, as well as access to the treasury. Fed up beyond belief at this point, the barons drew up a series of reforms known as the Ordinances of 1311, and forced the king to sign them, saying that civil war would ensue if he didn’t. As well as limitations on Edward’s power as king, these reforms included articles about punishment owed to Gaveston for his offences. By some accounts, Edward promised to agree to all articles diminishing his own power if the barons would allow Gaveston to remain as Earl of Cornwall, to which the barons laughed heartily and exiled Gaveston for a third time, with the promise of death if he were to return. 
  • In 1312, the King demanded that Gaveston return ‘by the king’s order’, ostensibly to visit his pregnant wife but probably just to piss the barons off. Some people suggest that Edward got so desperate at this point that he even offered to recognise Robert the Bruce, the man who had spent his entire life at war with England, as the king of Scotland if he would acknowledge Gaveston as having a right to live in England, but that might be nothing more than a story. Whatever happened, the barons were indeed pissed off, and executed Gaveston.
  • Their love affair lives on in Christopher Marlowe’s play of 1592, Edward II, which deals fairly explicitly with their romantic relationship (although not that explicitly, you can take your grandma to see it). 

Luckily, after that, Edward II learned his lesson about taking royal favourites and using them to piss off his barons by giving them lavish gifts and making them Earls of random places, and he absolutely definitely never took another male favourite ever again, which leads right onto 

Hugh Despenser: in which the whole thing happens all over again, only with less exile and more outright bloody civil war, and also waxworks

  • In 1318, a man named Hugh Despenser was made royal chamberlain, and, despite having enjoyed a fairly lukewarm acquaintance before this point, quickly became a favourite of Edward II. By 1320, he was running around demanding titles and money all over the damn place, and Edward was acquiescing all over the same damn place. At this point, most barons were probably wishing that they’d never executed Gaveston, because compared to Despenser, he was a saint. If Gaveston had been a pain in the arse, then Despenser was a pain in every single arse this side of the equator. He was, by all accounts, pretty obnoxious. Unlike Gaveston, who had mostly been interested in shiny things and status, Despenser was interested in power and politics, and used his status to manoeuvre his way up the ranks of English politics like a little worm on a very small ladder. Oh, and Despenser’s wife was also Edward II’s niece. Just so you know.
  • By 1321, everyone hated Despenser except for Edward. Edward’s wife, Isabella, was one of his most vehement detractors. The reason for her hatred of him, seeing as she’d always tolerated Gaveston, isn’t really known - lots of theories have been purported, primarily focusing on Despenser’s reputation of assaulting noblewomen, and possibly Isabella herself. I did tell you that he was awful. Subsequently, some barons rebelled, starting what are now known as the Despenser Wars. There was even an event where some barons contracted a local magician, John of Nottingham, to kill Edward and Despenser by making wax figures of them and destroying them. Bizarrely, it didn’t work. The barons lost the war in 1322, and Edward and Hugh reigned supreme, and by ‘supreme’, I mean ‘with an iron fist’, and by ‘with an iron fist’, I mean ‘like Joffrey Lannister’. 
  • Over the next 4 years, Edward began to severely punish the barons who had been involved in the Despenser Wars. He would execute the barons, then confiscate their widows’ land and give it to someone whose name, you’ll be unsurprised to hear, was Hugh Despenser. Many of these widows were Isabella’s friends, and, despite having been broadly supportive of Edward up to this point, she began to plot against him. She refused to take an oath of loyalty to the Despensers, and Edward retaliated by taking her land, her assets, and even her children, placing them in the custody of… look, do I even need to tell you which family he gave his own children to? It was the Despensers. What a surprise.
  • Remember how I said that Isabella was a badass? This is why. In 1326, she went to France to negotiate with the French king on Edward’s behalf. Whilst there, she made the acquaintance of Roger Mortimer, a marcher lord who didn’t much care for her husband, having been imprisoned by him in the Tower of London for his part in the Despenser Wars. Romance ensued, and so did plotting. Lots of both.
  • With an army of about 1,500 soldiers, Isabella then invaded England, by some accounts whilst dressed as a goddamn widow, and took back her children and her land. This led to two weeks chasing Edward and Hugh Despenser around South Wales, which honestly needs to be a short video with just Edward and Despenser hiding in various castles and Isabella catching up with them and saying ‘look, I can see you both, you’re hiding under the bed,’ and Edward and Despenser shrieking ‘no, you can’t see us! We’re not here!’ until finally Isabella took back her husband. Only by ‘took back’ her husband, I mostly mean ‘imprisoned’. She had Despenser executed in a rather grisly fashion, including but not limited to castration (a joke at his being a ‘sodomite’, as they named him) and having his body chopped up. Grisly.
  • Edward’s fate is unknown, even to this day. A popular urban myth is that he was executed by having a red hot poker shoved up his royal bottom, supposedly so as not to leave any trace of the murder, but this is nowadays widely accepted as being medieval propaganda designed to poke fun at his possible sexual relationships with Gaveston and Despenser.

All of which is really a very long-winded way of saying that Edward II was a terrible king and should definitely have spent more time ruling the country and less time underestimating his wife, but he was also a very interesting figure in terms of being pretty openly Not Heterosexual, and how he’s been vilified, even to this day, for his sexuality. Lots of people still know him as the guy who prioritised his lovers over his country, and that makes sense because he was about as good a king as a wet ham sandwich by all accounts, but they often think of his sexual preferences as being intrinsic to that, as though he would have been inherently better as a king and human being if his lovers had been female instead. Granted, they would have had less recourse to gain political power than his male lovers did because women couldn’t hold the same levels of status or land, but that’s the fault of the political system, not Edward’s sexuality. It would be good if the whole ‘bad gay’ narrative could be superseded by a ‘bad king’ one, but y’know. Let’s not live in hope.

Sources (collated from Warner, Kathryn, Edward II: The Unconventional King): 

  • Vita Edwardi Secundi 
  • Chronicles of Meaux Abbey
  • Close Rolls (of the reign of Edward II)

What if next week’s episode opened with a dream sequence, in which Fitz was remembering things he shouldn’t even know, in particular the parallels between Jemma’s scream in the last episode and the all-important bottom of the ocean scene. He sees those screams one after the other, and then a rapid-fire montage of memory with scraps of dialogue featuring some of their biggest lines.

“I’m not leaving you, that’s ridiculous! We need a new plan!” / “We’re not discussing it Jemma. You’re taking it, end of story.”

“Why would you make me do this? You’re my best friend in the world!” / “You’re more than that, Jemma. And I couldn’t find the courage to tell you. So please, let me show you.”

“You’ll be careful.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Jemma.” / “Maybe there is.”

“Quite a strange feeling, isn’t it? Never wanting to be without someone?”

“And you dove through a hole in the universe for me!”

“It’s been ten years.”

“You became the most open, loyal, caring person I’ve ever met.” / “It’s why I fell in love with you! Who you really are; that’s not programming! It’s something way beyond that!”

And he has no context for any of these scenes but he can see them vividly and it has him waking up in a cold sweat and a blind panic. He gets up in the middle of the night, goes to where Radcliffe is being kept and makes a demand.

“Tell me about Jemma Simmons. Tell me everything.”

rrrennerrr  asked:

32. “Keep your eyes on me.” 🙌🏻

Prompt #32: “Keep your eyes on me.”

“I’m scared,” you admit in a low whisper, trembling in your place. The unsub was in the darkness somewhere, lurking and planning his attack on you.

You were an old victim of his and just seeing his face again would bring too much onto you, but you had to do it for the sake of the case. You were the only ticket to catch him, especially knowing the unsub would never pass you up.

Spencer had gone into the abandoned warehouse with you, giving you words of encouragement and reassurance. The whole place was surrounded and once the unsub was out, he would be apprehended or killed.

“There she is,” you hear suddenly, a large arm wrapping its arm around your waist and cool metal being placed against your temple.

“Spencer!” You cry out, thrashing around in the unsub’s grip. “Help me!”

Spencer whips around, his face in grimace and his gun immediately lifted, pointed at the man behind you.

“I missed you, sugar,” the pervert whispers huskily, placing a wet kiss on your neck.

“You don’t want to do this, Frank,” Spencer warns.

“Of course, I do,” The unsub grins. “I’ve done it before, haven’t I?”

“Spencer, please!” You scream as you feel the unsub placing another kiss on you.

“Y/N,” Spencer swallows the lump in his throat as he sees you unraveling.“Keep your eyes on me.”

You struggled, but you listened to his demand. You kept your eyes trained on Spencer. He was trying to talk Frank out of this, but you knew this man would not let you go, not again.

So when you heard the safety being turned off from the gun, you waited for the gunshot to come - and it did.

You fell to the ground along with Frank, your body wracking with sobs as you scrambled over to Spencer. He had thrown himself on the ground towards you and bundled you up in his arms.

“It’s okay, he’s gone now,” Spencer reassures you, kissing the top of you head.

“Thank you,” you whimper, holding onto him tightly, never wanting to let go.

I Held a Swastika.

Part of my hospital chaplaincy duties is to write a reflection on how it’s going. Identities may be altered for privacy. All the writings are here.

The nurse told me that the patient, Willard, had taken a bite out of another nurse. He had swung at one of the doctors and thrown urine at a surgeon. Willard had multiple organ failure and he couldn’t walk; he kept demanding to go home. “Get me a wheelchair, I’ll flop in and ride over you people.” The staff kept trying to get him to stay, to get treated, despite his violent non-compliance: because nurses and doctors have the guts to look past that stuff.

They called for a chaplain to ask about Willard’s family members, to see if anyone could pick him up when he was discharged. I was the lucky chaplain who took the order.

When I walked in, I immediately noticed the patient had a tattoo of a heart on his hand, near the inner-fold of his thumb, with a swastika in the middle of the heart. The cognitive dissonance was startling. Not “I love mom” or his wife’s name, I thought, with a bit of snark. But hate in your heart. Very subtle.

“He’s one of those, you know, angry old fogeys,” the nurse had whispered right before I walked in. The nurse was a Middle Eastern man, about my age, and I couldn’t imagine the awful things he had to go through with this patient the last few days.

My eyes locked on the swastika first. The symbol held a terrible place in my memory: when I was a kid, someone had spraypainted a red swastika next to the front door of my dad’s business. Though my dad had tried to paint over it, I could still see it on hot summer days, a scar on the wall and a scar in my head, a mad throbbing declaration of all the world’s ugliness dripping in crimson. I still dream about it sometimes, and in the dream I’ll peer down at my wrists, which are engraved with the same red marks down to the veins.

The patient, Willard, saw me and said, “Thank God, a chaplain, finally someone who can hear me.”

But I don’t want to hear you, I thought. And a sick part of me also thought, You deserve this. I hope you never leave. Then you can’t hurt anyone out there.

He said, “Look, I see your face, I’m not trying to hurt anybody. You get it? I just want to go home. Fetch me a f__ing wheelchair, would you?.”

Willard got louder. He clenched his fists and waved them around. It was rather sad to see someone so animated and aggressive while pinned down to a bed, like the blanket had eaten his lower half and he was trying to crawl out. “Come on, I told you people that I wouldn’t hurt nobody. I got a dozen things wrong with me, I’m not a danger to you, I want to go home and to die in peace. You hear me? I’m ready to go home and die.”

He went on like this for over a minute. That’s a long time to stand there and let someone monologue with escalating hysteria. He dropped more f-bombs and jabbed a finger at me and tried to point at the whole hospital. His voice got so loud that I was worried about the patients nearby, and that maybe the nurse would call security, or that Willard himself would keel over. At several points it looked like he wanted to hop out of the bed and punch my ankles. The strange swastika-heart tattoo flashed before me like a flag on fire.

I had half a mind to leave. I didn’t have to stay. I didn’t want to stay. I kept looking at that swastika. I kept thinking he deserved to be here, to be sick and sorry and helpless.

When Willard stopped talking for a moment, I said the only thing I could think of.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Willard. It sounds like you have a lot going on and it’s been really hard for you.”

He said, “Yes, yes it’s been hard. I swear, I’m not a bad person.” And he burst into tears.

Just like that, his face flipped from anger to grief, and his entire body melted into the bed. Just a broken down old man, crying.

Then he motioned so I could hold his hand. He needed me to hold that hand.

For a second, I stood there, confused and bewildered and infuriated. This is not okay, I thought. You’re everything I hate about the world. Why would you think this is okay?

I pictured two of me, one turning about face and never looking back and absolutely unable to endorse what this guy stood for, and the other me stepping forward in an ostensible betrayal of my deepest values, of my father, of that little child who had to ask why someone would paint such a dirty symbol of hatred over us. I remembered going with my dad to buy new paint, his face set and smiling and determined to be better than this, to make it in a harsh, lonely country that never fully welcomed him, but that he welcomed anyway, because he dared to believe in bigger dreams than the ones that had been painted for him. And I wondered if we were ever going to make it like this, that if we walked away from each other that we would ever heal, and if maybe the very same hands that could carve such scars could also build a life through those wounds, too.

Dad, you showed me something better. You dreamed bigger. You built the dream in me.

So I stepped forward anyway.

I held that man’s hand. I held his swastika, that ugly little tattoo with the heart tattooed around it. 

Willard sobbed, loudly. I asked if he believed in prayer, and he did. I prayed. When I finished, I tried to pull my hand back, but he wasn’t having it. The nurse walked in, a little alarmed, giving me that look: This guy is a real human being who cries, huh?

The nurse prepared a syringe and gave Willard a few shots. My hand was nearly crushed. Willard kept sobbing; I must’ve held his hand for fifteen minutes while he wept and wept. I was silent. No words would work here. And at some point, our hands together, I didn’t want to leave anymore. This all made sense somehow, some kind of crazy giddy exuberant kind of sense, like God or the universe or fate had aligned and unlocked and we were exactly as we were meant to be. I still wasn’t entirely comfortable, and I wasn’t okay with all this man represented: but I pictured a river breaking through, breaking up our old walls and taking down the guard-posts and making the roads new. I wish I could fully describe the lightness in my being right then, a kind of diffused outwardness from my elbow to my fingertips, like my arm was stretching with a pulse. We were painting something different, maybe for our first time. I didn’t think this made me the “bigger person,” because I had every instinct to leave, and there were plenty of times I had failed at this before. I only knew that I had to choose against myself, and choices like this matter, maybe more than the ones we want right now.

When we parted, Willard looked up at me with eyes brimming red.

He didn’t say anything. He only nodded. And inexplicably, we both laughed, just once. I don’t know why we laughed, but it was good.

Later, I told my fellow chaplain, “I have to tell you the craziest story.”

And my friend, at the end, laughed at the obvious symbolism.

“I guess you were the heart around that guy’s swastika.”

I could only nod. I was my father, painting over old scars.


Title: Grey
Word Count: 1.8k
Pairing: Doctor (Twelve) x Rose
Summary: The Doctor drops Clara home for a little R&R. The place is right, but the timing is way off. Little does he know, it’s 2006, and Rose Tyler is awaiting pick-up after a visit with her mother. This is one visitor the Doctor did not expect. 

“Right, there we are.” The Doctor rests his hands on one of the numerous levers the TARDIS has, and rests his weight against the console.

“Sure it’s the right place this time?” Clara asks, sauntering up to him, a mischievous smile on her face.

“We’ll it’s certainly not Glasgow.”

“Or?” she prompts, in her best teacher-voice, but largely unable to keep the amused smile off her face.

“Or Dublin, or Bristol, or Birmingham,” he finishes begrudgingly. “The universe is a big place, you know. Forgive me if I miss occasionally by a few miles.”

“Try a few hundred.”

“Look,” he says pointedly, tilting the monitor so she can see outside the TARDIS. “Right outside your flat building and everything.”

She’d asked to be dropped off on a Saturday this time – two days of good old fashioned rest and recovery should be enough to recharge her batteries for another alien adventure.

Clara nods and purses her lips, with raised eyebrows to look impressed. “Looks about right. That looks like a new playground, though.” She points to the screen. “Otherwise, same old, same old. I’ll see you tomorrow night, yeah?”

He nods, and watches her go. This whole pickup/drop-off system is new to him, but he’ll get used to it. He misses having someone around all the time, someone to hear his incessant ramblings – or, get up in the middle of the (artificial) night to tell him to shut up. But it’s fine, mostly. A little lonely, but fine.

It occurs to him that he now has time to fix whatever’s making the TARDIS’s aim so off, and quickly clambers underneath the console to examine it. He holds the sonic screwdriver between his teeth as he fiddles with wires and circuits and all manner of other, very complicated scientific things.

He hears the door opening, and assumes it’s just Clara, having left something behind.

“What’d you forget?” he calls, though it’s mostly indecipherable with the sonic screwdriver still stuck between his lips.

“Been redecorating?” a voice asks. It doesn’t sound like Clara.


“Who are you?!” a startled voice says, now directly behind him. He jumps, trying to stand up and whacking his head on the underside of the console. “What’re you doin’ in the TARDIS?” It’s a she, the voice.

“I think the better question is,” he starts off as he begins awkwardly trying to stand up without colliding with something again. “What are you doing in the – ”

He stops dead.

He grips the metal now behind him for support, knuckles white, the sonic screwdriver clambering to the floor.

He knows the voice that is demanding answers of him. He spent countless sleepless nights listening to it ask him questions about the universe’s vast expansiveness, and heard its ringing laugher at even the worst of his jokes. He knows the lips that are twisted into a grimace before him – oh, how he wishes he had known them better. The blonde hair, the bright eyes, and the fire. He knows them all.

Rose Tyler is standing in front of him.

“I—I don’t understand,” he stammers.

“What, that one a bit too complicated for you there, mate?”

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” he repeats, sounding increasingly distraught.

“What’re you doing in the TARDIS?”

“I don’t – what year is it?”

“Answer me!”

You answer me!” the Doctor snaps, letting his aptness for bickering get the better of him.

“I asked you first!”

“I asked you second!”

“Blimey, you don’t make it easy, do you?”

He pauses, and scratches his head. “I s’pose not, no. I get that a lot actually.”

Her frown melts away like that, and something clicks. Frustration and hostility become curiosity and wonder. “Doctor?”

Mid-exhalation, his breath catches in his throat, because oh, it’s been so long since he has heard her say that. He feels the sting of approaching tears in his eyes.

“Rose Tyler,” he replies, hardly more than a whisper.

“’s 2006. You dropped me off to see my mum two days ago. Well not you, you. My you. Erm…my – my Doctor.”

“Your Doctor indeed.”

“S’pose that wasn’t two days ago for you, then.” She says it so casually, and he is totally baffled for a second. And then he remembers. It has been two days for her. That’s all, just two days. 48 hours. For him, it’s been lifetimes. Multiple lifetimes.

He’s not a hugging person, this version of him. But he doesn’t care. In an instant, his strong arms wrap around her middle, pulling her close to him. She gasps in surprise, but quickly melts into him, and it makes his hearts soar. And he would be perfectly happy to remain like this forever.

“You’re real,” he whispers into her hair. “You’re real.”

She pulls away, but not fully; his hands still encircle her forearms. “’Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He avoids her gaze, staring at the console.

“Doctor,” she presses. “How long has it been, for you?”

The answer falls from him before he can stop it. “Oh, I’ve lost count of the years. Must have been centuries, now.”

Her heart rate speeds, and she wonders what could have happened to tear them apart, but she reconsiders: humans grow old and die, he said it himself. Maybe that’s what happened to her. Maybe.

“Yeah, I can tell,” she jokes instead, reaching out and touching his face. His eyes flutter shut when her skin meets his – not from pleasure, but from the desire to absorb the memory as clearly as possible. “You’ve gotten old. You’ve got…lines. And you’re all…grey.” She fingers a grey curl and smiles, if a little sadly. Her digits trace the lines etched by time into his skin. “Never thought I’d see you go grey before me. Mum started really early – been bleachin’ ‘em for years, she has.”

He laughs at the thought of Jackie. And then he feels sad, because he never did see her go grey. He never saw her youthful face grow withered with time. Maybe it’s for the better, he tries to tell himself – it might help him remember her in a certain way. But it’s no use, the thought alone only tells him that he was robbed of time with her. He only hopes his metacrisis double is seeing it all play out.

“Still just as handsome, mind you.”

There’s a silence, and they’re all wrapped up in each other, his hands still on her arms, and hers still resting on his cheeks. And his eyes are the same. Old or young, he carries the same weight around with him, the same shadow of regret and of things long lost. It had always been what made her know that, no matter how young he appeared on the outside, he was not a young man. This new face, to her, carries a truth with it. A face weathered as the universe itself is weathered. But a beautiful one all the same, because stars still shine, and things move on.

“Doctor, can I ask you something?” she asks, after a long time, taking a step back.



“I know what you’re going to ask me.”

“You can’t predict the future that well,” she teases.

He sighs. “Very well, ask away. But no promises.”

She sucks in her lips, forming a straight, thin line with her mouth. “So how come you’re a Scot now?”

He smiles, and then delivers her a proper answer, because she deserves that if nothing else. “I don’t know…it sort’ve just came out that way.”

“Out of what?” she asks, confused.

“Out of a dinosaur, actually.”


“Never mind.”

She seems satisfied, but he can’t help thinking she isn’t done.



“That’s not really what you wanted to ask me, is it?”

She looks guilty. “No.”

“Well, there’s no point in neither of us knowing, now, is there?”

She smiles. “Do I –”

“I’m not talking about your future. Fixed timelines…complicated stuff, Rose.”

“You can answer this one.”

“No, I can’t, I really can’t! You wouldn’t under—”

“Do I ever tell you?” she spits out before he can stop her. It hangs in the air for a while before he says anything at all.

“Tell me? Tell me what?”

Her gaze falls to his lips, and then back to his eyes. He knows what she means.

“Oh.” He straightens his suit self-consciously. “Yes. Yes, you…uh, tell me.”


“And what?”

She almost laughs, it’s so absurd. “Do you tell me back?”

He feels a pang of guilt, and obviously it’s clear that he does because her face falls.

“Rose, it’s not –”

“What happened?”

“I shouldn’t tell you.”

Please, Doctor. For me.”

And of course he can’t resist her asking. Of course it’s everything he ought to do, after how he left things. Or, how he was going to leave things, depending on whose perspective is examined.

“All of time and space…” he whispers, his voice failing him. “And time ran out.”

A thousand questions flood her head, but she says nothing. She will find out when it is time. And, if she’s learned nothing else, the future can always be changed. But this is his future, and his present.

“So who’s Clara?”

His eyes go wide. “Blimey – Clara! She’s eight years away from home! We’ve gotta go find her, we’ve – ” They’re almost halfway out the door before he realises he’s grabbed her hand to take her with him. He looks apologetic. “Old habits, I suppose.”

“Very old habits.”

And all of a sudden he is sad again, because she is there and he can’t take her with him and the door is the next place she will inevitably go.

“I better be getting back before my Doctor comes back and finds me missing.”

He nods, not able to manage much else. Goodbye the first time was hard enough. And the second. Third time’s the charm, they say. The carefree teenager on New Year’s Eve hurt every bit as much.

“Do me a favour,” he finally says, “and don’t tell past me what happened. Last thing I need is to accidentally create a paradox.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “See you later.”

“Not ‘goodbye’?” he questions.

“You hate goodbyes.”

“Wonder why,” he remarks drily. But he pulls her close again, and ever so gently kisses her forehead. He knows it can’t be more than that – this is a stranger’s face to her.

She opens the TARDIS’s rickety door and looks back over her shoulder before stepping out into the world.

“Rose?” he calls. “Just for future reference, even though I didn’t get to tell you – ”

“Doctor, it’s okay, really.”

“But I did, Rose. I…I do.”

She grins, and in her youthfulness, she turns, and runs towards the estate, back to her Doctor, her TARDIS, and the destiny that awaits her. And he does. Oh, how he does. How he hopes she knows that when the time comes – and when it runs out.