#meanwhile: *gestures at England* all that.

[hypodermicfroggy]

It is now officially November so I stole this from a TERF to announce I will be going dark for at least a week, thank you and goodnight and may god have mercy on all of our souls.

[margareth-lv]

👯‍♀️ An Index of Similes 👯‍♀️

I'm sorry in advance for the somewhat crude gesture (and the publication of 🧛🏻‍♂️ photo below, which I kindly ask you to look away from), but as you know, I love writing fan fiction based on real photos. . . .

Today's menu: What a change of mood they've both got in London! It's as if the winds of London are blowing away all their enthusiasm and joie de vivre. Even in what seem to be 'romantic' circumstances.

😉

A Walk of Shame with a Courtesan on Wednesday afternoon (May 29, 2024) in London, England vs. "Gabrielle Chanel. Fashion Manifesto" on September 13, 2023 in London, England.

Meanwhile, back in Scotland (March 2024):

What's in Scotland, stays in Scotland. That’s the approach I’ll take.

[7 June, 2024]

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Interlude Two: Memories

Gale Cleven × Hope Armstrong (ofc)

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

Summary: The loss of his sister never gets any easier for Hugh but at least the occasionally letter keeps his spirits up. Meanwhile the letters for Hope only remind her of what she has lost.

December 1943, Thorpe Abbotts, England

Hugh lay sprawled across his cot, legs dangling over the side and he swung them repeatedly, knocking Rosie’s leg with each swing.

The dark haired man had sighed disgruntledly at first, glaring at his fellow pilot who seemed oblivious to his actions and read over a letter over and over. It wasn’t until an hour later when Harry entered the hut that Rosie decided to let his annoyance be known.

“For heaven’s sake, will you stop it with the leg swinging? There’s more of a draft in here than when I’m in the air,” Rosie huffed, standing from his cot and moving to sit with Harry on the opposite side of the room.

“What?” Hugh asked, turning his head, pencil between his teeth as he gawked at Rosie. “What are you on about?”

Harry’s chuckle interrupted Rosie’s next complaint, “What are you reading, Hugh?” He gestured to the crumpled piece of paper in Hugh’s right hand.

“Oh, this?” Hugh glanced down, his dark eyes trailing over his scrawling handwriting, “It’s nothing.” He sighed, rubbing his thumb over his sister's name written at the top of the page.

He’d received a letter from his parents that morning and despite a few questions regarding his own well being, they mainly spoke about Hope. Despite both the Armstrong siblings being very different in character they got along far better with each other than their own parents.

Hugh remembered the long summer days back home when they would sprawl out in the field of wildflowers behind their house, or paddling in the river that ran along the base of the hill, or the long evening spent in the hayloft, laughing or reading in comfortable silence. Hugh missed the simplicity of those days with all his heart.

He’d sent Hope a letter last week, it was brief because he wasn’t sure what to say. The relief of knowing that his sister was in fact alive and okay despite everything had been the greatest relief. Although he couldn’t imagine what she must have been going through, he knew his sister and he knew nothing could truly break her.

As he stared off into space, Hugh didn’t notice Rosie and Harry standing behind him, reading the letter over his shoulder.

“How’s Hope?” Harry asked, glancing anxiously at Rosie as they both shared the same look. They too had been relieved to learn that both nurses and Frank were alive, having seen how heartbroken Hugh had been after the terrible news they weren’t sure how much more he could take.

“She’s fine,” Hugh mumbled, closing the letter he’d received from his sister. It was dated from last month and despite knowing that she had been ‘alright’ then, he couldn’t help the anxious feeling that built in his stomach at the uncertainty of her current state.

Rosie, sensing the anxiety building in the room coughed loudly, “Well Gentlemen, shouldn’t we be heading off, I don’t really want to spend my 48 hour pass sitting around here with you sad sacs.”

Both men chuckled at Rosie’s eagerness. He’d managed to convince his two friends to join him at a jazz club in London and they had willingly obliged.

Hugh stood, grabbing his cap and jacket from their hanger on the wall. “Will there be women at this club?” He lit up a cigarette, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Rosie rolled his eyes, “Yes Casanova, there will be women there.” He shoved Hugh lightly, sending him tripping out of the door.

“Alright, I was only asking.”

Harry grinned, watching the two men spar playfully.

“I’m telling you, Croz. You should have seen him at the flak house. Couldn’t keep his eyes off anything with a pair of legs,” Rosie dodged Hugh’s hand coming up to hit the back of his head. “I’m just saying, think he could do with some female company.”

Harry nodded, quickly grabbing Hugh’s arm before the play fight could turn into anything more, “Come on you two bachelors, let’s find you some ladies.”

December 1943, Stalag Luft III, Germany

Hope sat in silence, reading her brother's words carefully. She couldn’t believe that she finally had a letter from him, despite being a considerable few weeks out of date, just knowing that he was thinking of her made everything a little more bearable.

She clutched the page close to her chest, blinking back the tears that seemed determined to fall. Hugh had been a constant throughout her whole life, and while she was grateful he didn’t have to suffer as they did, she missed him dearly.

Rolling over on her small cot, she tugged the rough, wool blanket up to her shoulders, shivering beneath the thin material. Her eyes fell upon the other sleeping forms around the room, nestled in silence other than the soft snores from Frank.

Hope’s eyes felt heavy as they fell on Ruth, her light hair tousled and her mouth slightly ajar as she slept peacefully in John’s arms. A deep sadness fell over Hope, a heaviness that had weighed her down ever since John’s arrival and it seemed to weigh even heavier now.

Rolling over, she muffled a quiet sniff in her pillow, concealing her grief from the otherwise peaceful room. The picture of Gale and Hugh that remained by her bedside smiled back at her, their wide grins had encouraged her to drag herself out of bed each morning, and it bought comfort on nights like these. The image brought back memories from the party all those months ago: the lights, the music, the laughter, Gale’s lips against hers…

Hope pressed her eyes firmly closed, squeezing them tightly as the silent tears escaped down her reddened cheeks. For now she only had her memories and they would have to be enough.

Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @hesbuckcompton-baby @beebeechaos @forsythiagalt @prettyinlimegreenboots @blueberry-ovaries

[rockandroar]

Hello, my name is Jonathan.

I really like the character, Grant Ruffalo. He is officially one of my favorite characters now.

Can I ask a question? Does this character has a backstory on how he started to form this amazing metal rock band?

Thank you for your answer? 😊

Hi Jonathan, thank you very much for your question!

Grant has a lot of stories to tell from his many years as a musician. His father was a blues guitarist who moved his family from the US to England when Grant was still small. As an unusually intense and focused calf, Grant quickly picked up guitar playing from his father and dived deeply into it. Throughout his childhood and teen years he would continue to spend countless hours practicing, as well as obsessively listening to every blues and rock record he could get his hooves on. He quickly developed a reputation for his amazing guitar technique, powerful vocals, and...aggressive temperament which he'd need to work on improving, but that's another story.

Grant went off to college in the late 60s. At that time, the music that was popular was quite a bit...janglier and lighter than what Grant wanted to do (this was the time of hippies, after all). Grant loved the psychedelic rock, acid rock, and blues rock bands of the time, but he had a vision for something darker, heavier, and definitely louder - and together with his friend and bassist Onyx Slater, they'd start working on this strange new music. They soon recruited Billy and Gunnar, and started rigorously practicing. As an already creative guitarist, Grant had no problem figuring out new ways to experiment with all sorts of distortion in his sound.

Bassist Onyx Slater had a passion for horror movies and spooky stuff in general, so that helped the band figure out the visuals for their music and their overall look. Grant was already fairly popular with the other bovids on campus (as herd animals, horned and hooved folks tend to gather together), so he had no issue finding audiences for his band's local shows. With all of these friends showing up to the concerts, word began to spread among the herds, and new bands with a similar sound - inspired by Steel Stampede- began to sprout up all over the region. Aside from these bands all sharing this heavier sound, all of them had members with horns, so they came up with the "🤘🏼" hand gesture as a way to show support to each other at shows and as a symbol for their growing subculture. Local media took notice of the rapidly growing numbers of oddly-dressed fans and named them "headbangers" for the way they rocked their horns in unison to the music at shows.

Through the years, Steel Stampede continued to grow and innovate. By the mid 70s, they'd moved past much of their blues origins, and instead focused more on playing faster and louder, perhaps inspired by the alley cats of London and across the pond in New York City who were developing a fierce new style of rock music called "punk". Meanwhile, having now been signed onto a record label, and with their popularity rapidly growing amongst young animals all over the world, Steel Stampede, and especially Grant himself, were being credited in the media as the pioneers of this music genre now known across the globe as "heavy metal".

To this day, Grant is still regarded as the father of metal. And while he will humbly shrug this off, just ask any metal-loving animal who they think is the king of the genre, and they will almost certainly tell you that Grant Ruffalo is the leader of the herd.

[player1064]

back again with more carraville brain rot 😃 already out and very whipped carraville dealing with open homophobia from their own fans for the first time since coming out knowing it would happen eventually but not being as prepared as they’d thought they were, whether it’s just one or both of them up to you, lots of comfort of course and defense from either people at sky/class of 92 and extended mates etc. :)))))

had a hard time trying to work out the Vibe for this one bc like tbh I can't imagine fans being that bad like surely SURELY in 2024 they've moved on from the classic football homophobia... but then I remembered that people LOVE to hate Gary so of course they would. And Gary doesn't care about people hating him but Jamie is fussy and protective so he's getting all angry on Gary's behalf meanwhile he's out too and everyone is still lovely to him kdsgfjhkdsds.....

---

Gary’s not exactly a stranger to getting abuse from the stands. It sort of comes with the job – his name has always been and will continue to be attached to his club, and for every football fan he meets that supports United he’s going to meet another five who hate his guts.

Besides, he was at one point the proud holder of the title ‘most hated footballer in England’. Any cruel chants people can come up with, he’s probably heard it before.

So the first time it happens, he doesn’t even notice.

He’s pitch-side for Monday Night Football, chatting about the upcoming game, when he sees a producer behind the camera shoot a worried look towards the stands before giving him the ‘cut’ gesture.

He’d thought he still had a couple of minutes, was only just getting into the swing of it, but he’s a professional so he winds it up quickly and lets them cut back to studio.

Once the light’s off on the camera, he takes his earpiece out and asks “what was’at about?”

The producer just stares at him for a second, astounded. She blinks, then says “the audio – the mics keep picking up noise from the stands, and obviously – we can’t air that sort of thing.”

With a while to go before kick-off, the stands are still only half-full, and for the first time all evening Gary takes a moment to actually listen to what the home supporters are chanting.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, maybe to be called a cunt (which he’s always rather enjoyed), but this –

He turns to the producer but she’s on the phone, speaking in harsh whispers. After a minute or two, she strides over to Gary and holds the phone out, scowling.

“Carragher’s threatening to walk off set,” she tells him. “You try talk some sense into him.”

Gary takes the phone, walks a few steps away from the camera set-up and says “Carra, you muppet, what’s this I hear about you walking out mid-show?”

“Someone ‘as to do somethin’,” Jamie says, “Show the fans it’s not okay to –”

“Christ alive, ‘s hardly the first time in my life I’ve been called a fag, now, is it?” Gary says with a strained chuckle, though when he tries to think back he’s not entirely sure that’s true. Still, first time for everything. “An’ what’s you havin’ a hissy fit gonna achieve? It’s Leeds, Jamie, you know they like to try rile me up ‘ere. And you’re a five hour drive away, what exactly d’you think you can do right now, idiot?”

He hears Jamie’s breathing start to slow down. “’s not right, though.”

“Eh, maybe not. But I’ve had worse, and Sky’s not payin’ you a million a year to yell at rowdy fans, are they? So go park yer bum, apologise to David for your tantrum, and get on wit’ show. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He hangs up, and hands the phone back to the producer with a nod.

“We’re good?” she asks, eyeing him carefully.

“We’re good.” There’s a dull ache starting to build at his temples. This, too, he’s pretty good at ignoring. He smiles. “About time to head up to commentary box, in’t it?”

*

Jamie wants to talk about it on the podcast the next day. Gary tells him to stop being so dramatic.

*

Except, turns out it wasn’t a one-time thing.

It’s funny, the fans mostly leave Jamie alone. It’s Gary they seem to have a problem with, like he, personally, is everything wrong with the world of football. It comes from both sides, too, the small minority who hate him for being gay and the so-called allies who criticise him for daring to come out when he should have known that it’d only aggravate the existing problems in football culture.

Again, Jamie gets none of this. Gary suspects this is because Liverpool is leading the league while United are still stuck mid-table.

He goes out to a pub with his friends one Saturday after Salford’s lost their latest fixture, and he leaves with a black eye.

That’s new.

*

“Put all the make-up on it you want,” Jamie complains while they’re getting set up for the next Stick to Football, “don’t hide the fact that yer eye looks half the size it’s meant to be.”

It’s really not that bad. Gary ignores him and lets the make-up lady continue to work her magic.

“Thoughtful of them to hit the side that’s faced away from camera, wouldn’t you say? ‘sides, it’s not even that bad.” He looks across the table and shrugs. “Is it, Roy?”

Roy’s glare is all the reply he needs.

“This doesn’t feel right, Gal,” says Wrighty, reaching out to touch Gary’s hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to – we’ve got a good audience, here, maybe talking about it would help.”

“This one weren’t even about the gay thing!” he argues. The other four around the table give him disbelieving looks. “It weren’t. It was just post-match frustrations, these things ‘appen.”

“But nobody ever tried to hit you before the fuckin’ gay thing, did they?” Roy says.

Gary sighs, exasperated. “I don’t want it to start a whole conversation, though, do I? Just want things to go back to normal.”

“I, uh,” Jill says, clearing her throat awkwardly. “I don’t think this one’s gonna just ‘go back to normal’, to be fair.”

Well, never let it be said that Gary can’t tell when he’s outnumbered.

“Fine,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, we’ll talk about it. But I’m tellin’ you, it won’t change anythin’”

*

“No match commentary, for rest of season. Me as well. Studio only.”

“That’s a nonsense, Jamie, I can try talk them ‘round –”

“It were my idea.”

“James…”

Jamie’s looking at him, face set, stubborn as always. And he’s so stupid, sometimes, so naïve. Ready to go to war over something that Gary’s been treating like nothing more than a minor nuisance.

“You want things to go back to normal?” Jamie argues, voice steady. “Doesn’t get much more normal than me ‘n’ you in studio on a Monday night, does it? It’ll be like old times.”

God, but Gary loves this man.

“Thought they’ve been tryin’ to keep us apart, on screen,” he says lightly, trying for a smirk. His way of telling Jamie fine, you win this one. “Keep us from getting handsy, like.”

Jamie’s face breaks into a grin, his shoulders relaxing. “Speak for yerself, lad, I’m a professional. Think I can keep me hands to meself for an hour or two.”

“Professional my arse,” Gary says, taking a step towards Jamie. “I’d bet you couldn’t last ten minutes.”

Jamie, as if this somehow helps his case, places his hands on Gary’s hips and pulls him closer. Gary, who’s made no such promises of keeping his hands to himself, loops his arms around Jamie’s shoulders and uses one hand to gently bash the back of his head.

Jamie rolls his eyes with a fond smile and leans in to kiss him.

“Uh uh uh,” Gary says, leaning away from him. “Thought you were a professional, like, can’t go kissin’ your co-pundit where anyone might see.”

“You are such a bloody nightmare,” Jamie grumbles, and goes to kiss him again.

This time, Gary lets him.

[bittersweetresilience]

saw this post (@wildtornado-o) and it got me thinking about arts kid félix again. so the question I'M obsessed with is whether félix would be better at, or more enjoy, classical acting or method acting. i think there are compelling arguments for both.

so from what i've learned, classical acting is about imitation and practice. character analysis and application of technique; precision; control. it's about understanding a character and choosing how to reflect this understanding through behavior, physicality, and skill. this is english tradition and stems from shakespearean acting techniques, so there may be exaggerated performance to communicate to an audience from the stage.

method acting, meanwhile, is about experience and emotion. you get in the head, so to say, of the character you're playing so you don't need to consciously decide where to place your hand or what expression to wear; you align yourself psychologically with the character's feelings and personality and motivations, and in a sense become them. this is american tradition and was developed after the advent of film. there is often more improvisation involved.

now, i think félix would enjoy acting on stage more than acting on screen. i think he would enjoy being dramatic and physical and over the top. i think he would enjoy analyzing a character on a paper, deciding how to convey that, and following through. (i also think he would love shakespeare, but that's because to me félix is pretentious as hell. yes, a precious child with love in his heart, but also england's youngest graduate. there's no way he wasn't into literature.) these are all points in favor of classical acting.

on the other hand, félix is all about emotions. his performance in représentation was most moving when he was playing himself. as fun as grand physical gestures are, i think he would also find a certain intrigue in naturalism and subtlety. for better or for worse, félix sees himself in other people. with one caveat: only in people he feels similar to, for now. adrien and kagami and their sentimonster siblings and his mother and, arguably, émilie. (his performance of adrien is a whole other discussion.) but as félix learns with help that not every human lives in a completely different world to his own, i think he could significantly develop his method acting potential.

anyway, the other question i'm obsessed with is whether félix is a horsegirl (beloved) or secretly hates horses (hilarious)

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Kathleen Stock

Published: Apr 14, 2024

It is a cliché that when the US sneezes, the world catches a cold. Thankfully, when it comes to the phenomenon of wokeness — loosely understood as a box set of holier-than-thou attitudes about race, gender identity and sexual minorities, with accompanying punishment beatings for dissenters — many now appear to be reaching for the antivirals.

A friend of mine who teaches in a famous North American liberal arts college, full of achingly cool rich kids, tells me her undergrads are “so over” pronoun rounds, eye-rolling whenever staff try to introduce them in the classroom. Taste-making East Coast broadsheets are dipping nervous toes in the water on subjects such as unfair male advantage in women’s sport and the experimental status of medicalised child transition, having avoided or spiked such stories for years. The once ubiquitous hashtag #BlackLivesMatter has fallen out of favour with many, after accusations that the founders of the namesake organisation misused donations and enriched themselves.

Meanwhile in Britain, football players taking the knee are an increasingly rare sight. Organisations such as Sports England and the Arts Council are quietly exiting Stonewall’s Diversity Champions scheme, and the once-ebullient charity no longer feels confident enough to advertise the list of members on its own website. Free speech societies are forming with renewed vitality in British universities; and last week even saw those bellwethers of middle-class humour, the blokes on Have I Got News For You, pluck up courage to make a tentative joke about gender identity flags in NHS hospitals.

So can the rest of us — the ones who knew all along that wokeness was a pseudo-progressive hobby for guilty rich people, role-playing as meaningful political action — relax? Unfortunately not yet. For I’m afraid the demise of woke won’t be like the end of toothbrush moustaches, indie folk music or any other temporary behaviour supercharged by the whims of the young and the hip, then dropped without consequence. Wokeness, in contrast, is a bit like a hulking great boulder launched into the middle of a calm lake: waves will be crashing on the shoreline long after the epicentre bears no trace.

The most obvious difference between wokeness and other passing fashions is that nobody working in HR ever decreed that moustache-wearers or indie folk-listeners be considered uniquely oppressed minority groups. In contrast, thanks to wild and unevidenced claims made at the height of wokemania by lobbying groups, thousands of organisations have been left with unfair, illiberal and sometimes even illegal policies that blatantly cater to the special interests of a few: rules about how social spaces can be accessed and by whom; what data can and cannot be collected; what conversations are allowed and which are not. Policies tend to dictate organisational behaviour long after those who first championed them move on ideologically; and especially when propped up by a raft of specially created career positions, whose occupants have a financial interest in maintaining the momentum.

And alongside such policies, superficially moralised gestures have become embedded in many workplaces, embraced by senior figures for no better reason than they think everyone else is doing it too and by junior figures because the boss is doing it. Students at liberal arts colleges may no longer be listing their pronouns but the head of MI6 currently has his in his Twitter/X bio. Activist-sanctioned holy weeks and days are carefully observed by blue-chip managers. Hospitals, construction sites, police stations, council buildings, banks and hotels are festooned with the visual monstrosity that is the Progress flag. None of this happened with the craze for platform shoes or Agas.

In effect, the storm-surge of wokeness throughout British institutions from 2020 onwards was what the political scientist Cass Sunstein has called a “reputational cascade”: a relatively small number of people started acting in a certain way, each for roughly independent reasons; then at a certain point, a wider group of people started observing the behaviour of the smaller group and copying them, each privately assuming their reputations would be damaged if they did not. Before long, this pattern expanded exponentially, helped by the odd bit of public witch-burning.

Here again is a difference with more benign aesthetic crazes: if you don’t keep up with the moral version, you risk losing your social circle or even your job. But the reputational cascade that was wokeness didn’t just deter dissent from those frightened to swim against the perceived tide. It also incentivised opportunists, who actively used the surging tide to swim further ahead than their competitors. Many organisations latched on to it as a positive marketing strategy, thereby creating workplace structures and habits that, from the inside, now seem very difficult to unpick.

Perhaps, though, we shouldn’t be too gloomy. For of course, the existence of a reputational cascade doesn’t require sincere belief in the rectitude or wisdom of whatever behaviours you are copying, only the sincere belief that nearly everybody else thinks such behaviours are good ones. And, while no doubt depressing as a fact about human nature, this also has an upside: it only takes widespread realisation that other people don’t actually believe what you thought they believed for a reputational cascade to collapse. As organisations start to cotton on properly to the fact the tides of fashion are turning, it will be interesting to see what happens next.

[ Via: https://archive.today/z6ilh ]

==

This feels like it belongs with my "decline of religion" tag.

We're going to see a lot of historical revisionism, lying, ass-covering and gaslighting as the hold of "woke" falls apart, first gradually, then very, very quickly.

The Salem Witch Trials ended almost as quickly as they began once people in charge stopped pretending that they believed the crazy little girls and their theatrics.

The fallout and damage is going to be with us for a long time to come, though.

[annwrites]

—into the shadows

climbed down to hell on the devil's tree. i clutched a branch of soot and flame. — charles vane x maid!reader ; .｡:*

"Is it...the scars? Is that why—"

"No," you say, turning back to him, gently resting a palm atop his forearm, which rests upon the bartop. "Of course not."

You pause, glancing around, then meet Eric's eyes again.

"Once things have quieted, can you come to my room?"

He perks up at the sound of that. That you're asking him to be alone with you.

He nods, sliding his other hand over yours.

There's a soft knock at your door, and you quickly pad over, quietly opening, then shutting it behind him as he enters your room.

He glances around, taking in the neat and tidy space. It makes sense for it to be. You spend all day keeping Noonan's cleanly, so he can't see you as the type to let your own personal space go—your only place which serves as an escape from leering looks and unwanted gestures.

How many times he's wanted to put other men's eyes out, or cut their hands off for touching that which is not meant to be.

He seats himself upon the worn settee at the foot of your bed, crossing his arms, waiting for you to begin.

You take a seat at your small vanity—the blue paint chipping—hesitant on where to begin.

"Y/N isn't my real name. It's the one I...gave myself when I washed up on the shore that first night. The one where you found me. I... I'm titled. A lady. From England. My father is an influential man there."

You pause, steeling yourself.

Meanwhile, Eric's brows furrow. He'd known. Of course he had.

You're too prim. Too proper. The way you speak and behave...the signs have been there. You're not like the rest of them—more exotic than the finest whore. But only because you're so very out-of-place scrubbing floors and tables with soft hands—work you've clearly never done before arriving here. But he's kept his questions to a minimum, knowing how it makes you uncomfortable when too many are asked.

He's instead waited, biding his time for you to choose when to divulge to him the truth on your own. And now said time has come.

Finally, you continue. "And the day came where he deemed me a woman, and, thus, ready to be married off. And so he did. And my husband..."

Tears sting your eyes.

"He was a monster. Because I was—am—still quite young, he eventually grew to resent me. Resented the way that other lords would whisper about him and his 'child bride' in the corners of their parlor rooms where he was attempting to conduct business. He eventually began taking it out on me. It started with harsh words, and then those words in turned to violent hands."

Singleton's own squeeze tightly into fists.

"We were to be traveling to the Carolinas when a storm hit. It was so severe in nature I was sure the tempest would take the ship. And then I realized I had an opportunity. I didn't...imagine I would survive throwing myself over. But death, by that point, had seemed preferable to going on another day as his wife. So, I jumped."

Your eyes meet his. "And you know the rest."

The space between you is enveloped in a terse silence—only ambience to break it: the sounds of waves crashing outside, whores entertaining customers in the next rooms over, the tinkling of wooden chimes hung from beams on the balcony.

He finally speaks. "What was his name?"

You shake your head. "It doesn't matter now. I assume, by now, that he has remarried. I only pray he has mercy toward her which he did not deign to show me."

He stands, stepping over to you, then kneeling, grasping the crowns of your shoulders in his large, rough hands. "If he ever arrives on our shores, I'll kill 'im, and lay his head at your feet. So long as I'm here, no one will touch you, or the same will happen to them."

You smile slightly, resting your palm against his scarred cheek. "Where were you when I needed you all that time ago in England? Hm?"

His lip twitches. "I'm here now."

"Get up. I'll take you back to Noonan's."

You whimper, curling your fingertips into warm sand—curling further into yourself. "Leave me alone. I want to be with him."

Charles kneels, then begins to speak lowly to you. "You think he'd want this for you? Lying here day-after-day atop his grave? He's dead. No amount of mourning or tears is going to change it, or bring him back."

Slowly, you open your bloodshot eyes. "Why do you even care?"

"I gave him my word. Made a promise. The least I can do is keep it after what he did. What it cost him."

at sixteen-years-old, your father arranges for a marriage between you and the son of a wealthy shipping magnate. said marriage began as a happy one, until other titled and influential men began to gossip in corners, and during dinners about him and his 'child bride'. his pride having taken a hit, he took his frustrations out in private on the subject of such slanders.

unable to take further abuse, during a voyage from england to the carolinas, a storm rages over the atlantic, and you see a window of escape—you throw yourself from the side of your husband's ship, taking it.

and then you awaken on the shores of nassau—saved by a man with scars littering his face: eric singleton. immediately, he is taken with you.

he finds you safety within noonan's establishment, and deems you are to act only as a maid. that the first he hears of a man touching you, he'll ensure noonan regrets it.

after challenging flint for captaincy, however, he meets his untimely demise, but not before demanding charles vane make a promise to him: should something happen to him, he is to look after and care for you just as he would've, and has.

and charles holds true to his agreement.

headcanons:

i know in black sails singleton doesn't have a first name, but i went ahead & gave him one: eric.

if you squint at my synopsis, you can see who her husband was.

eric is extremely sweet on her. treats her like fine china & loves her, but nothing sexually intimate ever occurs between the two.

she's just...frightened of men, even still. he's probably the only one she's not scared of, but she, at least for a long while, has no interest in anything 'intimate' with any man.

[hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji]

Kuroshitcember 2022 Prompt Nr. 24 -Christmas Special 2/3

prompt: Sebastian (and, more optionally, the servants) prepares the manor for the young master for Christmas Day.

You can find all prompts here!

All of these will be uploaded/archived to this blog's Ao3 eventually

📌Because I ended up not being able to participate in quite a lot of prompts lately, I decided to put together a 3 part little story for 23rd, 24th, and 25th of December, each chapter inspired by that day's prompt. I tried incorporating as many characters as I could <3 I hope you enjoy!! I hope I can keep up writing after Christmas though <3 these prompts have been amazing, and it's been so much fun participating <3

Summary: On Christmas Day, Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian go to a workhouse to distribute toys and presents to the children. Meanwhile, the reapers realise that the children meant to die are being saved by a demon, and they don't quite know how to handle it, a little bit like how the Phantomhive servants have no idea how to handle preparing Christmas Dinner..... Chaos ensues. CW: kuroshitsuji spoilers (if you don't know about o!ciel and r!ciel, do not read this 3 parter!!), mentions death, suicide, anatomy study, workhouses - please be careful if you are easily triggered by real events that happened in the past. oh, if you don't ship Vincent/Undertaker, please don't send hate <3 it's just a fleeting mention, but still <3

“But sir, I don’t think you should leave it up to us-“

A gloved hand moved up into the air. It was a simple gesture, but one that stopped all of them from talking. Sebastian basked in the silence for a moment. Downstairs, the servants had all gone into a frenzy the second Sebastian admitted that most of the last minute Christmas preparations were going to have to be done by them.

“The young master and I have important business to attend to the entire afternoon. What little decoration are left to prepare in the dining hall has to be done by you all. Mey-Rin, set the tables for all 6 guests. Finnian, prepare three guest rooms, we have a few guests staying the night. Baldroy, please ensure the Christmas turkey is… not burned.”

‘Yes, sir’s had been said with little confidence at each order. Sebastian had a feeling that the second he and his master came back home, he would have to use his inhuman speed to fix everything…

With a sigh, Sebastian bid his farewell to the servants, leaving them in silence. Confused, they looked at each other. Christmas was a big deal in most estates in England now, and Sebastian had just… left the last preparations to them?

He never trusted them that much…

Something was up.

“Well then, we better get a move on,” Bard said finally, clasping his hands together. “Or else Sebastian’s gonna be in a mood when we get back.”

“Aye, we don’t want that, no thank you,” Mey-Rin was quick to agree, lifting her skirts slightly as she began to run off.

She didn’t get very far though, as the back door leading out to the gardens opened. Everyone instantly went on high alert. Instead of lifting her skirts, Mey-Rin pulled out two guns. Finnian grabbed whatever was nearest and prepared to throw it at the intruders (which so happened to be a barrel filled with flour), and Bard was quick to take cover –

But there had been no need for high alert. Instead of enemies, Agni and Soma arrived.

“The front door was locked!! So rude,” Soma complained as he burst inside. “Cieeeel!”

“Master Ciel is out with Sebastian, sir. And… you really shouldn’t be down here, it’s not proper, it isn’t,” replied Finnian as he gently put the barrel back down.

“So sorry, my friends,” Agni interrupted, spreading gentle smiles to each servant he saw. “My master wanted to surprise Ciel with an early arrival for Christmas. We’re all very excited for Christmas, you see. It’s one of the holidays we enjoy here in England.”

Mey-Rin put her guns away again, brushing down her dress and clearing her throat to return to her maid act once more. “We’ve been tasked to finish the last preparations whilst the master is out… and…” She glanced back at her friends, who nodded their heads in agreement to the question she’d asked with just a glance. “I was wondering if you could help us, Agni?”

The man lit up, earning a smile from Soma. “I would love to!”

…

“Although it was very last minute, the company has divided the breached warehouse’s toys to be sent out to plenty of workhouses in London. Money has been sent to the Foundation of Timmy. When we arrive, toys should be standing ready to be distributed by yours truly.”

Ciel listened, but didn’t show he was. His eye was glued to what he was seeing flashing by the coach, which he tried his best not to show any joy about – it was for children, after all. Out there, snow was falling in thick waves. In this weather, it wasn’t safe travelling in a coach all the way to the outskirts of London, but Ciel knew he would be safe.

He had Sebastian with him, after all.

…

Smiles, laughter, applauses, and oh so much merriment was all Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis experienced from the children at the workhouse. It brought back memories from the few times Timothy had ordered Sebastian to go visit with him, and for Ciel, it reminded him of the good deeds he could do despite being in a contract made by a devil. Revenge might be what Ciel wanted, but moments like these… when a child’s dream had come true, Ciel felt pleased he could offer that dream to other children.

He wondered if somewhere far away, his brother was watching over him, hating how Ciel had left him after all, yet also perhaps pleased that despite the grief, Ciel could now follow his dream and build an empire not based in his family’s wealth.

Well… technically his demon had helped quite a bit there but – Ciel chose to ignore that part on Christmas Eve.

Whilst Ciel occupied himself with handing out toys and shaking hands with kids grateful for what he was giving them, Sebastian snuck away from time to time to deal with… securing the perimeter. He knew that once he and his master left the premises, those child snatchers would return again and the workhouse would be, once more, an unsafe place. But at least this way, the children could have one Christmas Eve, and hopefully one Christmas Morning, where they were safe and happy… like all children ought to be during the holidays.

Such sappy feelings was not what the demon had in mind though. For him, it was all about vengeance for what they had once done to his former master.

Both demon and master came away from the workhouse pleased for different reasons – one for offering the gift of charity and happiness, and the other for being given the gift of bloody revenge.

“How old were they?” Ciel asked as the coach began to move once more. He waved at the kids until they disappeared from view, smile on his lips gone the second they couldn’t see him anymore.

“Some were your age, some were younger,” Sebastian replied simply, sitting with his back straighter than usual, feeling over the moon after some delicious violence.

“My age? But they were all…” Ciel turned his back on the workhouse as he straightened up in his seat. “They were all so small.”

“Improper nutrition and poor working conditions will stunt the growth of humans.”

“But I… I was always the small one.” Ciel put on an angry scowl, trying to keep his emotions away from his voice. The empathy and sadness he felt… it outweighed the good he had felt just minutes ago. “We should have given them food.”

“Do not worry, my lord. Someone else is handling that for us,” Sebastian said confidently, offering no more explanation upon Ciel’s confused looks.

…

“DON’T YOU DARE INTERFERE, RONALD!!” Grelle pulled Ronald away from the ledge by his collar, causing an un-dignifying sound to leave Ron’s lips. Hand over his sore throat, Ronald glared at his reaper friend. “He looks oh so magnificent fighting like that! Oooo!! The crimson colours splashed against the backdrop of white, innocence – YES, Sebas-chan, keep at it! ⭐.”

“Miss Sutcliff… We can’t just leave the demon to kill them. We’re here for the children’s’ souls, not theirs.”

“We can do whatever we like,” Grelle snapped. “Just look at him, Ronald. He’s so magnificent! Ooo what a Christmas gift! I will cherish this memory for many lonesome nights to come-“

“Oh too much… information.” Ronald stepped aside and away from Grelle a bit, leaning against his scythe. William was going to be beyond furious about this… And what could Ronald even say was the reason they didn’t do their job?

Grelle was too into that awful demon?

Well… that could work, actually.

Wiping away some drops of melted snow from his spectacles, Ronald turned away from the grizzly murdering of kidnappers, and walked to the other ledge. There, from the rooftop of a church, Ronald could see clearly as the children from the workhouse rushed outside to greet Ciel Phantomhive. They earned a gift each, and then whatever was spare was offered as toys to share. The gratitude and smiles of the kids was enough to bring warmth to the cold, undead heart of Ronald.

Yeah… maybe it wasn’t so bad that the demon was interfering with their jobs. They had souls to reap, at least, it was just not the right ones. Ronald would rather deal with paperwork than with the memories of these childrens’ short lives fresh in his mind. He saw plenty of gore and suffering… maybe, one Christmas Eve, it could be nice to have a break from it.

…

Agni had stopped three fires that afternoon, prevented Finnian from tumbling down the stairs twice as he carried far too many sheets in his immensely strong arms, and had caught Mey-Rin an uncountable amount of times whilst she tried hanging up decorations in the dining room from a tall, unsteady ladder.

Eventually, the food had been saved and guest rooms had been properly prepared, but the decorations were a bust.

This was not Mey-Rin’s fault though. Sebastian had stashed the Christmas decorations in a place no one knew where. It meant that what little had been present for Mey-Rin to use hadn’t been… entirely enough.

In other words, it was just one garland hanging around the top of the walls, and one sad ornament hanging from the chandelier.

“Oh dear…” Soma said as the five of them stood racking their brains to come up with a solution. As if on point, one of the napkins Mey-Rin had folded into a triangle stood atop the guest’s plates collapsed with a sad little ‘poof’.

“This is horrible!! We can’t serve the guests here! The Phantomhive Christmas Dinners are events no one can compete with!!” Mey-Rin burst out, pulling at her hair.

“Calm yourself, my dear miss,” Agni spoke. “We will figure this out.”

“Unless you know how to pull Christmas decorations out of your ass, I don’t see how,” Bard commented with a huff. “Let’s face it, the food’s gonna be the only good thing about this event.”

“No,” Soma said determinedly. “I will not see my dear bestest friend have a bad event whilst I am here to save the day. We make them!”

“Arts and craft!” Finnian exclaimed happily. “I love arts and craft.”

“That’s a beautiful idea,” Agni praised.

Bard wasn’t very convinced though… This was going to go very badly, he was sure of it.

__

taglist: @eemoo1o-animoo

[influencermagazineuk]

Bringing a Part of Pugh: Andrew Garfield in Red Carpet Gesture at London Film Festival

The British actress Florence Pugh couldn't attend the premiere of her film as she is already busy with another movie but that wasn't a valid reason for Andrew Garfield to walk the red carpet solo. He turned up for the London Film Festival along with his unusual co-star - life-sized cardboard cutout of Florence Pugh - where she became the delight of many a photographer and fans. The John Crowley-directed film targets the emotional journey of a young couple, and the star-studded cast features Pugh as Almut, a chef diagnosed with cancer, while Garfield takes on the role of Tobias, her partner, and father to their three-year-old daughter. The film tackles a heavy subject matter like illness and mortality, leading some to call it "life-affirming." Bex Walton from London, England, CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons This impression proved to be a far cry from the reality, as Pugh did not walk the red carpet for her film's premiere. However, her influence on the film and the narrative was palpable all along. Pugh's role in We Live In Time explains her much-talked-about shaved head, which she debuted at the 2023 Met Gala. She caused quite a stir in the fashion world then, but in reality, it had direct ties to her portrayal of Almut, who is in remission from cancer at the start of the film. Meanwhile, Almut falls for Tobias, who, incidentally, was recovering from his painful divorce as a marketing executive for Weetabix. The characters meet in a dramatic fashion; he is hit by Almut's car, and a bond slowly turns into love. However, their plans for a future together are shattered when the cancer returns for Almut. Though the film has somber tones to it, its story about love, life, and its loss has earned praise for its sincerity. The film premieres at Royal Festival Hall in the UK, after having successfully crossed the boundary to Toronto International Film Festival. Garfield, synonymous with charm and wit, could pride himself for walking the red carpet alongside cardboard cutout of Pugh-though he made light of it by stating he did not mind missing the actress because, well she was cut from cardboard after all. We Live In Time received mixed reviews from critics. Some of them, like The Hollywood Reporter's David Rooney, were touched by the depth with which the film was emotional. He praised director John Crowley for bringing such sensitive themes across with a "tender yet truthful touch." He called it a poignant look at life and death. For Rooney, "Seldom has such an unflinchingly honest take on mortality felt so transcendently life-affirming." However, still other critics were less than enthused. Kirsty Puchko of Mashable called it "the biggest cinema disappointment of the year," because it was bereft of emotional appeal even though the film boasts great stars on the set in the form of Garfield and Pugh. "This is not a hot or even sweaty embrace of lust and love, but a soggy handshake of a film," Puchko said, a deeply disappointing film that failed to bring hefty emotions. One of such opinions was given by Brianna Zigler of The AV Club, who said that characters seemed to be underdeveloped and this was accompanied with overly sentimental plot. "Everything about Tobias and Almut is so easy and sanitised, so positively twee and precious, that they are borderline unbearable to watch." Another complaint was the simplicity of characters-their underdevelopment ruined the entire movie. A weakness, however, has been the lack of chemistry between Garfield and Pugh, which here has proved to be largely one-way, at least tonight. Apart from the chemistry, their on-screen chemistry has been highly acclaimed. Other great subplots within the film, like Almut getting herself involved with an international chef championship, flesh out stories involving these characters. It was a nice evening set up and done well within the humor of his situation by Garfield as he posed by the cut-out of Pugh. His niceness brought some levity to the evening, to even up the serious undertones which the film itself had set. The fans and attendees could not help but be charmed into action by what Garfield had done. We Live in Time can be seen as a reunion of sorts for Garfield and Crowley, who collaborated for the first time on one of Garfield's first notable films, Boy A. It is amazing to see the duo once again, and there is huge buzz with people eager to know how their creative chemistry has evolved since then. That, of course, should provoke more debate for the rest of the festival. Not everyone will like the approach to storytelling in We Live In Time. Hailed as tender and life-affirming, or criticized as twee and underwhelming, it is that kind of film that has taken its leave. And while Pugh was not there to receive this performance in person, she was felt throughout- partly due to Garfield's resourceful handling of her not being there. Read the full article

[doomedandstoned]

Bristol Doomers TORPOR Share Massive 3rd LP ‘Abscission’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

TORPOR hail from Bristol and took part in Doomed & Stoned in England, a sweeping survey of the country that gave birth to doom, contributing their track "Agalma." Sadly, we've never featured the doom-drone trio in these pages properly, though the band has persevered to release their third full-length record. We'll try to make up for lost time with a review of 'Abscission' (2023) and an advance listen for you all, as well.

First track "Interior Gestures" fights with screeching feedback for a few seconds and it’s almost like a brain cleanse. Then we encounter a smokey, dimly lit basement of sound that envelops the consciousness. Drums and strings collide for some damning opening notes. It’s a sound that seems to emanate the true nature of reality as it ripples past your eardrums. It's a near 11-minute piece that features a beautiful mid-section of contemplative strumming and picking against a pacing percussive rhythm. Gradually and true to the band's name, the walking pace slows to an ambient hum. The drone is godly here, with signals that practically massaged my cerebral cortex, and is coupled with text spoken in an almost dreamlike fashion.

"As Shadow Follows Body" is likely a reference to the sayings of Buddha (as we think, so we become). This is the sort of riff worship where the guitars are tuned way down, obsessed with low notes and angry notions. As I listen, I'm drawn to the opening paragraph of Philip K. Dick's Pay For The Printer: "Ash, black, and desolate, stretched out on both sides of the road. Uneven heaps extended as far as the eye could see -- the dim ruins of buildings, cities, a civilization -- a corroded planet of debris, wind-whipped black particles of bone and steel and concrete mixed together in an aimless mortar." As with its predecessor, this song dons a quiet section, and it's a brief respite from the storm. Then haunting ancient voices awe us from the charcoal skies, whilst the guitar's tremolo notes summon ashen rain; the drums pounding thunder.

Third track "Accidie" conjures such beautiful despair, in the groaning of the guitar, the oppressive thumping of the drums. The song title alludes to a state of apathy and mental fog; the album title to the way dead leaves detach from a tree. Speaking of trees, the album cover seems to put two different materials at odds with one another. On the right hand side, we have wood; on the left not merely stone, but concrete -- a hallmark of this fast encroaching concrete jungle. It seems to make a statement about the natural coming at odds with the artificial. Indeed, the band's name implies that everything is running down, getting slower, becoming weaker in this world of ours. There is a sense of despondency in Torpor's words and symbols that resonate as authentic and relatable to our times. Meanwhile, throaty vocals roar through the snowstorm of fuzz. As in so many of their songs, rhythm rules the day and escorts us to a mess of haze and feedback and muffled yelling that leads into the next track.

"Carbon" feels truly savage in this company. It's a rip-roarer with nothing but chaos to offer. Guitars assail us with dissonance, and a black metal aesthetic takes control of the piece. But soon the noisy swarm is quieted and contrasted with softer, haunting vocals, then guttural growls melt us into a muddle of sludge.

With "Island of Abandonment," Torpor goes for epic sound. But to start, it's in a post-metal delirium, with ambient vibrations and the gentle, hypnotic strumming of a single note. Rising tensions release with big drumming, brash cymbals, raspy vocals, steely riffage, and ample swaths of fuzz.

Despite its sinister and depressive gloom, there is a warmness that pervades Torpor's Abscission that I found easy to relax into (especially with headphones). I've given the album several listens and it's got great staying power. Out September 16th on Human Worth Records (pre-order here). Stick it on a playlist with Primitive Man, Body Void, Conan, Undersmile, and Heavy Death.

Give ear...

Abscission by TORPOR

Upcoming Tour Dates with Modern Technology

OCT 12th - Moor Beer Vaults, London W/ Remote Viewing

OCT 13th - The Port Mahon, Oxford W/ Prey + Holy Wounds

OCT 14th - Hope & Ruin, Brighton* W/ Beehoover + Human Leather

OCT 15th - The Lanes, Bristol W/ The Malefic Grip

NOV 10th - Chameleon Arts Cafe, Nottingham Supports TBC

NOV 11th - Human Worth All-Dayer, Wharf Chambers, Leeds W/ Beige Palace, Grub Nap, Friend and more.

*TORPOR only

ALL TICKETS AVAILABLE FROM @HUMANWORTHMUSIC

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[trans-girl-uchiha-itachi]

i mean of course nothing about hogwarts history makes sense to begin with, because in this time period higher education was more or less exclusively theological in nature, which is the other thing that really slaps you in the face from even a cursory wikipedia skim of oxford university history? and since the entire hogwarts vibe is more or less wholesale yoinked from oxbridge & the Public Schools (this is what brits call their schmanciest of private schools, confusingly) that feed them, it's based on this same model originally designed around divinity studies.

meanwhile, *gestures at the entire history of The Catholic Church vs. Witchcraft*

so, like, idk what to conclude here. perhaps hogwarts was originally built as a defensive garrison for persecuted magic users harried by the norman conquest? (again if we take the text at face value hogwarts should have been built 980 at the latest, but like, people are prone to calling 900-year-old things a thousand years old because it sounds cooler, so i'll accept virtually any date before 1100.) with all these magic users gathered in one place i can see it taking on an apprenticeship-type structure, which was then formalized in perhaps the 1400s along the by-then-established oxbridge model (and here the placement in scotland is useful, because founding of new universities to compete with the oxbridge duopoly was banned in england from approx. 1334-1820). i would imagine at that time it contained both a prep school and one or several colleges, but with the growing wizarding population the prep school eventually crowded out the colleges, which moved... god only knows where. and in the modern day everyone papers over all these dramatic changes in function in order to pretend that hogwarts as presently constituted represents A Thousand Years of Doing It Just Like That, Yes Sir.

but i don't really know enough about english and scottish history to flesh that out properly rather than just gesturing at it, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this is also petty as all hell, BUT,

does it bother anyone else that hogwarts takes so much visual inspiration from collegiate gothic architecture a la oxford when it supposedly is a medieval castle designed for defensibility? what in the goddamn is up with all those massive Perpendicular glass windows?? FIRST of all you'd put that in a cathedral and not A KEEP, and SECOND of all, if hogwarts is colloquially "a thousand years old" in the 1990s, the core/central parts of the castle cannot possibly have been constructed very much after 1000 and that's at LEAST A CENTURY TOO EARLY for gothic. *pounds fist on table* i demand ENGLISH ROMANESQUE god damn it!!!

i am forced to conclude there were several waves of massive & tumultuous reconstruction due to wizard internecine warfare and can only imagine the sheer levels of shenanigans required to keep the chamber of secrets, uh,,, secret

[rosesootgold]

Can I request for the drabbles -

57. "I got us matching shirts!"

With either Tommy or Tubbo?

Travels

Pairing: Bench Trio & reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none!

—

Today was the day, you were going to meet your best friends, Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo.

After hours of planning and begging of your parents, you were allowed to go to Brighton and visit your British friends.

Since your parents didnt allow you to fly by yourself, you would meet Ranboo first, then fly together.

June 27 seemed so far, but here you were standing at the gate with Ranboo.

“Wow..this is real.” Ranboo whispered as he sat down.

“Yup.” You huffed sitting next to him.

“Lets just hope theres no baby crying or someone snoring on the flight!” Ranboo laughed.

—

You sat next to Ranboo, crowded as there was a baby crying in front of you and someone snoring loudly behind you.

“I’m going to strangle you, YOU JINXED US!” You glared at him.

“IM SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO!” Ranboo whisper yelled.

The rest of the flight was hell, but you finally ended up at the gate, both tired from flying.

“Where’s Tubs?” You yawn.

“He’s five minutes away, he just sent it to the group chat. Didn’t you look at it?” He gestured to your phone.

“No, too lazy.” You said as you stretched.

Ranboo laughed and sighed, leading you to the gate that Tubbo was going to pick you up from.

The nervousness got you, and time seemed to go for so long. Then, you finally saw your best friend.

Tubbo jumped out of the car and hugged both of you. You sleepiness gone, you hugged him back, finally glad to be here in England.

—

Scratch that, you hate it here.

“YOU GUYS DONT HAVE AIR CONDITIONING??” You yelled, fanning yourself.

Meanwhile Tubbo and Ranboo were on the floor laughing their faces off.

“N-no we-we dont!” Tubbo said inbetween laughs.

“ITS LITERALLY 100 DEGREES!” You laid on the floor, trying to get some cool feeling.

—

You still hate it here.

You and Ranboo looked at each other as Tommy and Tubbo bounced around being chaotic on stream.

“Is this what we came here for? Being Babysitters?” You told Ranboo, trying to keep your straight face.

“Yeah we did.” Ranboo held a straight face, but you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nooooo, [name] we were doing so well!” Ranboo started to laugh too.

The Chaotic boys looked at you both, confused at what happened.

You smiled and ran out grabbing their presents “I have something for you all!”

You ran back in, and tossed the shirts. “I got us all matching shirts!” You laughed.

They all look at the shirt, and just burst out laughing. It was those Minecraft shirts that 7 year olds wear.

You had saw them in the aisle and you had to buy it for them.

“We have to go do a meet up in these!” Ranboo laughed.

“Let’s do it!” You said as everyone joined in laughing.

Maybe, maybe you will do it.

[idreamofsleeping]

I just finished binging the entire 3 season of wwdits and S3E10 has me in a state.

Like, we got Nandor and Guillermo over here, Nandor’s leaving to travel the world and Guillermo is worried abt being left alone and a lot little heartbroken. Then, Guillermo goes and confronts Nandor and they start (literally) fighting and then Nandor’s all “Ta-da! It was a test wanna come travel the world with me? Then when we get to my homeland I’ll do this super dramatic romantic gesture and make you into a vampire!” and ohmygod they’re so in love.

Meanwhile, Nadja and Lazlo are going to England! But instead of going to England with his wife Lazlo shoves Guillermo into the coffin, nails the lid shut, and fucking SHIPS HIM ACROSS THE OCEAN. And Lazlo does all this so that he can stay behind in Staten Island and raise Baby Colin Robinson, who clawed his way out of Adult Colin Robinson’s corpse’s stomach and is very horrifying. 

AND since Lazlo shipped Guillermo across the ocean in a box, Nandor got left at the train station by himself and boarded said train by himself after he waited until the last second for Guillermo to show up. And as Nandor’s boarding the train looking all sad and heartbroken he leaves Guillermo’s suitcase behind and I-

Season 4 is going to ruin me. 

[headcanonsandmore]

Girlfriend of the Week

Summary: The Thirteenth Doctor, Yaz and Dan find themselves on a train during the 1990s. However, they aren't the only time travellers on board, and Yaz is about to discover just how flirty a certain pyrotechnic-obsessed girl is...

(Yes, I have read "At Childhoods End" but this takes place in a universe where Yaz hadn't met Ace by the time Dan joined the TARDIS team. The centenary special is probably going to do something very different, but this is just my read on things)

Tagging:  @linda-with-an-i  @whattheflux

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                     Read on FFN.                           Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The TARDIS finally stopped groaning.

‘So… where are we?’

The Doctor grinned over the console at Yaz.

‘Surprise, Yaz.’

Dan could the look of hope in Yaz’s eyes, and he smiled to himself as he followed Yaz and the Doctor out the blue doors.

They were stood in the middle of a train carriage. Judging from the various parcels around them, they were in the carriage used for postal deliveries. Yaz’s face fell slightly, and her forehead creased in confusion.

‘Doctor, where are we?’

The Doctor gestured around them.

‘Train carriage, travelling through Southern England. Thought it might be a nice change of pace.’

Yaz took a step closer to the blonde.

‘You… you said you were gonna tell me everything.’

The Doctor stared at Yaz for a split second, and their eyes met. Dan could see the hope in Yaz’s eyes.

He had spent several years in the early twentieth century with Yaz, and he knew just how much the young woman cared for the Doctor. What had angered Dan was that the Doctor not only seemed to be aware of this, but was actively pretending that they had no idea of the sheer extent of Yaz’s feelings.

Even if the Doctor had good reason for trying to maintain that they didn’t know, Dan knew that it wasn’t healthy in the long run for Yaz to be carrying a torch for someone who pretended not to notice.

The Doctor’s eyes seemed to widen as they saw the emotion in Yaz’s expression. However, much to Dan’s surprise, they immediately darted forward and wrapped their hand around Yaz’s.

‘I will,’ they said, quietly. ‘I promise.’

Yaz stared at the blonde for a second.

‘You mean it? ‘Cause I’ve heard you promise stuff before...’

Both of them seemed to have forgotten than Dan was stood nearby, so he quietly walked over to the nearest door, and slipped through it.

Closing the door softly behind him, Dan found himself in a corridor. Pretty basic train corridor, by all accounts. In fact, Dan remembered travelling in train carriages much like this during the nineteen-nineties.

He headed down the corridor, and went through into the next carriage. It was mostly empty except for a half dozen people. There was a faint smell of stale tea mixed with crisps.

Dan sat down, staring out of the window at the countryside. A country pub briefly flashed by.

A few minutes later, Yaz and the Doctor entered the carriage. Dan had been hoping that maybe they had become closer, but this was sadly not the case. The Doctor’s face was fixed in a smile that didn’t mean their eyes. Yaz, meanwhile, had a frustrated expression.

Dan sighed.

‘Be back in a mo,’ the Doctor said, quickly. ‘Gonna have a look around. Usual rule, Dan; don’t wander off.’

Dan nodded, grimly, watching Yaz sit down in a seat nearby.

The Doctor’s gaze momentarily lingered on Yaz, before the time lord seemed to shake themselves and hurry off down the carriage.

‘Yaz?’

The young Yorkshirewoman looked up.

Dan reached over and patted her on the shoulder.

‘Wanna talk about it?’

 Yaz smiled slightly.

‘The Doctor does want to tell me everything. But… I dunno, I get the sense that it isn’t easy for them. They’ve never been great with… y’know, being open with people.’

‘So they pushed you away again?’

‘No!’ Yaz said, quickly. ‘They just… they said they need some time. They want to tell me properly, when there isn’t any distractions or life threatening situations. Where me and them can just… talk.’

Dan smiled.

‘You deserve the best, Sheffield.’

Yaz grinned.

‘Thanks, Dan.’

‘Hey, wicked jacket!’

The girl sat in the seat behind Yaz had peeked her head over the seat. The girl, who looked to be about Yaz’s age, was wearing a jacket covered in pins.

She was also grinning lopsidedly at Yaz.

‘Er… thanks,’ Yaz replied, turning to face them. ‘Yours isn’t too bad either.’

The girl smiled wider, and hopped over the seat to sit down on Yaz’s other side.

‘I’m Ace,’ the girl said, grabbing Yaz’s hand and shaking it energetically. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Yaz,’ replied Yaz, shaking back.

Dan grinned. Deciding that Yaz would probably like some time alone with the girl, he stood up and headed down through the carriage, towards where the Doctor had gone. He opened the door at the end of the carriage and headed through into the next one.

As the door closed behind him, he happened to look out the window nearby.

A country pub flashed by.

Dan did a double take.

No mistaking it. It was the same pub, right down to the old bloke stretching on a bench outside. Even the name of the pub was the same: “The St George’s Head”.

‘Doctor!’

‘What?’ said the blonde, poking her head out of a nearby door. Their eyes were slightly red.

‘Something’s wrong,’ Dan said, frantically pointing out the window. ‘Look! That pub…’

The Doctor squinted at where Dan was pointing. Sure enough, the same pub appeared multiple times. The blonde’s eyes widened. They pulled their sonic screwdriver out of a pocket of their coat, and scanned around the window.

‘Time loop,’ they muttered, worried. ‘But I can’t get a fix on the cause; must be so close…’

Without a word, they hurried away along the carriage.

‘And they say about me not wandering off…’ Dan muttered, before turning to head back. He walked back along the way he had come, before coming to a halt.

A short figure was knelt down on the ground, their head and arms stuck into the maintenance panel. Judging from the various electronic noises coming from within, they were tinkering around inside.

There was a couple of loud bangs, and they hurried pulled themselves out of the panel.

The figure stood up. They were fairly short, with a paisley scarf draped over a cream jacket. A pair of dark grey trousers were matched with a pair of spats. As they stood up, they picked a Panama hat off the ground and placed it upon their head. It gave them the appearance of an eccentric professor on holiday.

‘Ah, good morning, my dear fellow,’ they said, speaking with a soft Scottish accent. ‘I don’t suppose you would happen to have a 242 timer on you?’

‘Er… no,’ replied Dan. ‘You work here, mate?’

‘Oh, no; just professional curiosity.’

With that, they stuck their head back into the maintenance panel.

‘I see they still haven’t made the switch over to fully automated components,’ they said, voice muffled. ‘Hand me that screwdriver, will you?’

Dan looked around, and saw the requested item. He then knelt down and handed the screwdriver to…

‘What’s y’name, then?’

‘Oh, my young friend Ace calls me “The professor”; have you seen her, by the way? Jacket with lots of pins in it? Faint smell of pyrotechnics?’

‘Yeah, she’s sat with my mate Yaz.’

‘That’s good. People always wander off, even when I tell them not to.’

Dan stared at the professor. That sounded familiar. Wasn’t the Doc always complaining that he wandered off all the time?

‘Y’say the timer’s gone funny?’ Dan said, bending down next to the professor. ‘My mate was saying there’s some weird thing going on round here.’

‘Your friend must be very intelligent,’ replied the professor, pulling out again and closing the panel shut. ‘If I’m not very much mistaken, we could have a potential time loop crisis on our hands.’

‘Can we fix it?’

‘Possibly,’ said the professor, now fiddling with a device they had pulled out of their jacket pocket. ‘You see, the source of the loop seems to keep moving-’

‘Dan, what did I say about wandering off?’

Dan looked over his shoulder. The Doctor was walking back up the carriage, looking irritated.

‘Oh, that’s rich!’ said Dan, as the blonde came to a halt next to him. ‘Anyway, this professor bloke says they’ve got an idea about this time thingy-’

‘What do you mean, “this professor” …’ they trailed off. The professor turned around to look at them.

‘Ah, hello,’ said the professor, smiling cheerfully. ‘I’m-’

‘That’s what’s causing the paradox!’ The Doctor exclaimed, angrily. ‘Two versions of the same time lord in one confined train! What are you doing here? Don’t you realise how dangerous it is to cross our timestream?’

The professor stared at them.

‘Are you me, then?’ they replied, nonplussed. ‘Fascinating.’

Dan stared between them, his mouth falling open. Two Doctors? He knew time travel was a tricky business, but… the Doctor could change their form? That was news to him. Did Yaz know?

Deciding it was best not to comment on it, Dan kept his mouth shut.

‘Hang on,’ the blonde said, slowly. ‘If this version of me is here, then you’d probably be here with…’

‘Ah, you remember Ace!’ the other Doctor grinned. ‘Yes, I believe she was sat near your young friend. Er… Yaz, I believe Dan said her name was?’

The Doctor’s eyes widened, as if realising something. She immediately spun round and barrelled in the opposite direction towards the door.

‘What’s wrong?’ Dan asked, turning to the other Doctor. ‘Is it a time paradox thing? Are Yaz and Ace in danger?’

‘No,’ the other Doctor replied, chuckling as they headed back through the train compartment, Dan trailing behind them. ‘I believe my counterpart is worried because Ace has something of an… effect on young women when she meets them…’

                                                                *

 ‘You’re a police officer?’

‘Used to be,’ Yaz replied. It had been a few minutes since Dan had headed off down the corridor, leaving left them alone. ‘Haven’t been for years now.’

‘Good,’ Ace replied, grinning lopsidedly. ‘I like a dangerous girl.’

Yaz felt her face burn. Was… was she being flirted with? No, surely not. But… well, was there anything wrong with that? After all, the Doctor had pushed her away whenever she’d tried to get closer, even though the time lord had said that they’d tell Yaz everything. This… this was okay, right?

‘I’m really not.’

‘Could have fooled me,’ Ace continued. ‘What with that jacket and all.’

‘Thanks,’ Yaz said. ‘But I’m just a normal girl from Yorkshire.’

‘With a cute accent.’

Yaz laughed.

‘It’s not that cute.’

‘Wanna bet?’

Ace reached out and tucked the lock of Yaz’s hair behind her ear. Yaz felt goosebumps erupt down the back of her neck.

‘Your voice isn’t the only thing cute about you,’ Ace said, softly.

Yaz blinked hurriedly, feeling her blood roaring in her ears. Her heart was beating incredibly fast. But… what about the Doctor? Oh, god…

Ace was just about to stroke her finger against Yaz’s cheek-

‘ACE MCSHANE, TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF THAT WOMAN THIS INSTANT!’

Yaz and Ace both jumped in their seats. Yaz felt her face flush further; oh, god, the Doctor had seen Ace flirting with her! But… why did they sound so angry?

‘Professor, I wasn’t…’ Ace said, turning, but her brow then wrinkled in confusion. She stared at the Doctor. ‘Hang on, you’re not the professor.’

‘I was the professor!’ The Doctor threw an arm around Yaz and pulled her bodily away from Ace. They did not remove their arm after they’d done so. ‘You leave my Yaz alone!’

Yaz seemed unable to form words. Especially given how… protective the Doctor’s arm around her was.

Ace raised an eyebrow.

‘Y’alright, Sheffield?’

Dan had joined them, along with another person, who was wearing a Panama hat.

Dan gave Yaz an apologetic grimace. Yaz was now feeling incredibly flustered, brought on by the mixture of Ace’s flirtation, the Doctor’s possessive attitude and the words “My Yaz”. The latter was still reverberating through Yaz’s brain.

‘Hello,’ said the Panama-hat wearer. ‘I’m the Doctor, how do you do?’

Yaz’s mouth fell open.

‘D-Doctor,’ she said, looking between the hat-wearer and the Doctor. ‘But… what…’

‘Professor,’ Ace asked. ‘What are they on about?’

‘Ah, you see, Ace, she is me and I am her,’ the other Doctor replied. ‘I am her past and she is my future. Time travel, and all that.’

‘I thought you’d get taller.’

The other Doctor chuckled.

‘Ah, and this must be Miss Khan,’ he said, eyes twinkling cheerfully. ‘I see my counterpart is rather attached to you.’

And he tweaked Yaz’s nose.

‘You will have to forgive my young friend Ace,’ he continued, ignoring the glare that Yaz’s Doctor was shooting in the hat-wearer’s direction. ‘She seems rather attached to you, too.’

‘Eh, Doctor,’ Dan said. ‘Time loop? Remember?’

‘Yes,’ the Doctor said, quickly, moving their arm off of Yaz’s shoulders and taking her hand instead. ‘We best get a shifty-on; never good to cross timestreams for any amount of time. If we don’t get away now, things could get really bad.’

‘Well…see you around, then, Yaz,’ Ace said, shaking Yaz’s other hand and grinning again. ‘It’s been nice meeting you.’

‘Yeah,’ Yaz said, still blushing a little as she shook the girls’ hand. ‘See you.’

Ace gave one last smile, before following the other Doctor away in the opposite direction. A few moments later, they could hear the sounds of a TARDIS dematerialising.

‘Well,’ Dan said, cheerfully. ‘That was interesting. Good to know your dress sense hasn’t improved much over time, Doc.’

‘Oy! I’ll ‘ave you know that hat saved the universe on more than one occasion!’

Dan chuckled, and headed back through the train carriage. The Doctor and Yaz followed him.

‘Doctor?’

‘Hmmm?’

The Doctor turned to look at Yaz.

‘You… you’re still holding my hand.’

The blonde looked down. The two of them slowed to a stop.

‘Oh. Yes, I am.’

They didn’t let go.

Yaz couldn’t stop the smile that spread over her face. The Doctor stared at her, and the blonde’s mouth curved into a very soft smile. Their eyes met, hesitantly. Yaz squeezed the Doctor’s hand.

Dan, stood by the door of the TARDIS, grinned at the two of them. But both of them were too focused on each other to notice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this little AU idea (I especially enjoyed writing Yaz being a gay disaster🤣).

[realcatalina]

Everything wrong with Spanish Princess-1x01

The story of 1st episode. To sumerize-they didn’t do well at all.There are plenty of massive lies, already within first 2 minutes of 1st episode. 

It starts with Catherine praying in 1501 and from very first costume to the last, you don’t see single remotely accurate headwear or dress on no female character, whetever in Spain or England. Costumes look like from Renaissance fair-all over the place, not fitting anywhere in particular.

Then the very first monolog-the introduction how England is desperate for rich allies to keep the French and Scottish at bay is extremely false. England had peace with France and peace with Scotland-whom they were actually defeating pretty well last they invaded! Henry VII by this point was also well-off financially.

(Not richest man in Europe by any means, but he certainly was no longer poor. He was also by this point secure on throne. Yes two more claimants were about to raise against him, but he didn’t even notice they left England in August. It wasn’t on his mind. He wasn’t desperate at all. He was only anxious, because Catherine was supposed to arrive in 1500! She arrived with delay of 12+ months, and he started to wonder if her parents were backing up from the alliance. As to whom was really desperate for that alliance to keep France from their lands, i recomend you read my posts about corespondence of Catherine’s parents with their ambassadors.)

This is big misrepresentation already in first scene!

2nd big misrepresentation is black lady Lina. Yes, there were black people at Tudor court(John Blanke probably from 1480s already!), but those people of colour which infanta brought with her to England, were not nobles. But slaves! Black Lina in Catherine’s household, was slave. Not her bestie! Catalina of Motril was not Catalina de Cardones.

They then have Catherine setting across Spain, to get on ship to England, with Isabella acompanying her and even fighting of rebels-personally in battle.

Catherine meanwhile prays as crazy person would, already suggesting the mental issues she clearly has for next 2 seasons.

(And we see in background Spanish carrying flag of St. George-English flag, why on their own territory would they do this empty gesture, when nobody can see it?! Also, Isabella tells Catherine to be loyal to Habsburg Empire-even though she and Ferdinand actually never liked Philip. Make it make sense-you can’t!)

The golden haired, fair-skinned Isabella, whose health was getting worse continously since late 1490s, who never fought personally in any battles, is seen destroying the rebel army, in full armour with sword in hand-and gets dark hair and tanned skin. Because she is spanish! So why not?(and why not set grounds for Warrior Queen Catherine in season 2.)

Nevermind it was actually Ferdinand II who went to handle those rebels, and upon whose return Catherine waited on, before she set North-

by herself(with her household of 50+ people), by way of Santiago-to Santago de Compostela, making that pilgrimage.(showing it would be accurate display of piety at those times. They skipped it.)

Like I get budget restrictions, but just 2 ladies? Rich daughter of Spain could affort only two ladies to accompany her? No Elvira, no Ines Venegas, and her daughters etc. Not even 5 ladies?! 

They could at least give her 2 ladies which were historically accurate. Rosa didn’t even exist in real life! 

The english scenes prove big plotholes in timeline. Elizabeth of York wasn’t pregnant in late 1501. Henry VII had tons of finances, tons of men, and saying otherwise is getting ridiculous! Why would Spain even want ally who would be unable to stand on its own? Zero logic!

Ovieto was moorish cross-bow maker from Spain, which Catalina of Motril, upon returning to Spain(as freed slave) married. No records places him in England. Why couldn’t they have John Blanke at court instead?

(In later episodes there is black man named John who is in-between Ovieto and Lina, so perhaps they tried to give us John Blanke, but failed miserably to present the few facts we know of his life.)

Also, they showed just 1 storm, through which Catherine had to go through, while in fact she survived two. 1st returned her all the way back to Spain, causing big delay, (and made Henry VII even more anxious to see her, because he thought it was possible she’d die on the journey). Henry VII sent his own man(a captain) to guide Catherine’s ship across water. 

Another issue i had with sea scenes, was how the arrogant Catherine(that alone irks me) ordered her people to set sail to Plymouth instead of Southampton. She is told that they are not expected there, yet she commands it. This is supposed to show Catherine as authoritative, decisive, strong figure.

But it ignores facts. Catherine’s parents decided that should weather allow it, she should sail to Southampton OR alternatevely to Plymouth. (It’s in their corespondence with English side). That is why there was welcome party ready for Catherine. Otherwise the locals wouldn’t be nearly so ready to welcome her ‘as if she was saviour of the world.’(which actually was ment she was welcomed with pomp). So the whole scene where she disembarks by tiny boat and is immediately , welcomed by common local pople is total crap! She docked at port, where welcome party was ready for her.

By the way, already when Margarte of Austria was sailing for Spain, it was planned ahead-what if weather brought her to English shores(and it indeed did, she spent month in English harbour!), several years prior to this! They didn’t understimate the weather of English channel.

The scenes with Pole family is there solely to set up ground for villying Margaret Beaufort and making her into overbearing hag, the villain set to destroy Catherine in the future. Lady Margaret is set as horrible woman, her speach full of arogance, demanding respect she supposedly wasn’t entitled to(Princess courtsying to Margaret standing on high platform) and wishing Catherine would learn the english ways straight away. Even though, adjusting to local customs would however actually be expected from any foreign bride, and without a word complain. That is not lady Margaret being evil, that is actually what Catherine’s own parents in their letters were telling her to do! It was expected at those times.

The journey of Catherine soaked in rain, is totally ignoring that they used to have covered vagons(predecesors of carriages) already back then!(and that they were prepared for her arrival).

Conversations of Catherine with anybody in English since arriving to England are purely fictional-as she didn’t speak English! I also dont get the flirtatious tone of Buckingham, he wouldn’t dare! 

Then we have prayers of English royals once again in empty chapel, with no priests, no servants around. Why?! Can’t they accurately show catholic faith in this tv show at least once? Or courtier/royal relationship and behaviour?  (I’ve seen it before, so i can answer-nope, they won’t give it to us!) Whole scene is there solely to set up ground on evil Henry VIII. He was mean to his sister and throwing tantrums all day! Because he is evil!And doesn’t care about his sisters.

One fish-net and horns on Catherine’s head later(true to Philippa Gregory’s intentions!), Catherine arrives to house with less than 40 people in total. And less than 10 wait to meet her there. 

There Lady Margaret speaks Latin(which according to Puebla she did not)-correction: he was actually speaking about English ladies in general not about lady Margaret and Elizabeth of York), and the arogant princess replies she speaks English perfectly, and is horribly rude! Overbearing, commanding. And tbh, she stays same bitch entire 2 seasons! Sorry, i didn’t mean to say it, actually, yes i did. They made my good Queen Catherine into bitch!

Siesta i don’t mind, the notion however that Catherine would be so f-cking rude that I mind very much. She’d be raised to be always polite and respectful. 

Notion that Margaret Beaufort never ever seen parrot before, is also untrue. Exotic animals were delivered to England pretty often, and many people kept them as pets. Idea of exotic pets was not introduced to England by Spanish Princess!

Then they try to excuse Catherine’s rudeness as mere insecurity. 

(And continue to excuse the character’s bad behaviour for 2 whole seasons.)

By the way the house they are in is build after Henry VIII’s lifetime. At least the windows and ceilings are. And more of such interiors and exterior, which are after reign of Henry VIII, can be seen throughout the series.

Henry VII didn’t wake Catherine from siesta. He arrived after nightfall and at those times people already went to sleep with sunset. He didn’t bang on door, he asked to see Catherine, and though her duena refused, Catherine graciously agreed to meet him.

She wasn’t rude, she didn’t say they needed her more than she needed them, etc. If so, the benefits or no benefits, Henry VII would be livid. And given how rude they show Catherine  to all english royals so far, they are setting Catherine’s poverty as-she caused it by herself, had she not been so rude, they’d help her! 

The freely falling hair, the oufits with non-white linen, omg-what the heck is with Arthurs codpiece. Why is it jumping up and down? I’ve seen recreations, it doesn’t do this if tied properly. It looks like somebody tied piece of fabric over what he wears underneath, instead being part of it. 

Arthur and Catherine couldn’t speak to one another without translator. That is actually pretty famous point of their meeting! I had arguments about why that occured!

Henry VIII was 10 when Catherine arrived and he mostly didn’t share residence with Arthur. No way he could sent letters instead of Arthur for months! 

Why is Margaret pointing out that Catherine is rude spoiled brat set as bad thing? At those times it was seen as good thing to be humble and obedient. Whomever wrote this cannot be fan of 15th nor 16th century, otherwise they’d know.

I didn’t know this, but Thistle pointed out that lots of scenes were filmed in Caerphilly castle, which is almost complete ruin.I agree it’s certainly not how English royal residences would look at those times. If you played Kingdom Come Deliverance, you might get idea how castles actually looked like on inside and the sterotypical barren stone, dark interiors are certainly not it. Also the typical tops Tower of London has, has only been given there by Henry VIII during his reign. Thistle thinks such derelict locations were chosen to sell idea of English being impoverished, and it seems so.

Once again, Henry was 10. He was head shorter than Catherine, child, and though appeared to be smitten by Catherine, he certainly wouldn’t flirt with her. 

Henry starting to like crossbow upon seeing it for first time? Proper englishman was learning how to lean into English bow and shoot that way. and Henry was no exception. However, it certainly wouldn’t be first time Henry ever seen a crossbow. French used them already in Hundred Years War! 

I also don’t see him destroying the expesive tapestries in his father’s properties. Some of those tapestries sometimes cost same or more than a warship! This is just for setting ground for Henry being brat!

By the way Henry VII spent massive sum on celebrations of Catherine’s arrival and her wedding to Arthur, so these baren undecorated interiors are very misrepresenting. Once again selling false narrative England poor and desperate, vs rich Spain. 

Arthur says Henry was belittling him, making fun of him over the letters-how when they barely ever share residence?! It’s so false! Also there is no evidence of Henry VIII ever being jealous of his brother being heir instead of him! 

As is Buckingham seducing the non-existent Rosa(yes that is false character), and English soldier attempting to rape Catalina de Cardones, which wasn’t royalty(that is false also). The soldier would have to be insane to atempt to rape one of infanta’s ladies while at court, and makers just want to set narrative for noblewoman cardones marrying beneat her to common soldier, english being rotten(seducing and raping girls, being racist). 

Elizabeth of York and Catherine of Aragon, being same height. Omg. Really?!Nevertheless the conversation is false, Catherine didn’t speak English. 

Hope of England and Spain, AND of Hasburg Empire?(again?!) What has it do with Catherine?! Also, being Emperor being Habsburg didn’t make all of Holy Roman Empire, the Habsburg Empire, the term started to be used about lands of Charles V, because he had very large holdings, and relatives in all places. it’d not at all be used around 1501. 

Elizabeth of York supposeldy sexist-asking for sons only, no girls. Catherine in real life was regretful over blood spilled before her arrival. 

Why the kisisng?! No reason for it at all. 

Columbus gives Catherine compass? Is he the only histirical figure they could remember to place in Catherine’s path?

God, the actress is so skinny! At the time that was actually discouraged, and Catherine was actually pleasantly plum. 

The wedding dress imo is strongly  resembling that of Princess Diana’s. 

Also, they used satin damask. Damask, no matter if some parts of it are in satin weave, is not pure satin. Catherine’s wedding dress was described as being of white satin. Even if it is satin damask-it is still the wrong fabric!!!

And from rest of the dress and headwear, only the lower part of sleeves is accurate. Maybe the pearls and golden embroidery-though tbh, not really. Because it is supposed to be spanish embroidery-and what they created doesn’t resemble at all any which I’ve seen in historical portraits of Spain at right time.

Rest from head to toe, the outfit is wrong, including her chopines, as at spain at the time, they had much broader sole.

Another big mistake is Catherine saying:”daughter of Spain, wife to prince Arthur, and soon Queen of England.” 

Saying she is soon to be Queen of England, would be clasified at those times as wishing King to die! They believed that by saying such things, you could curse person to die, so they took it very seriously. As a treason, when you spoke of King dying.

Catherine as foreigner would probably not viewed as traitor, but it would still result in English side being horribly insulted and cause big diplomatic dispute. 

They should have used ‘And future Queen of England’.

Honestly by end of 1st episode you can conclude it is stuff of nightmares. And you think you cannot be more disapointed that this. But each episode, you get more and more disapointed and more like WTF?! No, they didn’t screw Catherine this badly, did they?! This has to be joke! It cannot be so innacurate.

Why I am returning to the show which already aired and long finished?

Because this tv show claimed to honour Catherine’s life, to show us true Catherine, to show us what she should be admired for. And instead they showed such innacurate false unlikable character, that many people instead started to dislike her, to be disgusted by her, and even to hate her! Because they believe this tv show.

Because tv show makers mislead them into thinking they care about accuracy and about real story. While in fact there is very few things even remotely accurate/tiny bit accurate etc. It is rightfully criticized as horrible, in all aspects.

Plotline, personalities and looks of characters, costumes, the period. All of it, is grossly misrepresented. Except good acting of few actors, there is no other thing to praise it for. Which is shame. If they fallowed real events, it’d be way better!

But they decided to screw over our good Queen and it still irritates me.

As for the supposedly accurate auburn hair:

This dude has hair like Catherine:

Or these ladies are pletty close:

this gorgeous girl’s hair is also better to fit to Catherine’s real hair:

They claimed they looked at Catherine’s hair in her famous portrait and then dyed actress hair this:

You might try to excuse that red hair vs strawberry is not a big deal, that they are not that different-except actually they are. Catherine’s real hair was closer to colour of gold(not blond) than to red.