pre revolutionary


SO back in during the revolutionary war the British soliders sang a song called Yanke Doodle (which is now a famous American song and even the state anthem of Connecticut).


1. Okay so American Idiot is quite simple what the title means. But you don’t really know what Yankee Doodle means right.

Okay so Yankee is basically an American person. But what the fuck is a doodle?

Wait wait. So Doodle means “fool” right. Technically this means that the song is literally called American Idiot. But that’s not everything.

2. The meaning in American Idiot is according to Wikipedia that Green Day and Billy Armstrong makes fun of the American people.

Examples:  “American Idiot” contends that mass media has orchestrated paranoia and idiocy among the public. Citing cable news coverage of the Iraq War, Billie Joe Armstrong recalled, “They had all these Geraldo-like journalists in the tanks with the soldiers, getting the play-by-play.“ He felt with that, American news crossed the line from journalism to reality television, showcasing violent footage intercut with advertisements.[2]  and Armstrong went on to write the song after hearing the Lynyrd Skynyrd song "That’s How I Like It” on his car radio.[3] “It was like, ‘I’m proud to be a redneck’ and I was like, 'oh my God, why would you be proud of something like that?’ This is exactly what I’m against.” )

But what is the meaning of Yankee Doodle? According to Wikipedia:

Traditions place its origin in a pre-Revolutionary War song originally sung by British military officers to mock the disheveled, disorganized colonial “Yankees” with whom they served in the French and Indian War, apparently written c. 1755 by British Army surgeon Dr. Richard Shuckburgh while campaigning in upper New York.[13] The British troops sang it to make fun of their stereotype of the American soldier as a Yankee simpleton who thought that he was stylish if he simply stuck a feather in his cap.[1]

You see a pattern here? Yankee Doodle IS LITERALLY A 18TH CENTURY VERSION OF AMERICAN IDIOT.

Were we all, the whole upper crust of Russian society, so totally insensitive, so horribly obtuse, as not to feel that the charmed life we were leading was in itself an injustice and hence could not possibly last?
—  Nicolas Nabokov, on pre-revolutionary Russia. The quote is from his book,  Bagázh: Memoirs of a Russian Cosmopolitan
The Martha Washington, Fashion Queen Post

Okay, so I feel I have to address an issue, I, as a thoroughly ignorant Brit, didn’t know until now.


Now, granted, I’ve not had much exposure to American history, outside of my gran showing me Gone With The Wind, and the little I gleaned growing up from Alvin and the Chipmunks, The Simpsons, and National Treasure.
Watching Turn and having international friends who are enthusiastic about their history was a massive epiphany for me. Wait, there’s a whole new arena of history I haven’t explored? Sweet!

But on of my pre-conceived notions from all that pop-culture was that Martha Washington was a Founding Grandmother. You know…

Looks like little Red Riding Hood’s granny…

Look, granny! Carries knitting in one hand (possibly patriotic knitting. After all, Betsy Ross doesn’t just get dibs.)

Why Grandmamma, what big 1780s caps you have! (all the better to be First Lady with, my dear…)

From the paintings and iconography of Martha Washington, I’d have been very surprised if she didn’t own a rocking-chair. And I’m sure, in later life, she did. But that wasn’t ALL there was to Martha….

Wait, THIS is Martha, too?!

At first, there seems nothing to connect the staid, sensible-looking old lady in the first few portraits to this reconstructed painting of young Martha Washington, or the “Widow Custis.”

One of the first things I was struck by was that for a long time, Washington wasn’t really “George Washington” pre-Revolutionary War. He was the ‘Widow Custis’ husband’.

Now, according to Wikipedia:

“Martha Washington has traditionally been seen as a small, frumpy woman, who spent her days at the Revolutionary War winter encampments visiting with the common soldiers in their huts.”

I think the Widow Custis’ rather fabulous wardrobe would beg to disagree!

See the colours up there? Blue - especially that deep indigo blue - was tradionally one of the most expensive dyes available. No-one who could afford indigo is EVER going to be accused of being frumpy by 18th century peers.

Also - I could write a whole essay about Martha Washington and the colour yellow.

This particular shade, known as “Imperial yellow” ,was a big thing in both 18th century East and West. Like the fad for Chinoiserie that was prevalent at the time, this was a cultural fashion import from China.

According to an article by the University of Nottingham,

“Yellow, as one of the five colours derived from the Five Elements Theory surpassed the other colours when it became the emblem of emperor. It was thought that the emperor was located in the centre of the five directions and the centre was represented by the element earth and the colour yellow. “

The idea struck a chord with the 18th century west, and yellow became an increasingly popular colour in gowns for the upper class, gradually filtering down to the middle classes towards the end of the 18th century. Back in the 1750s when Martha was the young, attractive, fiery Widow Custis, this would have made one heck of an impact, especially in the colonies. It showed her wealth and status in one go as well as - her ability to source fabrics from the other end of the earth.

I’m also going to add that when marrying Washington, Martha’s wedding gown of choice?

Imperial Yellow. Plain and frumpy this ain’t. Martha’s practically wearing a solid gold dress.

(Reproduction on display at Mount Vernon)

And, keeping up that ‘indigo blue/purple’ is one of the most expensive dyes around theme?

May I present the First Lady’s extremely sassy wedding shoes? In purple silk and gilt thread - and with that ahem, ‘imperial yellow’ silk lining peeping out there?

to quote the excellent @americanrevolutionhotties, these were the ‘Manolo Blahniks’ of their day. And they certainly say “you are one LUCKY man, Georgie boy” in spades (although George was by no means a shabby dresser himself, the gorgeous red-haired dork.) Martha was 27 when she married him, a young, attractive widow  and businesswoman with two children and an incredible inheritance from her previous husband. This must have been the powerhouse wedding of the century!

Being an absolute costume nerd, I did a bit more research into Martha Washington’s wardrobe. What else did this fashion forward woman have in her linen press?


This gown’s an absolute confection! Pink, embroidered satin, muslin and fine lace sleeves - and don’t froget, touch of yellow in the florals there. Martha still kept her style!

It’s sometimes incorrectly named her ‘inaugural ballgown’, as it’s part of the Smithsonian’s First Ladies Inaugural Gown collection. Martha strongly disapproved of George being President and actually didn’t show up for his inauguration. She was at home, busy ‘packing’. (So you can add strong-willed and independent to the list of amazing things Martha is, too)

There’s also this rather fantastic gold brocaded ballgown. The colours have faded, but you can see traces of the original colour in the bodice -and can you imagine it glittering by candlelight at a dinner table?

In her later years, Martha adopted a simpler transitional 1790s style that’s mostly commonly shown in the portraits of her as an older lady; practical, in keeping with her status, but a little more restrained (as befits a sober older lady, by the standards of the time) Still, amazingly classy in silk…

(Also, plus-size, and still rocking it. You go, girl!)

Loving the button detailing, very chic.

Sadly, these are the only gowns that survive intact from Martha’s wardrobe. Martha was nothing if not practical and a lot of her and George’s clothes were cut up and distributed to admirers and friends. But luckily, Mount Vernon has a great collection of these remnants of finery, so I’m going to post the “scraps of history” here, with a few thoughts on what they might have been…

Gorgeous red brocade with blue and gold trailing flowers! You can still see the folds where it was pleated, probably into a robe francaise. According to Mount Vernon, the little circle you can see cut-out is too small to be an armhole. It was probably used by her granddaughter to make a pin-cushion.


And this lovely green damask - hey, there’s something that probably looked like the gown Martha wears in Turn! Full points, costume designers!

AMAZINGLY similar lace, saved from Martha’s wedding gown. The exquisite lace sleeves would be re-used on other gowns as an accessory. Again, 10/10, Turn costume designers!

one of my favourites out of the Mount Vernon collection. The peach and white and brown… oh, would look stunning on a brunette!  I can only imagine this in an open robe, or a robe francaise, or anglaise, or… *grabby hands at fabric* 

well, look who’s rocking 18th century fuchsia and imperial yellow together! DAMN IT MARTHA, GIVE ME YOUR FASHION SENSE.This is my other favourite, in case you couldn’t tell…

and finally, this gorgeous white handpainted silk. You can only imagine what this must have looked like in a gown.

Fashion history lesson over, kids. Spread the word. Martha Washington was an outrageous, daring, fabulous fashion queen.


Blue lips, blue veins

Blue, the color of our planet from far, far away…

[Blue Lips, Regina Spektor]

idk if I have the sTRENGTH or tIME to do a complete songcomic now but I’ve been experimenting with this style of inking in my midtone sketchbook. This song inspired a whole bunch of imagery with me and i’d love to explore it more definitely! I liked the thought of pre-revolutionary Alfred being a little farm country yeoman in the early 1700s, growing up, and then moving to the new towns springing up on the coast and being overwhelmed by all the people :0

Moffat’s Reinette vs Real Reinette

I have always been really into history, and Madame da Pompadour has always been of great historical importance, she was one of the best female political figures in pre-revolutionary France.

Let me get this straight: Jeanne Antoinette Poisson (Reinette aka ‘little queen’ to her friends) was dead brilliant. When it came to French social politics, and philosophy, which was not an easy feat for a woman in the 1700s, she was an absolute genius. Her salon which she ran was attended by great minds of the day, reportedly Voltaire and Emile du Chatelet. She manipulated and charmed her way to the top, and was chief mistress for Louis XV from the year he met him. Unlike most mistresses, she also maintained a friendship with the queen, who once said that if her husband has to be unfaithful, at least it was to Pompadour. And there’s a reason why she’s so popular. While her 'job’ as chief mistress did revolve around entertaining the king, she was a deep participant in French politics, which is a great feat, considering she was a woman in pre-revolutionary France , And in a time where even daughters of nobles and clergy weren’t allowed to have a say in their marriage , Poisson acted as the 'uncrowned queen of France’. She focused much of her efforts on political affairs and philosophy. Her salon which she ran was attended by the most influential minds of the day, she didn’t just serve sexual purposes. She heavily participated in French politics, promoting people and using her influence and manipulation skills to run France from the background, hence the nickname, 'The uncrowned queen of France’. Also, unlike a typical 'mistress’, she charmed the king by debating with him, going on hunting trips, comforting him and staying away from him when he needed space. She was a mistress popular for her intellect, political and social skills, ability in the arts than her 'skills’ as a mistress.

And THAT is exactly where the episode 'The Girl in The Fireplace’ comes to play. Moffat’s interpretation of the character is not only completely inaccurate, it is just plain sickening. To characterize the 'uncrowned queen of france’ as a little girl obsessed with the 'fireplace man’, having her entire life revolve around this man, is just plain wrong. It degrades and reduces her character to nothing more than a woman famous for being a 'mistress’. After all, her whole function , is sex , so her life must revolve around flirting and falling in love with a dude.

The main problem is that Reinette is more famous for her brain than her 'skills.’ The interpretation of her falling in love with a man who she barely knows in is completely inaccurate to her character, but Moffat is famous for his sexism and reducing woman to just 'sexy.’ If she loved him because she had seen his pain while reading his mind (which grossed me out, it is basically mind-rape. Why is her reading his mind without his permission 'romantic’? ) I could somewhat begin to understand, but in historical context, considering her personality, she wouldn’t have been sexually attracted to the Doctor, and probably wouldn’t have snogged a man she barely knew. Also, the Doctor’s glee at being 'snogged by Madame da Pompadour’ also makes no sense, because Reinette wasn’t a great sex figure (well, at the time, yes for being Louis XV’s mistress, but historically, no), and the Doctor would have been much happier debating politics with her instead.

Steven Moffat did not do Madame da Pompadour justice, she wouldn’t have 'waited’ for a man all her life, she was strong and independent and would have handled the situation herself, to the best of her abilities. Historically, Madame Da Pompadour was a brilliant woman, and does not deserve the image Moffat painted for her, and neither does she deserve to being ragged because she did something the real person wouldn’t have.

Head’s up! Viz’s Revolutionary Girl Utena manga box set is now up for pre-order on Amazon! The deluxe box set includes both the original manga & the Adolescence of Utena in hardcover, with some pages presented in color, as well as a new fold out poster! This new set will be released February 7, 2017 and retails for $49.99.


The Queen of Spades (1916) is one of the Yakov Proazanov’s (a Russian and Soviet movie director, one of the founding fathers of the cinema of Russia) masterpieces. It is considered to be one of the best pre-revolutionary Russian movies. 

The story is a film adaptation of Alexander Pushkin’s short story “The Queen of Spades”.
A young officer German (Hermann) hears a story about an old Countess Fedotova, who in her youth made a fortune by playing three particular cards, but nobody knew what were they. German decides to find out and gets acquainted with Countess's granddaughter Lizaveta who quickly falls in love with German. He uses her go get into their house and talk to old Countess to ask her of the cards. When he manages to get into the house at night under the pretext of a secret date with Lizaveta, he crawls into Countess’s room and demands to know the cards she played. Suddenly she dies of fright. But on the next night, she comes in his sleep and tells the secret. German now knows that the cards are the trey, the seven and the ace. And….. I’m not going to reveal what happened next!

The Protazanov’s movie was the first one in Rusian cinematography that used a moving camera (in just one scene) and unusual camera angles like high-angle shot. Retrospection, which is also very unexpectable for such early movies.

ayyzor  asked:

Pls I love fancy balls and nobility and everything like that I don't think I ever grew out of my "I want to be a pretty princess" childhood phase. So could I have a pre revolutionary France era in which the prince is just so hopelessly in love with the fair lady at the ball, but it's a ball and he's a prince so he's expected to dance and socialise with everyone but all he wants to do is go and woo the lady who is 1/2

(Heads up, this is more of a Medieval Kingdom AU than a French Prince AU hope you like it anyways… ALSO SOMEONE PLEASE TEACH ME HOW TO ENABLE “READ MORE” BECAUSE THIS IS A LONGIE)

Prince Oikawa x Noble Reader

Tooru had just finished fixing his cravat when a group of girls began tugging at it. They were all under five foot two, and if it weren’t for the way he was raised he would’ve denoted them all as children. The girls kept asking him questions, tugging at his sleeve and waistcoat until he answered them all with a smile. He was used to them, the questions. They had been rushing towards him in an onslaught ever since his first facial hair was visible. The questioners, well, were all noble girls. Petite, pretty things with waists thinner than their necks. Everytime he greeted one, whether it be with a kiss on the cheek or a shake of the hand, he was also greeted with the familiar residue of powder. Their wigs seemed taller than they were, and every time a new girl had rushed up to join the crowd, all he noticed was a bobbing mass of hair.
From across the room he caught the eye of Hajime. Hajime was a noble, an intelligent one, at that. He was no prince, nobody particularly extravagant, but he hauled in a crowd of his own. Hajime had these green eyes that could draw anybody in. Tooru swore they could even make a man homosexual, if he looked long enough. Hajime was a natural born conversationalist, something Tooru had envied. Tooru could handle all these girls just fine, more than fine, really. All he had to do was start a conversation about a lovely horseback ride he had down to Spain and puff out his chest a little, then spin them around for a second to the melody that was seemingly on repeat. Although, none of that had anything on the works of his companion. Maybe one day, if he swallowed up his pride, he’d ask the man how he was able to talk so smoothly to others. Until then, though, he may as well be trapped.
“Your highness!” Tooru glanced down to meet the eyes of a girl who had boldly stepped to the front of the crowd. She was short and plump and looked damn well on the brink of suffocation. He began to wonder if it would be rude if he unlaced her corset when they inevitably had to waltz.
“Yes, my dear?” He flashed a smile, wide and tacky, and by the shocked expression on her face, she was blushing. He couldn’t see it past all the powder, though. “Would you like a dance?”
She nodded, standing in front of him as still as a statue. Over the years, Tooru has noticed the difference in girls that approached him. They were either much too assertive, grabbing his behind or chest before even requesting a dance. Or, they were far too meek, hands balled up in the fabric of their dresses, eyes wet and close to tears. Unfortunately, after all these years, he still doesn’t know how to deal with either. 

He scooped her hand out of the lace of her dress and kissed her knuckles, ignoring the squealing of the rest of the girls and twirled off. Part of him began to get agitated. She had requested a dance but did no more than shuffle and stumble over the length of her dress. Tooru resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and when he almost did, he caught the eye of his father up in the balcony. The man shook his head, made an exaggerated facial gesture, and stormed off. Of course, his father was pushing him to do more than just wait there for her to fix her two left feet. So, he had picked her up off the floor, gave her a good twirl in the air, and chuckled into the material of her wig.
“Well, what are you waiting for? You asked for a dance, didn’t you?” If it weren’t for the smile on his face and the light in his voice, his words would’ve been downright rude. The girl nodded, finding her courage and twirled off to the beat of the waltz.
Tooru couldn’t count how many times he’s danced this exact same dance. At this point, it had to be over a thousand, but it definitely felt like a million. During this time, all he’d do is think. He’d hold the maiden close, let her have her fun, whilst he stared out at the crowd around him. Only on rare occasions has he ever had a fun dance. A dance where the entire floor clears out for him and a beautiful, blooming gowned noble to sweep through, the genuine smiles on both of their faces lighting up the room as they did. This, however was not one of those times. The only thing he could think about was the way his genitals were sitting oh so uncomfortably inside of his breeches.
He gave the girl one last absentminded twirl before she fluttered off towards a group of her friends. She was swooning, hand up against her forehead in the most pretentious way possible. Her friends clutched her shoulders and squealed, tugging at the sides of the poor girl’s wig and nearly making her topple over. Tooru found himself laughing at the melodrama as he cleared his way through the dance floor. Waltzes were never his forte. The aesthetic of pretty girls twirling by like silk butterflies was nice enough for the eyes, but for the heart, it was just too much. Tooru thinks he wasn’t meant to be a prince, let alone a king in his near future. He was told ever since he was a child that he was a natural born leader, but who was he to lead in a place like this? There was nothing to conquer, (unless he wanted to pick a fight with Prince Tobio of The Mountain of the Crows once again) and nobody to lead. He was a prince without a purpose. A price succumbed to luring in delicate butterflies with sweet fruit of his tending.
Tooru brushed himself off after pushing past the last waltzing couple. The way they had looked at each other made the child in him want to gag. Hajime must have noticed the sour expression on his face, because one he approached the latter, he had received an impromptu nudge to the rib.
“Are you having fun out there, Your Highness?” Hajime’s every word was sardonic, and if it weren’t for the fact that Tooru was in a room full of people dependent on his reputation, he would’ve punched him.
“What does it look like Hajime?”
“It looks like you’re about to kill a man… You know, on the other side of the room there’s a surplus of wine, I suggest you fill yourself up before the next lady approaches you.”
“Your provocation humors me, Hajime.” Tooru’s reply was bitter. The coy smirk Hajime shot at him had faded, and replaced with a frown.
“See any girls you like out there? Your father is expecting a marriage soon, and all your options, wealthy wise, of course, are in this room right now. They’re yours for the taking.” Tooru rolled his eyes at this. He readjusted his waistcoat out of force of habit, and tightened his cravat.
“Marriage my ass.” He snorted.
“Somebody’s vulgar tonight. I suggest you take my invitation to wine.” Hajime shot him one last, lingering glance, then set off to talk to a group of young noblemen Tooru had never seen. In the midsts of his thinking, standing there lonesome, he had attracted a bit of a crowd. He hadn’t realized they were there until a powdered wig tickled his chin. He had jolted, holding his hand out in front of him in urge not to scream.
“Hello, Your Highness!” She peeped, and the cycle began again.

Tooru barely had any sense of time once the ball had ended. His bad knee was starting to flare up again, though. He swore it was the works of that one overweight mistress who kept insisting he hold her up in the air. A few couples still lingered around in the ballroom, chatting away with other couples as if they had lived here. He had made his way through them all unnoticed, which he was deeply grateful for, and scurried out the back doors of the hall. He was hoping he wouldn’t run into either of his parents out here, for he was sure he was to receive a scolding. They would start with “treat your subjects kinder” and end with “disgrace for a prince”, as they always did. Just like everything else in his life, this has been going on for years. He was bitterly used to it.
The grand clock in the corridor struck half past one, and the mere chime was enough to worsen Tooru’s headache. He could bolt straight for his room, but he reckoned he’d see somebody up there. Maybe he’d get himself lost in the palace, as he did most nights, and wake up on a balcony. He found solace in the world outside, as of late. Sometimes he wondered if he was born as a commoner, would he be able to explore the vastness more often? In this day and age, the poor gained experiences what they didn’t money, and the rich, as loaded as they may be, were on a repetitive cycle of counting their cash and getting drunk on wine from Italy. The crown on his head told him he was important, but was he?
He came across a balcony off the East wing of the castle. The chilly April breeze was enough to make him regret this decision entirely. The wind blew the drapery around against its will, and through the fluttering of fabric, Tooru swore he saw a figure standing outside. He took a few steps forward and paused because yes, indeed there was a person outside on the balcony. His balcony. He furrowed his brow and stepped off onto the balcony before clearing his throat and muttering, “Miss?”
The woman turned around with irritation irked all over her face. Tooru immediately took a few steps back, not because he was intimidated by her, but rather the broken wine glass in her hand. She wasn’t anything like he had ever seen before, in the negative connotation, that is. She wore little to no makeup upon her full face, powdered wig as absent as her decency. Her long blue ball gown would’ve sweeped the floor if it weren’t for the fact she was holding it up past her ankles with pins.
“Oh, Prince Tooru, pleasure seeing you here.” She smiled. The smile was obviously fake, but Tooru wasn’t in the mood for calling her out upon it. Her hand tightened around the neck of the broken wine glass with each step Tooru took forward. Her knuckles were turning white, and he feared the glass would shatter in a matter of seconds.
“Likewise, Miss.” He bowed, before clearing his throat and leaning against the cast iron railing beside her. “Any particular reason why you’re still lingering around here?”
“Any particular reason why I’m not?” She shrugged. Her grip on the glass has loosened, and now it just hung idly by her fingertips, at risk of falling. It was giving Tooru a heart attack.
“Well, I think you look absolutely stunning tonight, Miss…”
“__. __ __.”
“Yes, Miss __. A gem.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, your highness. Don’t expect me to run off and brag about my encounter with the Prince of the Succulent Valley, now.”
“I wasn’t planning on you doing so.”
There was something about this woman that Tooru had liked. Of course, he was raised being told that woman should always respect you as prince, no matter the circumstance. Although, there was something about being disrespected that Tooru found spellbindingly amusing.
“May I ask, where do you come from, Miss __?”
“The Mountain of the Crows, your highness.” She shrugged. Tooru noticed she finally regained a stable grip on the glass, but held it straight up against the railing. She was going to let it fall, Tooru thought, and his heart was pounding. Except, she balanced it nicely mere centimeters away from the edge, letting it sit there in inevitability of tumbling.
“Well, that explains most things. Tobios your ruler, huh? Must be tough, having someone so stubborn keep your people regulated…”
“Actually, he’s rather intelligent. I’d much rather have someone with a thick skull over a shameless flirt.”
Tooru furrowed his eyebrows. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smirk. __ brought provocation at its finest to the table tonight, and Tooru was absolutely starving. He began to chuckle under his breath. The sheer irony of the situation was enough to make him burst into tears, and the poor woman had no idea why he was laughing so hard.
“Your highness, I know you’re prone to psychotic episodes, but do you need me to fetch your father?”
“That won’t be necessary, dear __.” He choked out between a fit. “My dear, would you like to know something?”
“I’d like to know a lot of things, your highness.”
“I like you.” He stated, deadpan. She cocked her eyebrow, and for some reason, began fiddling with the god forsaken broken glass again.
“Is that so? Or do you say that to all the maidens you meet on balconies?” Tooru found the coy smile on her face infectious. He found himself smiling too.
“I only say that to people like __ __. You people from the Crow Kingdom, you’re hysterical. Why don’t any of you travel out here more often?”
“Well. Your nights, I can’t remember the names of them exactly, but I do remember he very much resembled a turnip, wouldn’t let us in unless we had an export that would be valuable to you.” She shrugged. “I didn’t quite mind. I like the mountains better, anyways.”
“Well, you must like the fields just a little bit. You’re here right now, aren’t you?” Tooru found himself slinking closer to her. She held his eyes in a death stare, failing to even blink. Tooru seized this opportunity to snatch the glass from her hands and hide it behind his back. Although, she barely seemed to notice.
“They come up close as a runner up, I’d say.” She smiled up at him then. Their eyes continued to stay locked until she blinked, and turned fast on the ball of her heel. Tooru was confused, to say at the least, but said nothing as she undid the clips on her dress, letting the skirt fall to cover her ankles.
“It gets hot out here, sometimes, your highness. I think it’s a little unfair that we ladies can’t find a way to cool off in the slightest. Sorry if I cast sin upon your holy eyes” She hummed, turning to face him once more whilst letting the pins fall to the floor.
“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call my eyes holy…” He was cut off with a harumph. He knew she had meant every word sarcastically, but there was something fun about irking her, he thought.
“Well, your highness, this was a very nice chat we’ve had. Pleasant way to spend a Saturday evening.” With that, she curtseyed, and exited the grand entrance to the inside.”
It took Tooru a moment to process what had just happened before he leaped into action. He let the wine glass fall to the concrete and shatter into pieces, but in that moment, he didn’t mind.
“Wait, Miss __?” Tooru called out. She was halfway down the hall now, but spared him a glance over her shoulder.
“Yes, your highness?”
“Will I ever see you again?”
“Depends, your highness. Would you like to see me again?” Tooru couldn’t bring himself to admit that he found interest in her, but without saying anything, she knew. So he just nodded and relished in the small, half smile she shot him, and melted at the sight of her bouncing down the hall, the soft click of her shoe reminiscent in the back of his mind.
Well, maybe now these balls were a little bit more his forte.


Please excuse my rant:

Why does Prince Adam and Hercules bear a striking resemblance?

If - a big IF - they’re related their blue-eyed kinda ginger-looking blood line could connect the Disney lineage theory from Hercules/Ariel with Prince Adam. Here’s a SUPER brief summary. YouTube it (it’s worth it). This theory would be really nice assuming that Adam’s tale is far in the past where he and Belle had the descendants of Jane from Tarzan. Separately the young Ariel COULD have been investigating the partial wreckage of the ship that Elsa and Anna’s parents “died” on (on the way to Rapunzel’s wedding because Elsa/Anna’s mother is sisters with Rapunzel’s mother thus the ladies are all cousins; the theory is complex) only to discover they survived of the coast of Africa and produced Tarzan wherein Tarzan and Jane meet (reunite????) As their past lives had once had???

Granted the existing conspiracy theory has some huge holes in it but I won’t discuss them. I’m personally inclined to believing that Disney would play with the idea of past lives reuniting because it’s just enough romantic and cliché that Dinsey may consider it. I’d still ship it though.

After watching enough Disney growing up and knowing Disney and (admittedly) some basic mythology: actions of the past invtitably tie into the fates of the present/future actions of the descendants. Plus the Disney royal conspiracy theory essentially wishes to tie all princess into one, single originating royal line. This particular fandom/conspiracy is already in a pretty deep hole.

Don’t even get me started on how the Fairy Godmother = Blue Fairy, Eilonwy = Maleficent (and possibly not a kin to Aurora’s family), Alice lead to Wendy, or on how Snow White = Mother Gothel


This begs the question of:

“On which basis can Adam and Hercules be related?”

Aside from the obvious that a Pre-Revolutionary French Prince could be as prestigious as a Greek Demi God; I have no basis on which to connect the two.

Dear Tumblr:
Please help me theorize this connection


Theorize the other princes/princesses’ possible connections to one another or through association/interaction such as Jasmine (although I’ve heard a compelling partial answer with Aladdin possibly being a Prince already) Tiana, Moana, Merida, Cinderella, Mulan, Aurora, Pocahontas, and other heroines such as Alice, Esmerelda, and Anastasia (but she’s not considered a traditional princess???) to name a few without distorting their cultures, origins, and significance more so than what Disney and this conspiracy has already done.

If we can expand this idea to all stories; neat. Otherwise I’d like to know if there’s some merit to my theory or if I’m just believing this nonsense simply because I think the two look alike.

The era of the Seven Years’ War, for better or worse, will probably always be identified in American historiography as the pre-Revolutionary period, and historians will no doubt go on looking there, as many already have looked, for harbingers of the Revolution. But there are dangers in this approach. The easily forgotten point is that at the close of the Seven Years’ War no living soul in Massachusettes could foresee the coming separation from Great Britain, and no one desired it. With the conclusion of the war in 1763, Amerian commitment to the empire reached its zenith. […] New Englanders were pleased to be part of the British system […] and were proud to have participated in the British triumph. They embraced British heroes as their own. […] It is therefore puzzling to find this fund of good will exhausted in less than a decade and a half, and richly ironic to see veterans of the Seven Years’ War taking up arms again in 1775, against the redcoats beside whom they had so recently served.
—  A People’s Army: Massachusettes Soldiers & Society in the Seven Years’ War by Fred Anderson [pg 23]