widowhood

10th February 1840 - Queen Victoria's Wedding Dress

As many people know, it is said that Victoria started the trend of wearing a white coloured dress on your wedding day. However, not many know  how complicated the journey was that had it come to be.

In the early of planning her wedding, Lord Melbourne suggested that she might wear her royal robes of state, as she mentions in her diary -


They talked about me wearing my robes, but I thought not.


She made it clear that her wedding was not like others of the time, where it was all for advancement and gain, with no thought of romantic preference. Her wedding was a personal affair; she was marrying for love.

In the end, Victoria would design her own dress, as well as her bridesmaids’ dresses. She had her dress made entirely of British materials, as was well publicised at the time. This was a political move, as she was showing to foreign powers just what her country had to offer and that she was still representing Britain.  The silk was woven in Spitalfields, East London and the lace was handmade in Devon.  Finally, the outfit was sewed together by Victoria’s own dressmaker, a Mrs Bettans, with the pattern being destroyed afterwards to prevent the dress being replicated.

The finished garment would include a bodice, the waist pointed over a full, pleated skirt with full puffed sleeves and a round neck, all made of Spitalfields white silk satin. The train was immense, measuring 18 feet and edged with orange blossom spays (orange blossom being a symbol of fertility). Orange blossom would feature a lot on her person, as her wreath above her veil (which was 12 feet long) was made of it and it trimmed her dress.  She also wore matching satin shoes (see two above), and a blue sapphire brooch at her breast which was a wedding gift from Albert. In her diary, on her wedding day of the tenth of February 1840, she described her whole outfit as thus -


I wore a white satin dress, with a deep flounce of Honiton lace, an imitation of an old design. My jewels were my Turkish diamond necklace & earrings & dear Albert’s beautiful sapphire brooch


Victoria did not wear her actual wedding dress for the whole day, as when she returned to Buckingham Palace after the service and wedding breakfast she withdrew to change into ‘a white silk gown trimmed with swansdown and a white bonnet with orange flowers’, an outfit very similar to her original ensemble.
Years later, Victoria would allow her favourite daughter Beatrice (who would be one of the queens few close companions in her widowhood) to wear her wedding veil at her own wedding in 1885 (see photograph below). She would be the only daughter of Victoria allowed this special privilege. In addition later still, Victoria would be buried wearing her lace veil, in 1901

Featured Image Emily Blunt as Victoria on her wedding day, The Young Victoria 2009
Sources -
Becoming Queen, Kate Williams
Historic Royal Places
Photograph #3 by Daily Mail

Lilith Signs

Lilith is an asteroid whose significance in astrology is that it reveals our ‘dark side’. Lilith is the secret wild child within us all that we attempt to keep hidden from the world. The parts of us we wish didn’t exist because they don’t fit a trim, neat image that’s expected of us by the public eye. Rage, stress, and triggering memories can reveal our Lilith’s attributes to us.

Lilith in Aries: Emotionally unstable, fiercely independent, defiance to authority, sensuality, passionate tendencies, need for control

Lilith in Taurus: Possessive, jealous, focusing on materialistic, out of control sexuality, extreme stubbornness, refusing to change, addictive tendencies, lazy

Lilith in Gemini: Mental isolation, nervous breakdowns, anxiety, sexual unpredictability, multiple personalities, manipulative

Lilith in Cancer: Unhealthy relationship with family, ashamed of vulnerability/rejection of vulnerability, out of touch with feminine side, sexual repression, obsessive, temptations, fertility difficulties, authoritarian mother

Lilith in Leo: Overly ambitious, exaggerated sexuality, cold will, arrogant, pushy, stifled creativity, tendency to get involved in love affairs, insecure

Lilith in Virgo: Overworking, health problems, either repressed sexuality or over-expressed sexuality, frustration, anxious, stutter, curiosity, emotional instability, OCD tendencies, prudish

Lilith in Libra: Discomfort in social situations, loner, egoism, snob-like, always feeling unsatisfied, lack of balance in relationships, health problems, widowhood, anti-socialism or too much socializing, feeling life is missing something

Lilith in Scorpio: Interest in metaphysics, unhealthy sexual tendencies, desire to dominate, frustration, passionate power, suicidal impulses, fanatical joy, nightmares, extremist, addiction-prone

Lilith in Sagittarius: Lack of direction, feels different, feels lack of independence, trapped, in search of spiritual guide, accident-prone, breaks all the rules or is extremely limited, difficulties with strangers

Lilith in Capricorn: Either over-worker or lazy bum, REPRESSION, cold, snobby, silent, prone to depression, sadistic, close-minded, trials, feels isolated, feels deprivation, possible widowhood

Lilith in Aquarius: Tense, nervous, lack of friends, death of friends, either over or under sexually active, claustrophobic, desire for independence, surgery, accident-prone, possible divorce, not true to oneself

Lilith in Pisces: Risk of real of symbolic imprisonment, health problems, drug tendencies to escape reality, escapism, searching for perfect fairy tale land, wrong spiritual choices, gift of prophecy, illegality, psychic troubles, many love affairs, a feeling of being different, getting lost in dreams

Our Lilith is not meant to weaken us; it’s meant to show us our weaknesses so we can learn how to channel them into strengths. As we develop as people, the negative traits of our lilith become points of strength for us to use.

anonymous asked:

because the winter finale of S6, au in which princess!Emma has a pirate sneaking into her bedroom at night and all the guards secretly know but they tell no one of the royal family about it

Y’know I should probably finish this one before it all gets Jossed to hell this Sunday…

Quite on accident, Emma found herself half in love with a pirate, of all people.

She’d accepted her young widowhood quite graciously, focusing all of her energies on raising her son – and a fine young man Henry was turning out to be. She’d thought nothing else would honor her late husband’s memory than to ensure that their son, the future crown prince, would bring nothing but honor to their family.

But Henry was growing up, as all young boys do, and as he went squiring about and having his own adventures, he needed his mother less. Emma found herself drifting from one activity to the next, bestowing her princess’ favor upon charities and the good people of her kingdom, but something felt… off.

Missing.

Until the night a man vaulted over the railing of her balcony, mistaking her rooms for some treasure vault.

Keep reading

11 months. 

I’m fixated on the past year, I know. That’s because in one month, my year of firsts will be over. And it really is a year of firsts. This is my first October 25th without Aaron. Tomorrow is my first October 26. And on November 25 those firsts will end, and I won’t be able to say that a year ago I was sitting in bed with Aaron eating cheese and watching Game of Thrones. I’ll be able to say I was sitting on the floor of my living room sobbing audibly while watching How To Get Away With Murder and that just doesn’t have the same appeal, nostalgically.

This is us a year ago. 

Did I know Aaron would die a month later, to the day? Yes. And no, of course not. I had felt him slipping through my fingers, more and more each day, his light dimming. One afternoon I came home from work to take him to lunch with a friend. We were standing in our bedroom talking when he hit me. Hard. It took us both a moment too long to realize his flailing arm was a seizure about to happen.

“I’m going down!” he shouted, and I tackled him to our bedroom floor and lay with him while his body shook and lurched and my beautiful husband was locked inside of himself.

“I think lunch is off,” he said when he returned, and I laughed and used all the strength in my body to get him into our bed.

I only remembered that story today because I read it in my journal. It was gone, though, until I saw it written in my own hand, and then each detail returned and fell into its place. 

That is what my entire year has been like: a fever dream, a foggy soup of vague memories punctuated by total darkness. It’s like my brain just said, “hey Nora, you go ahead and live your life, and I’ll just bubble wrap all this traumatic stuff up and store it away for you until you’re ready to deal with it.”

And then, like my mother clearing her garage of my and my sibling’s childhood artifacts, my brain just left it on my back step with a note that said, “DEAL WITH THIS.”

So I slogged through the stages of grief like I was playing a demented board game. Move two spaces to denial. Listen to a friend berate her very alive husband, skip six spaces to anger. Meditate with Oprah and Deepak, move ten spaces to Acceptance. Take an offhand comment the wrong way, back to anger, buddy!

The game, I realize, is never over. And it’s not a game. I got a little too caught up in that simile and took it a smidge too far. 

Today I pulled out the vegetable garden in my new house – not our house, my house. I was out there for hours. Pulling it all out, the fallen tomatoes and the eggplants that didn’t quite make it, the zucchini plant that had withered in the first frost. The garden, the window boxes, the tiny little trees that try to grow where they shouldn’t, I ripped them all out. They didn’t want to go, because it is the nature of things that are alive to keep living. And I admired them for that, for digging their roots into the soil and reaching up towards a sun they would never touch.

It’s symbolism, dummies.

I’m not ready to do that, but I don’t have a choice. We are all given a season to rest, but all of us must grow.

Marital Signifiers

So I had a dream where two people from very different cultures have to get married to prevent a war, and in it, one culture used rings to signify marriage while the other used (pierced) earrings.

This got me thinking about what traditions exist to visually show that someone is married. So a bit of research later, some examples are:

  • Wearing a ring (left or right hand, depending on culture) on the “ring” finger (third finger), sometimes getting a tattoo on the appropriate finger (especially if the person’s job makes wearing an actual ring dangerous and/or impractical)
  • (For men) having a beard, or wearing a prayer shawl
  • (For women) wearing a special necklace, or special bangles, or special hair style/covering, or a sindoor

So that’s pretty cool, but I think there are lots of other ways people could show that they’re married. (And maybe there are cultures that do–they just weren’t among the ones I found in my 30 minutes of googling). Maybe things like:

  • Pierced ears/nose/lip
  • Specific colour of nail polish and/or tattoo on hands/fingers
  • Hair length (either unwed individuals must keep hair short, or unwed individuals are not allowed to cut their hair until after marriage)
  • Special type of clothing (a sash, shawl, belt, or scarf)
  • Specific colour of clothing (for example, maybe only married people can wear blue)
  • Less visual, but what if only married people could use certain scents (like lavender) for their soaps and/or fragrances?

There are lots of possibilities! So why not use something other than “exchanging rings” in your fantasy story? Just make sure you think about what that means for the culture. (For example, puzzle rings [which are super cool–I love the ‘woven’ look] were originally developed to catch wives who cheated on their husbands, because they fall apart when taken off. Which shows that women weren’t trusted, and that they weren’t expected to be very clever [otherwise they could put the ring back together])

Permanent markings (like tattoos and piercings) are likely used in a culture where divorces are either not common, or not allowed. Might make for an interesting exploration to look at how such a culture might handle widows/widowers, or those rare instances of divorce. (Do they have a different way to show widowhood vs divorce? How easy/hard is it for a divorcee to make it look like their widowed instead?)

For specific colours/items only available to married individuals, think about how easy it is for the poorest people in the society to access. Do they have to use alternatives to achieve the same visual representation of their marriage? (For example, if a sparkling teal nail polish is what denotes a married person, but it’s expensive, do poor use a fruit/flower that stains their fingertips instead? Maybe the polish is accessible to everyone, but then the rich are going to want some way to denote their wealth as well [comparable to massive engagement rings], so maybe they use a flat teal and then add the sparkle by placing tiny slivers of diamonds on the wet polish?)

And then you must think about the difference in how men and women (and other genders, if it’s a multi-gendered society) present their symbol of marriage. Even with a symbol like a ring that both men and women use, the rings are often very different in appearance. Men’s rings tend to be thicker and simpler, while women’s rings tend to be thinner and more “elegant” (swoops, swirls, curls, multiple gems, etc.). So in a society that uses nail polish or piercings to show marriage, how might it be worn by different genders?

anonymous asked:

what are your favorite petyr quotes? book vs show

Wow, anon, you’re NOT making this easy for me AT ALL. oh lorde, there are so many.

ok, quotes from the books that sadly did not make it into the show:
I love all the “classics” that artworks often utilize, e.g.

  • “Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow.”
  • “Is it all lies, forever and ever, everyone and everything?”
    “Almost everyone. Save you and I, of course.”
  • “Some lies are love.”
  • “I know what I know, and so do you. Some things are best left unsaid, sweetling.”
  • “There are two sorts of people. The players and the pieces. Every man’s a piece to start with, and every maid as well. Even some who think they are players.”
  • “We shall serve him lies and Arbor gold, and he’ll drink them down and ask for more, I promise you.”
  • “When you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him.”
  • “Those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa… Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That’s worth another kiss now, don’t you think?”

and some others:

  • “Try not to fall to your death, Catelyn would never understand.“
  • “A fool I may be, Stark… yet I’m still here, while your brother has been moldering in his frozen grave for some fourteen years now. If you are so eager to molder beside him, far it be from me to dissuade you, but I would rather not be included in the party, thank you very much.”
    “You would be the last man I would willingly include in any party, Lord Baelish.”
    “You wound me deeply.”
  • “I am desperately sentimental, sweet lady. Best not tell anyone. I have spent years convincing the court that I am wicked and cruel, and I should hate to see all that hard work go for naught.” Ned believed not a word of that, but he kept his voice polite as he said, “You have my thanks as well, Lord Baelish.”
    “Oh, now there’s a treasure,” Littlefinger said, exiting.
  • “The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies  and Their Children. Now there is a tedious reading if ever I saw it. A sleeping potion, my lord?“
    “Jon Arryn was studying this volume when he was taken sick,” Ned said.
    “In that case death must have come as a blessed relief.”
  • “I do not trust him.”
    “Excellent. You’re learning.”
  • “Even a blind man could see the Hound loathed his brother.”
    “Ah, but Gregor was his to loath, not yours to kill. I wouldn’t hold my water waiting for his thanks.”
  • “I suppose congratulations are in order.”
    Ned scowled. “The king lies wounded and near to death.”
    “I know.”
  • “How big a fool do you take me for?”
    “Well, quite an enormous one, actually.”
    “Do you always find murder so amusing, Lord Baelish?”
    “It’s not murder I find amusing, Lord Stark, it’s you. You rule like a man dancing on rotten ice. I daresay you will make a noble splash.”
  • Grand Maester Pycelle gaped at him, aghast. “Surely you do not mean to suggest that Lady Selyse would ask a fool into her bed?”
    “Doubtless Patchface reminded her of Stannis.”
  • “Black brings out my unhealthy pallor.”
    “You look very elegant today, my lord.”
    “I’m wounded. I strive to look elegant every day.”
  • “I believe Lord Petyr may hold the key to the Eyrie.“
    “Oh, I do. I have it here between my legs.”
  • “Tides and brides wait on no man, my lord. Once the autumn storms begin, the voyage will be much more hazardous. Drowning would definitely diminish my charms as a bridegroom.”
  • “Widowhood will become you, Sansa.”
  • “It is surprisingly difficult to hide a dwarf, and Joffrey… you can lead a king to water, but with Joff one had to splash it about before he realized he could drink it.”
  • “Lord Robert cannot sleep. He cries…”
    “… for his mother. That cannot be helped, the wench is dead.”
  • “Is that your counsel, maester? That we find a wet nurse for the Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale? When shall we wean him, on his wedding day? That way he can move directly from his nurse’s nipples to his wife’s. No, I think not.”
  • “Gods forbid they glimpse me near the high seat of the Arryns, they might think that I mean to sit in it. Cheeks born so low as mine must never aspire to such lofty cushions.”
  • “In the game of thrones even the humblest pieces can have wills of their own. Sometimes they refuse to make the moves you’ve planned for them. Mark that well, Alayne. It’s a lesson that Cersei Lannister still has yet to learn.”
  • “His sister Alys wed Ser Elys Waynwood, uncle to the present Lady Waynwood.” He made a wry face. “Elys and Alys. Isn’t that precious?”

… and loads more, really. I could copy/paste every chapter that includes him. He’s one of the most entertaining and intriguing characters I’ve ever encountered, and Aidan was THE perfect casting choice.

the favs from the show (some of these were taken from the books, so I did not include them above): again, a non-exhaustive list

  • “Ah the Starks. Quick tempers, slow minds.”
  • “Distrusting me was the wisest thing you’ve done since you climbed off your horse.”
  • “When I was a child, I was very small. And I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers, so you see… it’s an exceedingly clever nickname.”
  • “Tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?”
  • “All desires are valid to a man with a full purse.”
  • “Brothels make a much better investment than ships, I found. Whores rarely sink.”
  • “I’ll never win. Not that way. That’s their game. Their rules. I’m not going to fight them. I’m going to fuck them. That’s what I know. That’s what I am.”
  • “I did warn you not to trust me.”
  • “We have enough wheat for a 5-year winter. If it lasts any longer… we’ll have fewer peasants.”
  • “I hate bad investments. They haunt me.”
  • “I understand that you don’t like me, and, while that saddens me greatly, I do not come here today seeking your affection.”
  • “If war were arithmetic, the mathematicians would rule the world.”
  • “Call me Petyr.”
  • “Strange, isn’t it. It doesn’t matter what we want, once we get it, then we want something else.”
  • “Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb but they refuse. They cling to the realm. Or the gods. Or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.”
  • “Money buys a man’s silence for a time. A bolt in the heart buys it forever.”
  • “A man with no motive is a man no one suspects. Always keep your foes confused. If they don’t know who you are or what you want, they can’t know what you plan to do next.”
  • “I don’t want friends like me.”
  • “Know your strengths, use them wisely, and one man can be worth ten thousand.”
  • “A lot can happen between now and never.”
  • “Given the opportunity, what do we do to those who’ve hurt the ones we love? In a better world, one where love could overcome strength and duty, you might have been my child. But we don’t live in that world.“
  • “I have only loved one woman, only one, my entire life… Your sister.”
  • “Her suicide shattered us all.”
  • “People die at their dinner tables. They die in their beds. They die squatting over their chamber pots. Everybody dies sooner or later. Don’t worry about your death. Worry about your life. Take charge of your life for as long as it lasts.”
  • “You’ve been running all your life. Terrible things happen to your family and you weep. You sit alone in a darkened room mourning their fates. You’ve been a bystander to tragedy from the day they executed your father. Stop being a bystander, do you hear me? Stop running. There’s no justice in the world. Not unless we make it. You loved your family. Avenge them.”
  • “I know how hard it is to live with people you despise, believe me.”
  • “Even the most dangerous men can be outmaneuvered. And you’ve learned to maneuver from the very best. You’ll be strong without me.”
  • “We both peddle fantasies, Brother Lancel. Mine just happen to be entertaining.”
  • “One’s choice of companion is a curious thing.“ 
  • “You, my love, are the future of House Stark.”
  • “Everyone is your enemy. Everyone is your friend.”
  • “Not even a thank you? If it weren’t for me, you’d have been slaughtered on that battlefield.”

and last but not least, his last words:

  • “I loved you more than anyone. Sansa.”
Jerome Valeska - Captivated Crazy Pt 5

Part One - here

Part Two - here

Part Three - here

Part Four - here

(y/n) = Your name

(l/n) = Last name

(h/c) = Hair colour

(e/c) = Eye colour

Y/N collapsed onto her bed in the luxurious apartment she was currently hiding in with the rest of the Maniax, rubbing her tired eyes with the insides of her palms, th H/C began wishing she hadn’t downed crappy coffee an hour earlier. Now she lay in her room, quietly enjoying the after effects of killing seven people earlier in the day. Raking her fingers through his tangled hair, she fanned it around her face like a halo, keeping it out of her face and, slowly, her heavy lidded eyes fell shut to the tones of chainsaws on metal.

“Hey, hey, Y/N wake up.” The H/C groaned, turning away from the intrusive voice which had interrupted her slumber, the girl’s eyes lazily rolled open, glazed over with the remnants of a beautifully violent dream. Without turning to face him, Y/N knew who’s voice it was,

“What, Jerome? Couldn’t you tell that I was sleeping?” she grumbled, her voice muffled by her cotton pillow. The ginger wasn’t listening however, jumping on his knees and bouncing energetically over to where his friend was trying to sleep,

“But I’ve got good news!” he whined, lying next to Y/N, cuddling as close as possible without risking bodily harm to himself.

“What good news?” she caved in, turning to face the ginger, her eyes widening slightly and a faint blush adorning her face as she realised how close he was to her, if she just tilted her head slightly, her lips could just brush-

“I’m the boss, its official!” he exclaimed, almost defining Y/N with the shrieking laugh which followed, which was almost immediately followed by a low, sexy growl, “Now you have to do what I say, gorgeous.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes at the insinuation and propped her body up by her elbows, “You’re not the boss, you’re just bossy. There’s a difference.” Jerome’s face went blank, an evil smirk spreading across his face,

“Ask Galavan, it’s legit. I’m afraid you were too busy sleeping and missed the try-outs.” He rumbled, and Y/N once again found herself impressed by the theatrics of his voice. She shrugged, snuggling further into her blankets,

“You can be their boss, but no one bosses me around” she retorted, content to argue this issue until she got her own way. It was Jeromes turn to shrug,

“The only way you’re in power here is if you marry into it, doll face.” He joked, winking exaggeratedly in her direction. Y/Ns eyes narrowed and, suddenly, she was straddling Jerome’s waist, her fingertips triumphing in the sensation of his blood pulsating under his smooth, porcelain skin. She grinned wickedly, leaning her head to nuzzle the crook of his shoulder, she felt his red hair tickling her cheek and his breath coming out in rapid, minty spurts,

“You know J,” she whispered, revelling in the shivers that coursed through his body, “you should think twice before making widowhood my only path to power.” Jerome nodded slightly, his cheek brushing against her ear,

“Naughty girl,” he chuckled darkly, “but, I can see your point.” His strong arms wrapped around Y/Ns waist as he rolled over, surrounding her with his body, and quirking a cocky smile,

“Partners, doll face?” Y/N nodded, “Great! But beforehand, I’ll need to know your criminal history, whatcha say, huh?” the H/C beamed up at her ginger friend, highly inappropriate thoughts circling her mind as she focused on his grinning lips and heavy, solid body on top of her frame.

“W-what do you want to know, J? I already know your entire bloody life story.” She murmured, attempting a cocky smirk, Jerome smile grew so wide it could split his face in two, his weight shifted slightly as he rubbed his chin with his hand in mock concentration, an excuse for resting almost all of his weight on his friend. And God, was he beginning to hate the word ‘friend’.

“What did ya get arrested for, darlin’? Murder? Arson? What was your life like? What are your philosophies? I want to know everything about you.” he questioned, lowering his lips dangerously close to her neck, smiling in how sweet the revenge for her prior teasing felt. Y/N scoffed in amusement at his naivety,

“Nobody’s ever been arrested murder, J; just for getting caught.” The ginger cocked his eyebrow in intrigue,

“Who was it?” he asked, eyes wide in anticipation as the stunning beauty underneath him began her monologue, having never truly confessed her supposed sins to anyone before. She took a deep breath, her chest brushing tantalisingly against Jerome’s as she began to recount her story, and the gingers fascination and affection for her growing with every perfect word which left her flawless lips. It was as if she was speaking his mind and soul, it was as if she was his other half, his missing piece, his partner in crime.

“Murder, like talent, seems to run in my family. My father loved my mother a lot, and she loved him. And, as my dad always said, ‘if you have the woman you love, what more do you need? Well, besides an alibi for the time of her husband’s murder.’ I always thought he was joking, turns out it was true. My mother was his alibi, as it happens.

Anyway, none of that matters anymore, they both died in a car crash when I was thirteen, at least they went together, you know? I know it sounds crazy-probably because I am-but I’ve always believed there are only two truths, love, and murder. My parents had those both down to a tee.

I got sent to the nut house for murdering the school bitch gang, all seven of them. I loved it, the only thing I regret is that I didn’t get away with it; I should have made it quick and clean. Revenge clouded my senses though, I butchered them beyond recognition, but I took too long, I had no alibi, I had no one to turn to when I tried to hide the bodies. They begged and begged, they said I had no right to take their lives, but you know what I said, J? I said, ‘nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a baseball bat owns dea-’”

Suddenly, Y/Ns words were silenced when a pair of surprisingly soft, plush lips crashed onto her own, muffling her speech and desperately trying to convey the wave of emotions he wanted articulate towards the perfect woman who was kissing him back with the same brutality.


I was thinking of having some smut in the next chapter, if anyone could give me their opinions that’d be great :)


@ tothetardissterek - if you dont want to be tagged in this one just let be know :)

Originally posted by aryasrk

6

Spouses who became rivals (3/?)

Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II of England

Less than three months after her annulment from Louis VII of France, Eleanor of Aquitaine married Henry II, the future king of England, in 1152, a union which at a stroke shifted the balance of power in Europe, uniting their vast holdings into what amounted to an empire. Despite the formidable power and personality possessed by each spouse, the couple maintained their union successfully for two decades, producing eight children and ruling collaboratively on both sides of the Channel. However, in 1173, Henry’s iron grip on power and interference in their domains drove Eleanor and her three oldest sons to revolt. In a move that shocked contemporaries, Eleanor encouraged her teenage sons to go to the court of her ex-husband, Louis, their father’s arch-rival, there to plan their rebellion. Eleanor herself tried to escape, on horseback, dressed as a man, but was captured by Henry’s men. Despite the formidable odds against him, Henry managed to crush his sons’ rebellion and bring them to heel. Eleanor, on the other hand, would be imprisoned in England for sixteen years, released only briefly when Henry required her influence to force peace between their feuding offspring. After her betrayal, Henry made efforts to annul his marriage or place Eleanor in a nunnery, but she stubbornly resisted and indeed succeeded in outliving her husband. She was freed by her son, Richard, upon Henry’s death, and would spend her widowhood as guardian of what she and Henry had once built and what she had once threatened to destroy.

See previous posts in series 1, 2

anonymous asked:

How did names actually work during the game's period? After reading a little bit about its History it seems that people would often change names and I don't understand why. Thanks!

The guiding principle of the Edo period is that names are really cool and you should gather up as many of them as you can.

More seriously, in modern Western practice, you have a name to identify who you are as an individual. Although you may change your name, you usually don’t change it to signify a change in status or career. (There’s one large exception: Western women traditionally have taken on their husbands’ surnames, signifying their change in family status in a patriarchal society.)

Historical Japanese names do not just identify the individual. They describe the person’s roles and relationships, and so each change or different context in life may require a new name. A person could also use several names at the same time, in different contexts.

Names in Japan were metanymic, symbolically linking human institutions, often at a level of essences. For example, a name, beyond being attached to a person may be tied to a piece of land, to a government office or position, to a family or group and its political and territorial rights, to a house or a shop, or vice versa, that is, to any extrapersonal institution from which the person draws his livelihood and his identity. A name may indicate political affiliations, rank, eligibility for office, family or group belonging, economic revenue, and cultural as well as religious identity. In general, it attaches a person to the order.  - Herbert Plutschow (p.5, Japan’s Name Culture)

Names are simpler the lower you are in society, because you have fewer roles and connections. Women’s names are simpler than men’s for the same reason. 

After the Read More, I’ll list a number of different name categories, and reasons for name changes, with Bakumatsu examples mostly taken from the ranks of the Shinsengumi and their enemies. 

This list is not exhaustive (I can think of a bunch more categories, particularly at higher levels that I just feel too exhausted to try to explain). So I’ve focused on the types of names you’ll find in English history texts and internet resources for common Bakumatsu figures. 

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presents and presence.

No gifts we said last Christmas.

We wrapped up some empty boxes and paper towel tubes for Ralph and placed them under the tree.

Aaron thought I was in the basement when he walked in from the garage on Christmas Eve with a coffee table built by our friend Lisa, an item I’d coveted for ages.

What the hell?! I said. We said no gifts.

This isn’t a gift! He insisted. It’s a surprise.

Aaron was wonderful at surprises. Well, most of the time. After his first surgery, he’d reached out to a stranger in Sweden, a guy famous in some circles for designing logos for metal bands. Aaron had asked him to design a tattoo of my name, but he didn’t ask him not to first post the design on Facebook and tag him. Oops.

I only saw Aaron angry once the entire time we were together. The doctor had called to schedule his second brain surgery, and I told Aaron it would be early on the morning of the 26th. He screamed. Threw things across the room. Wept. 

It’s going to ruin your birthday he said.

Two days after his second brain surgery, he had a mutual friend pick me up from the hospital.

You’re going out, dammit. He insisted. 

And so I went. Not to dinner, but to an empty movie theater, rented out and filled with our friends and family, screening Dumb & Dumber just for me.

Surprise!

I am mourning Aaron, and part of that is mourning the belonging to him, that I was the person he surprised, that he thought of so deliberately.

This week I opened an oddly-shaped box and saw the Taylor Swift 1989 vinyl he’d ordered for us had finally arrived, one last sweet surprise from the great beyond. I cried. And laughed.

Today is one month since he died, and our living room was filled with more presents than I’ve ever received since childhood. 

I opened the smallest one last, an unfamiliar envelope from an unfamiliar address.

Dear Nora,

We don’t know one another and sadly, I never got the chance to meet Aaron. Here’s a story I’d like to share with you: a few weeks ago, I posted a photo on Instagram of some gold rings I made special for the holidays (I’m a local jewelry designer/maker). I got a bunch of comments, including one from a guy who asked if they could be custom sized and that he needed to find out his wife’s ring size ASAP. 

I responded and didn’t think much of it until my Facebook feed started to flood with your names and story. I followed links, read your blog and connected the dots.

It was Aaron who left the comment.

I was moved so deeply by your story (and him) that I felt compelled to reach out to you.

So, please accept this gift. I’m so very sure he would have wanted you to have it. I will happily size the ring if it doesn’t fit, so feel free to contact me whenever.

You are in my thoughts,

Sincerely,

Lauren

Carrier Pigeon Jewelry

The ring is a delicate gold band, absolutely my style, and it fits perfectly.

Surprise.

The Not Hateful Eight

Eight years ago today, I awoke to the harrowing reality of widowhood. It’s taken many sloppy-sad moments, joyous days and splitting of differences to reach this part in the movie. The part where I could spend Alberto’s deathiversary in a state other than anxiety. Where I could spend it peacefully and permanently memorializing him on my body via a bird in flight.

As an ad man, he understood the power of branding. Through this tattoo, I’m acknowledging how much I learned from his life and his death. I’m thanking him for bringing me to NYC and changing my life. Twice. Because of him, I’ve figured out my authentic self…and found someone who takes me exactly as I am. Couldn’t have found my wings without him, so today I gave him a set of his own.

anonymous asked:

Hi :) Can we have a jealous Ros? That would change from ben being jealous of Rosaline/escalus 👋

Thank you for sending this prompt! I like the idea of changing it up, but I’m not sure how well I managed to convey Rosaline’s jealousy. In any case, here is my attempt. 

[also on ao3]


There was no way around it, Rosaline was getting married to a Montague.

For all that he had wavered before, now Escalus was determined to see the city’s two houses united, the engagement at the heart of their new union confirmed before Verona, and celebrated with a feast that very same evening. Not even an explosion and subsequent outbreak of chaos and rioting had sufficed to make him cancel, or at least postpone, the festivities. And so, once she had cleaned the dirt and ash off her face and changed into a new and even more resplendent dress, Rosaline headed to the palace with her uncle and sister, hair still slightly singed in places and the occasional tremor running down her spine as she remembered the shock of the great explosion, the roar of fire and chaos that followed.

Benvolio had been quick to react in the moment, pulling her down and out of range of the jagged pieces of wood and debris flying all around them, and had then promptly dragged her away from the inferno devouring the piazza and towards the safety of the nearby Capulet home. Still thinking her sister in danger, Rosaline had struggled the entire way there, but her newly-confirmed betrothed had been relentless. Her sister, he argued, had been standing much farther from the source of the explosion than they had, conveniently near an exiting street and protected by her uncle and a dozen Capulet men. If the two of them had made it out, so had she.

He turned out to be right: Livia was already home when they arrived, welcoming them with a relieved sob and effusions of gratitude towards the Montague that Rosaline was sure had made his already big head swell even more. Still, she supposed, he had done her a service getting her to safety, staying calm where she had been about to lose her head, so it was perhaps for the best that her sister was so animatedly showing gratitude where she found herself unable to do the same.

The impression Benvolio had made on her today had clashed quite terribly with the one she’d had of him before, careless and pleasure-driven and with no regard to anyone but himself. It had, perhaps, been a somewhat harsh judgment, and if not completely wrong, then at the very least incomplete. Twice now he had delivered her from mortal peril, and while she had suspected some ulterior motive the first time, she knew now that his words had been true back then: He had helped her because she needed his help. And today, he had kept her safe because she had been in danger, simple as that.

But just when she’d almost decided to give her betrothed the benefit of the doubt, and allow for the thought that perhaps he was a better man than her prejudices and his own comportment suggested, she was reminded of some of the other things that had shaped her opinion of him, and made for his less-than-stellar reputation in town.

Rosaline had, in some unspoken part of her mind, known that her betrothed was, as the saying went, a man of some worldly experience. She had not, however, expected to be confronted with evidence of that same worldly experience on the very evening of her betrothal dinner.

And yet, there was no doubt about it: The woman sitting across from them at the banquet table, one rich and beautiful widow by the name of Contarini, had been acquainted with the Montague heir before, and remembered the acquaintance fondly, if her heated glances and languid smiles at him across the table were anything to go by.

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anonymous asked:

What IS your opinion on spirit possession??

OH this is fun!
I did some reading on spirit possession in non-Western cultures. Though I suppose you can find some parallel with incidences that happen in the West, and you can do your own study from there.

Simply defined, spiritual possession is an explanation for when a person (usually cis female, so I’ll speak in those terms) behaves oddly. Both the observer and the victim will pinpoint the source of the behaviour to the displeasure of a spirit, due to a variety of reasons. So the spirit can be angry because

1) the behaviour of several members of its society has offended it (why haven’t you paid your respects to me?)

2) the victim has transgressed societal norms (if she places herself out of the expectations of her gender - where she is allowed to be, what time she’s allowed to move, how she is supposed to speak) or is in a liminal period of her life - say menstruation, pregnancy, childbirth or widowhood)

3) the trauma of the victim has made her vulnerable to spirits (spirits love spiritually weak people apparently) - either due to changes she’s undergoing in her life/society, or by history.

Spirit possession can be passive, or it can be active. Active spirit possession is what I found most interesting, because it means the victim is actively participating in the odd behaviour, even if she doesn’t realise it. When she is possessed by a spirit, she no longer exists as just a ‘woman’. She is a vessel for the spirit, who must be given due respect and attention. The spirit must be listened to, in order to please it. If she belongs to a patriarchal society, this is an unbelievably EMPOWERING privilege. She can voice out her anger and discomfort about her social conditions, freely, without the usual constraints of genderised behaviour, and also having men take her seriously. What she is displeased about, the spirit is displeased about too. The line between spirit and woman is blurred.

I really thought this was cool. Being from Malaysia, spirit possession is something I’ve witnessed myself multiple times in everyday life. I never thought too much about it - I simply figured it was ghosts taking advantage of people (in my mind only Asian ghosts are real ghosts) or the victim suddenly psychologically snapped from pressure. But then last year when I learned about it it was so much more nuanced - there were rules of purity, societal transgressions, socioeconomical changes in the village due to globalisation that threatened the social order, personal drama…. I think most of the people in my class were ??? about it, as they are Australian and so have NEVER seen this phenomenon in their life. To them it was an abstract concept. To me it was my culture opening up to something more.

Ong: The Production of Possession

Eliza snipped a lock of hair from her husband’s head and commenced the long rites of widowhood. She was tortured with grief. “The poor woman was almost distracted [and] begged uncle Gouverneur Morris might come into her room,” said David Ogden. “She burst into tears, told him he was the best friend her husband had, begged him to join her prayers for her own death, and then to be a father for her children.” Normally a witty, cosmopolitan man and bon vivant, the peg-legged Morris could only stare at Eliza with tears streaming down his cheeks.
—  Alexander Hamilton, by Ron Chernow

anonymous asked:

Why are people marrying their daughters to Lord Walder Frey? None of their children will inherit in all likelihood and its not like far flung noble houses in the vale or reach or stormlands would need a marriage alliance with the Freys, plus with all the other marriages its not like their marriage would necessarily trump the others (The whole cruelty and grossness of forcing a teenage girl to marry a ninety year old man should be implicit enough to go unsaid).

It’s a point I’ve made before, but always worth repeating: not every woman in Westeros will end up marrying a lord or a lordly heir. Some will marry their House’s bannermen (like Jeyne Farman and the youngest daughter of Elys Waynwood), but others will marry all those younger sons who stand to inherit nothing, the majority of the eligible young men in Westeros. This is true even of daughters of great families, even of daughters of lords of great families: Jocelyn Stark, only daughter of Lord Willam, married Benedict Royce, younger son of the head of the junior branch; Alys Arryn, only daughter of Lord Jasper, married Elys Waynwood, a younger son of House Waynwood; Denyse and Leyla Hightower, daughters of Lord Leyton, married a younger brother of Lord Redwyne and a man I would guess is a bannerman of House Redwyne, respectively.

Between marrying a non-inheriting younger son or a minor vassal, and marrying Lord Walder, the latter might not seem such a bad option for some families. True, with no fewer than 15 descendants of eldest son Stevron alone, the chances of any child of a later wife inheriting the Twins are slim indeed, but dynastic inheritance is not all there is to a marriage proposal in Westeros. A daughter wed to Lord Walder would be Lady of the Crossing, with all the precedence that position brings with it. Lord Walder being an important, if not particularly well-loved, vassal of Riverrun, the new Lady Frey would be able to attend the most important events and ceremonies of Riverlands courtly life, and with a pretty prominent place in them too. Just as well, House Frey being relatively well-off as lordly Houses go - the Freys aren’t the Hightowers or Lannisters, of course, but they’ve made more than a few pennies from their toll bridge - a Lady Frey would have access to a pretty comfortable life, and presumably a similar widowhood if she managed to survive Lord Walder. Plus, with House Frey being very well-connected, nuptially speaking, across Westeros, a family that marries into House Frey suddenly has familial connections with Houses it might not have ever anticipated being connected to, and that daughter’s children might subsequently wed even farther afield than she did. All of that is more than such a daughter would get if she wed a younger son or a vassal of another vassal, even if Lord Walder is rather old and any children that daughter would have would be far down in the Frey succession.

I also wouldn’t be surprised if Walder himself offered some not-ungenerous terms when contracting for a new bride. After all, Walder actively wants to be married and to marry as eminent Houses as he can, and so he’ll make concessions where he can and is willing to in order to achieve that - taking a lesser dowry, perhaps, or looking to the older, more far-flung, or otherwise less marriageable, in Westerosi terms) daughters of such Houses. Plus, as time has gone on, he’s gradually lessened his standards in brides - from vassals of “foreign” lieges (Royce, Swann, Crakehall) to his riverlord neighbors (Blackwood, Whent) to smaller Crownlands lords (Rosby, Farring), to eventually his own bannermen (Erenford). (The Erenfords in particularly are probably tickled; as much as Joyeuse’s unborn baby is far, far down in the Frey succession, a daughter married to their liege lord is not a bad coup in the least sense, since it indicates a strong likelihood of favor coming from the Twins down to the Erenfords.)

Jedi Hair Headcanon no. 2 - Iniciation rite

I tag thee, @albaparthenicevelut @writegowrite @asokatanos @tygermama @resistancepilots

(This is more a background to the first one. And I haven’t forgotten about the sex thing, don’t worry, alba!)

Throughout the ages many cultures have developed various sets of ideas around hair and its connection to identity and status. Cutting off hair usually meant an end of a period in one’s life. When your husband died, you shaved your head, to mark your widowhood. When you entered a convent - you shaved your head, to show you let go of your vanity and worldly cravings.

In Europe it used to be a widespread custom that the children of both sexes kept their hair long and wore skirts until the age of four or five, when a boy received his first haircut. This event, this marking, underlined the day when a child became a man-to-be with the all the expectations that followed.

(Or you kept your hair long and never touched it with scissors like ancient Chinese. The practice was meant to show respect to the ancestors, who gave them their bodies whole, and whole they kept it. Cutting off the mane was a social equivalent to an amputation. It was a disgrace.  Or, as was the case of Hebrew legend of Samson, hair was the literal source of power. )

Hair represents beauty, soul, strength… wealth, health… and ultimately, your hair represents your history. Why else do we have this “break-up” bob-cuts? We change our outside to symbolize the transformation of our inside.

So, back to the Jedi Hair Headcanon.

A child enters the temple. It’s an infant or a child of the age of six. All the possessions are taken away. The clothes are burnt away. You are a Jedi. A Jedi has no history from before. You leave all the attachments, all what you used to be, and become a new person.

A child is bathed, scrubbed until their skin is red. You enter the Temple pure in body and mind. Then they dress them in the iniciate tunics. And then comes the créche master with a razor. Fine, baby hair falls on the ground. A helper picks it all up. No one speaks a word.

The hair is thrown into fire. “Let go of illusion of self in the search of enlightenment.”

From that very day they aren’t a child of their parents anymore. They’re a Jedi. They’ll keep their hair growing to mark their time as Iniciates while waiting for a Master to come and reshape their self again.

International Women’s Day

To all the baby girls who were killed at birth because they weren’t boys.
To all the girl children who were sold into “marriage” sex slavery when they were much too young.
To all the girls denied an education because they were expected to grow up to be housewives.
To all the girls who made it to school but were discouraged from being “too smart”.
To all the girls who, even though they needed food as much as “a growing boy”, starved themselves to stay thing.
To all the girls and women who have been raped, assaulted and murdered as part of war, or as revenge on the men in their lives, or because of a violent man with a twisted view of the world.
To all the girls and women who constantly look over their shoulders while walking home from the bus stop at night, or who otherwise have learned that walking alone, even in their own neighborhood, is dangerous while men can walk about with no trouble at all.
To all the women who never had a chance to learn to be financially self-sufficient and then, through divorce or widowhood, found themselves responsible for themselves and their families with few marketable skills and financial know-how.
To all the women who were pressured into or forced to have children they didn’t actually want.
To all the women who did work but whose accomplishments were stolen by men who did none of the work and took all of the credit.
To all of the women who watched their male coworkers get raises and other perks while they stayed below the glass ceiling.
To all the women who got older and were pressured into buying more cosmetics and surgery to “look young”, even as their male partners cheated on them or left them for someone half their age–or less.
To all the women who were assigned male at birth and who still struggle for recognition as themselves today.

To all my fellow women–this is a small recognition in the face of what we go through on a daily basis. May it be one push of many towards a better world for all of us.

CARDS THEORY

This article exists because of @vermeillerose​, who is currently coloring “Funtom Cards”. Looking at the design of the cards, I’ve got the idea of character roles. After Toboso never does anything accidentally.
I’ll start with the most logical roles and finish with the most mysterious.


♠SPADES ♠ 


  • King - Earl Ciel Phantomhive. The real prototype for the image on this card is the biblical King David. According to Bible prophecy, Messiah would come from the lineage of David (the male line), who will transform the world of violence and selfishness in the world, where there will be no wars. Instead David we have Earl Phantomhive - Watchdog of the Queen, which should relieve the UK of the crime. He’s doing it but doing by violent means. Moreover, the role of Watchdog moves in the family from generation to generation.
  • Queen - Earl’s bride, Elizabeth Midford. Queen of Spades is traditionally portrayed as a goddess of war - Athena, Minerva, and even Joan of Arc. Lizzy’s combat skills are also very impressive.
  • Jack - the demon butler of Earl Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis. In French this card called “Valet” which can be translated as “servant”. Sebastian is the chief servant of Earl Phantomhive.

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Victorian AU

Ok, just some notes for making up my mind, and finally write at least couple of pages of fic with code work name “Ashfield”.

Late Victorian or early Edwardian era AU, dates somewhere between 1896 and 1906. So electricity and London underground are realities, but no First World war around.

Erin Gilbert:  Was famous «ghost girl» in her childhood, as she’s got ability to summon spirits and talk to dead people, but all members of her family thought that she’s just an incredible liar, whose talent can be used for making money. For getting rid of this fame and starting a normal life with a man she loved she broke with her family and also faked horrible mistakes in her séances, claiming that her gift has gone. But the one she put trust in turned to be a swindler, leaving Erin broke and pregnant on her own. To clear her name she made everyone around (including her nowadays fiancé Phil Hudson) to believe, that she’s a widow and sent her illegitimate ten-year old child to distant relatives. Teacher at finishing school.

Jillian Holtzmann: Child of quite rich North American manufacturer, has three elder sisters, for whom her father arranged a good match. For the same reason she was sent with her twin brother to London, but he caught flu on the way there and died. Not wanting to come back home to New York, Jillian hide brother’s death from father, and started claiming herself both for James and for real her. London’s upper crust think that Jillian is slowly dying of T.B., locked it her bedroom, and the only servant in the house, Kevin, isn’t smart enough for understanding why James and Jillian have never been seen in one place in the same time. Fake James is quite eccentric young man, helping father to get entry to British market. He really likes to say, that twins have soul split in two parts by the devil so he knows everything his sister knows and vise versa. Jillian uses her ability to get in both man and women parts of the houses and to find out thighs not for opposite gender ears. So her «brother» turns out a bit of a lady killer as his «sister» was told that should be said to melt a heart.

Abby Yattes: Typical spinster, never really wanted to be married, though was engaged long time ago. Secret’s keeper. Old friend of Erin, she’s the only one, who knows truth about her widowhood. She also have spiritualistic abilities but they are much weaker. In early years assisted in séances, then, after break up with Gilbert, started to practice alone, but didn’t gain even a half of acceptance, cause there are tons of table-lifting charlatans, that make shows instead of doing things right. Suffragist, couple of time was arrested for taking part in different protests, as well as attempt to enter Parliament.

Patty Tolan: worked as maid or/and housekeeper in different families, but usually get kicked out for not keeping her mouth shout, as it’s expected to be from woman of her skin colour. Self-taught polyglot and historian. Her huge family is devout catholic, but she herself is more liberal, as she has seen ghosts couple of times before in old estates and houses.

 And some scene sketches:

«There four different ways to live in the world where women are trash: let them break you, lie to them, fight back or adapt. No matter what you choose- the end would be the same. Men win. Always»

«My dearest Erin, if I did the same thing to you, you would call that harassment and slapped me.»

«-If it was possible, I’d drop on my knees and propose to you the very first day we’ve met, but…
- I don’t care about marriage.
- I got to tell you something
- Jillian, right?… –sighed she,- You’re already married.
- No…Things are much worse.
- Oh!
- It’s not what you thought about, Erin. Just let me finish, don’t run away. I’m pretty sure, that you already put one and one together.»