Circumlocution

mark-gaytits: Some resources for those writing medieval-type stories: list of medieval jobs more...

Wed, 15 May 2013 12:11:57 -0400

Some resources for those writing medieval-type stories:

list of medieval jobs

more medieval jobs

lords of the manor

ladies of the manor

medieval ladies

medieval weapons

medieval names

more medieval names

guide to medieval terms

more medieval terms

how to write sword-fight scenes

armor

Some Writing Prompt Generators

Tue, 14 May 2013 09:30:10 -0400

sauntering-vaguely-downwards:

pibsims:

needlekind:

Serendipity (names, places, mapbuilding, etc.)
Quick Story Idea
Full Story Idea
Writing Challenges
General Character
Quick Character
really just all of Seventh Sanctum
RPGesque generators
Writing Prompts
Inspiration Finder
Story Arc
Fantasy Story Situaton
Adventure
Chaotic Shiny is just really good in general
Random Plot

reblog for my own reference

/high pitched screeching

lokiofgreece: That is one of the best Greek words, kids.

Sun, 12 May 2013 01:26:09 -0400

lokiofgreece:

That is one of the best Greek words, kids.

referencesforartists: brenanf999: dontwantyourmoneysir: anndru...

Tue, 07 May 2013 21:59:45 -0400

referencesforartists:

brenanf999:

dontwantyourmoneysir:

anndruyan:

This is a summary of college only using two pictures; expensive as hell.

That’s my Sociology “book”. In fact what it is is a piece of paper with codes written on it to allow me to access an electronic version of a book. I was told by my professor that I could not buy any other paperback version, or use another code, so I was left with no option other than buying a piece of paper for over $200. Best part about all this is my professor wrote the books; there’s something hilariously sadistic about that. So I pretty much doled out $200 for a current edition of an online textbook that is no different than an older, paperback edition of the same book for $5; yeah, I checked. My mistake for listening to my professor.

This is why we download.

Alternatives to buying overpriced textbooks

Textbooknova

Reddit

Bookboon

Textbookrevolution

GaTech Math Textbooks

Ebookee

Freebookspot

Free-ebooks

Getfreeebooks
BookFinder
Oerconsortium

Project Gutenberg

Spreading this shit like nutella because goddamn textbooks are so expensive.

not necessarily art related but as someone who couldn’t afford their textbooks this semester this is a godsend

buttgenie: writeworld: Instead of whispered,...

Sat, 04 May 2013 22:24:50 -0400

buttgenie:

writeworld:

Instead of whispered, consider:

murmured

mumbled

muttered

breathed

sighed

hissed

mouthed

uttered

intoned

susurrated

purred

said in an undertone

gasped

hinted

said low

said into someone’s ear

said softly

said under one’s breath

said in hushed tones

insinuated

aye lil mama let me insinuate in ya ear

The wet blankets and one very lonely marauder: so I couldn't fall asleep last night, and I started thinking

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 17:02:54 -0400

The wet blankets and one very lonely marauder: so I couldn't fall asleep last night, and I started thinking:

wildehack:

about a reverse little mermaid, in which the prince’s sister has always dreamed of life under the sea, and then they are in a shipwreck, and as she hangs onto a piece of driftwood, she sees her brother rescued from drowning by a mermaid. Everybody thinks she’s mad, later, after…

jebiwonkenobi: It seems like the first rule of magic, or at least the first limitation mentioned,...

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 14:18:12 -0400

jebiwonkenobi:

It seems like the first rule of magic, or at least the first limitation mentioned, is usually ‘you can’t bring back the dead.’

And I know it makes sense from a writing standpoint, but I also wonder if it comes from somewhere else. If that’s just the first, most common human response to hearing that magic is possible.

Maybe the first question was, ‘Are the dead still going to stay dead?’ for so long that people stopped needing to say it, that it just got answered right away. Yes, the world will still hurt. Chin up, you can make fire from your fingertips. Maybe you can hurt it back.

Balicake for Breakfast: DOCUMENTARIESSS

Sat, 13 Apr 2013 23:31:29 -0400

Balicake for Breakfast: DOCUMENTARIESSS:

queensimia:

annabritannia:

Here is a documentary about the ancient Arab trade-routes.

Here is one titled “Weapons That Made Britain”.

Here is one that is a re-enactment of life on a British farm in the 1700s.

Here is one about Genghis Khan.

Here is the series “Ancient…

Welcome to adulthood, Ray. Have some lesbians.

Thu, 11 Apr 2013 20:26:53 -0400

Here are your lack of severely proofread and unedited birthday ficlets.

I saved you the sad ending for later.

So basically here’s rough drafts cause I’m horrible at going back to things. I still love you though. <>

“It’s always so droll with Madame Buscauex, is it not? One would think she would have greater things of interest to speak.” A silver voice tinkled with barely concealed laughter.

“I daresay I concur.” Severine smiled, as she turned to take the hand of her dearest friend. “Especially with that horrid husband of hers.” Jacinthe leaned forward to kiss Severine’s cheek and whisper in her ear, “what about the son?”

Severine swatted Jacinthe gently with her fan, “hush now, I do not wish to speak of such dreadful matters.”

“Hush now, love.” Jacinthe cooed as she braided Severine’s hair with flowers. “Hush now, you need not show any hint of affection. It shall be fi-” Severine tried to turn to Jacinthe, but the grip on her hair only succeeded in giving her pain for her troubles. “It shan’t and you cannot convince me otherwise.”

Jacinthe sighed, releasing Severine’s hair, and petals falling. Kneeling, she cupped her friend’s face in her hands, “do not fret. Because you will have me. And our vacations, and Paris.” She hummed, rubbing circles across her cheeks.

Jacinthe waited at the window and took her place at the fireside when she saw the carriage roll up. Carefully, she unwrapped the salted caramels, Severine’s favorites since they were little girls. And began steeping the tea, a brusque chai, newly imported by her husband from Bombay. Crossing her ankles, she took up her sketching, always trees and flowers, sometimes reflecting the soft curves of a body she knows more about than she should.

“Jacinthe,” as always, Severine’s tone was haughty while the footman took her coat, “the travel here was dreadful and those coal trains, I cannot bear them.” As soon as Jacinthe waved him off, Severine’s coat and hat in hand, Jacinthe poured the tea, a knowing smile on her face.

“But in reality,” she sighed, taking a sip. “Delightful,” Severine chirped, taking her cup and saucer, “messy, loud, noisy, not unlike my husband, but with a certain charm. A delightful charm. I would much rather spend nights with it than him.” She leaned forward, a soft, gloved hand on Jacinthe’s knee, “but enough about my troubles.”

Jacinthe took Severines hand in hers, “I will always endear to listen to them. If you must release your aggravations, please do so. Nothing has changed between us.”

Severine closes her eyes momentarily before taking her hand back, bringing the cup to her lips. “I certainly wish that was the case.”

She finds the note, not long after Severine begins her journey home, tucked between the leaves of her newest book, a lily of the valley pressed beside it.

“Dearest Jacinthe,

I have the most delightful news.

Your devoted Severine”

Jacinthe’s stomach turns, and she quickly tosses the note and flowers into the fire, mouth pursed as the flames consume it. She shivers, eyes unmoving from the flames, willing the sudden nausea to go away, because she knows the ending all too well.

The news comes two weeks after Severine’s departure, and a week after she returned home. A carefully planned journey, Jacinthe knows, her beloved is wild but not ignorant. It comes as no surprise when her husband comes in, afire, that someone would or even could commit such an atrocity.

She stands, pouring himself a brandy, and some in her tea, rather some tea in her brandy, and sets them both on the table. She’s afraid to ask, and grateful that she has no need to. “It is incomprehensible that someone could to that to Geoffrey. He was a kind man, a dutiful husband.” Jacinthe had to sip at her drink to keep from scowling, as her husband paced, waving the letter in his hand. “To kill a man in his own bed!”

Standing up, she held his shoulder and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. “I hope you shall understand, Errol, that I must tend to poor Severine. To come home to, I can’t even fathom what she must be feeling.”

Smiling, he brushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, “yes, I’m sure she will need the near sister you are. I will have Jean ready your carriage within the hour.”

Severine sat in her parlor, the epitome of the grieving widow, waving her servants out, she stood to greet Jacinthe who refused to sit, lips pressed into a tight line. Her companion only smiled softly in return, sitting down to pour her tea. “Do tell me black suits me, Jacinthe.”

She remained standing, as Severine sipped at the tea, the same Jacinthe offered her the first day of her stay at Rosenthorn. Face softening, Jacinthe took the seat across from Severine, “to say that black suits you would do an injustice, as you look marvelous in any fabric you wear.” Severine’s smile widens, “what about when I am not?”

Jacinthe let’s the silence play around the room, enjoying her tea for the moment, before softly replying, “I daresay then, you appear a nymph rivaling the beauty of Aphrodite herself. But even that does you an injustice.” With a soft clink, she returned the porcelain cup to its saucer, and placed it gingerly on the table.

“Quite brazen today, are you not, my beloved?” Severine coos, having the decency to be at least a little flushed at the compliments. Jacinthe leans forward, taking the cup from Severine’s hand, and returning it to the rest of the tea service. “And why shouldn’t I be, when I no longer have competition for your affections.”

“As if there was a soul in heaven or Earth that could compete with you, my love, my soul, my friend.” Severine cups Jacinthe’s face in her hands, brows furrowed, eyes dark, “do you think ill of me now? Be truthful.”

Jacinthe leans into the touch, “I have and shall always be, and my answer to you, is that I cannot blame you for a thing.”

“Not even if I were to say that I consummated our marriage before I took his life,” her voice flat, thumb tracing circles on Jacinthe’s freckled cheeks.

“I would simply claim you were as cunning and cruel as Judith, a hero to all women.” Severine’s smile causes her eyes to crinkle just the way Jacinthe loves at the edges, as she closes the gap between them to place a chaste kiss on her soft lips. “You flatter me quite.”

“And it is all your fault, as you transfix me, bewitch me.” Severine’s soft laugh is felt on Jacinthe’s cheeks, “only because you stole my heart.”

When Jacinthe turns 17, and just before she’s introduced to high society and will take on suitors, her beloved cousin, Xavier, takes her and Severine to Rome with his devoted footman, Jean. When they arrive, the men encourage Jacinthe and Severine to tour the town, and to be back by dark. It is the first time in a strange land where they can be alone, and Italian drips off Severine’s tongue as if she was born to speak it.

Giggling, Jacinthe gives her cousin a quick kiss on the cheek, and takes Severine’s hand in hers and they don’t look back.

“I could never imagine such a place Severine, it’s…this must be heaven manifested.” Severine hums lightly, staring off at the buildings to her right. “Dear, Severine, dear,” she quickly turns her head to meet Jacinthe, and turns it just as quickly back.

“Yes, and after a month we shall have to leave heaven behind and you to those. Pigs.”

“Your future husband is one of those—” Severine hisses, turning completely on her heel. “And you know my feelings of him, Jacinthe.”

Jacinthe sets her jaw and stares Severine down, too used to her temper to be swayed, then she gets an idea. Clasping Severine’s hand in hers, she smiles mischievously, “I shall grab us a carriage.”

As if well versed in such manners, Jacinthe quickly procures a cab, instructing Severine to tell him to give them a tour of the city, “and not to stop the carriage for anything, anyone, unless she says so.”

Closing the curtain between themselves and the driver, “what are you thinking?” Jacinthe leans her head on Severine’s shoulder, smile softening, “whatever you want to do, my love.” Severine tangles a purple gloved hand in her own, pressing her lips into soft, auburn hair.

“Then I shall never tell him to stop.”

Photo

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 14:43:22 -0400

wutheringss: A Romantic Poetry Rec Lista (very) brief selection...

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 11:53:56 -0400

wutheringss:

A Romantic Poetry Rec List
a (very) brief selection of love poems

The Sun Rising • The Canonization - John Donne

Bright Star - John Keats

Brown Penny • He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven - W.B. Yeats

Wild nights! Wild nights! - Emily Dickinson

A nne Hathaway • Valentine - Carol Ann Duffy

She Walks In Beauty - Lord Byron

To His Coy Mistress • The Definition of Love - Andrew Marvell

Traveler - Heather Sommer

One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon the Strand - Edmund Spenser

O Tell Me The Truth About Love - W.H. Auden

Love’s Philosophy - Percy Bysshe Shelley

In Paris With You - James Fenton

Love Sonnet XVII • Every Day You Play - Pablo Neruda

Sonnet 130 - Shakespeare

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond • i carry your heart with me • if everything happens that can’t be done - e.e. cummings

okayophelia: [made rebloggable by request] Because the prophet,...

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 11:53:05 -0400

okayophelia:

[made rebloggable by request]

Because the prophet, the revolutionary, the messiah, the human embodiment of a cause is … godtouched; he or she sees and feels and moves through the world with divinity of some kind or another running through his veins. It doesn’t have to be literally divine - though it usually is in some way - but it is something that lifts them beyond, that makes them holy to other humans, and when that happens, when disciples gather, they love him or her for it, they become utterly devoted.

And even if the prophet loves back, even with all the love in the world; his highest realm of love is reserved for something mere mortals cannot touch; his eyes lift over and beyond the horizon of reality, they look towards something greater. for the disciple, the love is the greatest and smallest part of that glory they can ever hope to hold.

it’s hard enough if you just love the prophet wholly, for who they are, for the ideal they embody, for their divinity

but to be loved back, to have that, but to know that no matter what that their love for you can never measure up to the engulfing love you feel for them, because so much of the prophet is sacred space, reserved, devoted to something beyond human, to the transcendence, the divinity, the cause - not even consciously, it’s just their nature -

that. that is cruel.

i can’t say it well, just read this poem, and this one

and look through my tags; they blink and reality shivers, nothing crueller than loving and being loved by a prophet, and disciples who love their messiah too much, (bonus for subversive judas iscariot feelings) they are all essentially the same concept. i have three fucking tags for this concept. i cannot be held accountable for my actions.

The role of women in:

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 11:52:14 -0400

honeyspider:

Classical Greece

Ancient Egypt

Ancient Maya

Ancient Babylon

Ancient Japan

Ancient China

Ancient Rome

There are all from the amazing tumblr ancientpeoples which I’m fangirling over. I figured it was easier to link them all like this since the posts are long and then I - and other people - can find them later :)

art-of-swords: Sword Facts & Myths All Medieval swords...

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 11:51:06 -0400

art-of-swords:

Sword Facts & Myths

All Medieval swords weighed at least 12 pounds – FALSE

Most Medieval swords weighed around 2.5 lbs - even long hand-and-a-half and two-handed swords weighed less than 4 lbs.

Medieval swords were not sharp - FALSE

Some surviving samples of Medieval swords are still sharp - many are razor-sharp.

All swords should balance within 2” of the guard - FALSE

A sword’s balance should be determined by its function, not an arbitrary standard. Swords intended for cutting often balance 5 or 6 inches from the guard.

Swords were made to cut through armour - FALSE

Period armour was often work- and case-hardened and curved such that it is difficult to hit at a right angle. Late Medieval thrusting swords, even the ones with a reinforced point, were used to thrust into the gaps in armour, not through the plate.

Viking swords were heavier than Medieval swords - FALSE

The Viking sword was a very highly developed sword form. Often the blades were quite thin in cross section, and as a result, were often the same or lighter in overall weight than other similarsized swords.

There is no such thing as the “perfect” sword - TRUE

There are only “perfect” swords for their intended purpose and the tastes of the owner.

A “good” sword should be able to bend past 90 degrees without taking a set - FALSE

Flexibility is only one of the aspects of the steel properties that is important in a sword. Too flexible, and it is inefficient in the thrust and the cut. Too stiff and it is prone to breakage. Most makers are content if a sword will bend to 45 degrees without taking a set.

Real swordfights were just like they are in the movies - FALSE

Swordfights in movies are choreographed for entertainment not authenticity. Edge to edge parries and fancy techniques are designed to heighten drama in a scene. An actual swordfight would be short, brutal and much quieter.

Japanese swords are the sharpest and best swords ever made - FALSE

Japanese swords have many admirable qualities and were well-suited to their intended use, but they are not necessarily sharper or better than a properly designed and sharpened Medieval sword.

Medieval swordmakers were uneducated barbarians - FALSE

It is apparent from even a cursory study of surviving Medieval swords that blademakers and cutlers were highly skilled artisans with a profound understanding of mathematics and proportion.

Not all swords should be as sharp as a razor - TRUE

The sword’s intended purpose is always the guide to use — thrusting swords are not intended for cutting, so some may not even have an edge at all, just a well-defined and reinforced point.

Swords were tempered in urine or blood - FALSE

The steels smelted in Medieval Europe required either clean water or oil for quenching. Urine or blood would not allow a blade to temper properly.

The “blood groove” is on a sword to release pressure in the wound and allow the sword to come back out - FALSE

“Blood groove” as a term is a recent invention — “fuller” is the proper name for the groove or grooves on a sword blade. The purpose of the fuller has nothing to do with “blood” — fullers reduce weight, assist in the proper distribution of mass in a blade, and help make the blade more stiff.

A good sword can cut through a concrete pillar - FALSE

Swords were intended to cut through flesh, clothing, and (in earlier swords) leather or mail armour. They are not intended to cut wood, concrete or metal pillars, even though that is often seen in films.

A sword will fall apart if you don’t clean the tang of the sword - FALSE

The tang of a sword, if properly made and the rest of the sword properly maintained, will not require any maintenance for generations of use.

Japanese folded steel is superior to European sword steel - FALSE

Folding steel was a technique used by Japanese smiths to try to get the best steel they could from very poor ore sources. Folded steel blades are more likely than modern monosteels to have large, unseen inclusions of impurities that may in fact critically weaken a blade. By folding the steel billet many, many times, they achieved a more even distribution of carbon and worked most of the impurities out of the steel. The result is stunningly beautiful, but we have to believe that if a 16th C Japanese smith had access to modern monosteels, he would have switched in a heartbeat.

Pattern-welded steel is superior to mono-steel - FALSE

Like folding steel, pattern-welding was a technique used to try to get the best steel from very poor ore sources. Pattern-welding is the art of hammering together, and then twisting and re-hammering layers of iron (often of varying carbon content). The Celts as far back as the 5th century BC may have made swords by pattern-welding, and this technique was used extensively until at least the end of the 10th century. After this, better, more consistent iron ore was obtainable, and furnace technology improved, making this laborious technique unnecessary. Also like folded steel blades, pattern welded blades are more likely than modern monosteels to have large, unseen inclusions of impurities that may in fact critically weaken a blade.

Swords are just big knives - FALSE

The design of a sword is far more complex than a knife. Flexibility balance and vibration are far more critical in a sword-length blade than in a knife-length blade.

Info source: © 2005 Albion Armorers, Inc.

Photo source: © Royal Armouries

okayophelia: Archetypes | ARIADNE + THE MINOTAUR Theseus...

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 00:08:53 -0400

okayophelia:

Archetypes | ARIADNE + THE MINOTAUR

Theseus knows immediately when he comes to her, still covered in the blood of the Minotaur, carrying the broken horns from its head that he had raised for the screaming, chanting mob. He asks her how, screams in his rage, how she could have loved the monster. She stands before him with salt tears on her face and lightning in her veins, shaking with the power of what she has done with a simple ball of thread from her sewing box and the love raging beneath her breast. She wonders how can she begin to explain that the kingdom was a cage, that the Minotaur was the dark beating heart of its power, hidden away in the labyrinth so nobody would have to look at the ways his monstrous flesh was near-human. That she knew this, because she had hidden the beast in her body away behind a labyrinth of lace and charm and beauty. That she loved the Minotaur because she saw him in the dark behind her closed eyelids, would dream of carnage and growing horns, because she felt her soul snarling like an animal beneath her thin shell of humanity and would muffle her screams with cushions in the night while the roars of the bull would echo throughout her bedchamber. How to explain to this beloved and brightly shining martyr prince, who loves her for her honour and her beauty, that she loved the monster and hated him as she loved and hated herself, and that they were both trapped here by her father like beasts. And how they aren’t anymore. That the Minotaur was hunger and she is love, and in their raging, divine extremes there was no difference there at all.

She raises her lips to Theseus’ to taste the blood. ‘He was my brother,’ she whispers, and doesn’t tell him a thing.(x)

gingerhaze: Sometimes I go through my art and open old PSD...

Sat, 30 Mar 2013 15:51:27 -0400

gingerhaze:

Sometimes I go through my art and open old PSD files and I find these extra hidden layers. They contain false starts, aborted sketches, and sometimes mindless little side doodles that have nothing to do with the final saved image.

Today I found this. I’m not sure what I meant by it.

hierophiliac: okayophelia: Archetypes | JUDAS A...

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 22:09:22 -0400

hierophiliac:

okayophelia:

Archetypes | JUDAS

A traitor is never just a traitor. He walks the field at night retracing his steps over and over until his feet bleed and his throat burns from the screaming. His betrayal is overwhelming, rippling out through his past and future until there is no end in sight, until the choice seems to have been all his life was ever meant to be. Could he have been so blind to his own evil nature, his own cruel lips, his base tongue, his own twisted soul? God roars through his dreams, the flames leap through his destiny, and always but always, he remembers the words of Jesus, as he gripped his face with a terrified fire in his dark eyes, and told him to do what he would do, and have it done quickly. Like it was scripture written onto his soul, Judas could not have done otherwise, consumed with a need that was never just for silver. It was too much, to be beloved of the son of God; it was always too much light to bear.

Like a dream, his lips ghost over and over the face of Jesus, giving the damning kiss, and silver falls through his hands, burns cold into his lips where the skin of the messiah he had loved was so warm. He desecrated his own soul that the children of God might be saved, he understands that now, but does not trust to the redemption it promises him, not when he is wracked with such a pain of remorse his bones ache and crack with it. Not when he cannot stop screaming out the name of Christ, his brother, like a prayer. He will die by his own hand, hanging in the field of blood with the word of God like love on his lips.

#nothing crueller than loving and being loved by a prophet #the love of the disciples was overwhelming and so was their jealousy #would jesus not have chosen the one he loved best to destroy him; to raise him up on the cross that humanity might be saved? #would he not have wanted love to be the driving force behind his pain?#would that not have made the unbearable bearable? #if judas was driven by a greed; by an evil; was gripped by satan as they say #would it not have crept in through the faultlines in his soul #left gaping wide open by exposure to the sheer force of adoration and transcendence #that always breaks us all wide open #and sends us running terrified from what we see there? #was judas acting in fear or in greed or in love or in holiness or evil? #the answer is always; has always been; all of it #the son of god does not die by accident #not by the hand of random malice or greed #no; he dies by love; every time #the kingdom of god is within you because you ate it #my judas feels are incomparable and overwhelming and highly unique#a traitor is never just a traitor #(well that’s it in a nutshell)

okayophelia: Archetypes | REVOLUTIONARY The city is burning...

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 22:08:16 -0400

okayophelia:

Archetypes | REVOLUTIONARY

The city is burning around them, and they dance a dance made of gunsmoke, trembling cathedrals and the splatter of blood against a police shield. On their bodies is writ the story of a kingdom come tumbling down; in their bones are the towers, in their fingers the laws coming unbound, in their eyes shine the electricity thundering through the streets, and in their hearts nothing but freedom. Princes and society girls are screaming, queens are bowing on their balconies to the ravening crowds, and presidents are losing the iron grasp of their armies. The internet is ablaze, the books are burning, the priests are gasping, and the soldiers are warring with the police on the steps to parliament. The city lives tonight; in the fires, in their blood, in the roaring of the maddened crowd as they come alight to the cracked, holy voice of the revolutionary, who sucks the air out of every room, who is unbearably beloved, who is a violent black hole of hope; who is everything and nothing but this.

"If it’s meant for you, you won’t have to beg for it. You will never have to sacrifice your dignity..."

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 22:08:06 -0400

“If it’s meant for you, you won’t have to beg for it. You will never have to sacrifice your dignity for your destiny.”

- Chelsis Porter (via razairazerci)

"You want to believe that there’s one relationship in life that’s beyond betrayal. A relationship..."

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 22:07:59 -0400

“You want to believe that there’s one relationship in life that’s beyond betrayal. A relationship that’s beyond that kind of hurt. And there isn’t.”

- Caleb Carr (via razairazerci)