#Jesus College Oxford

[olganmwriter]

#TuesdayBookBlog A Bitter Remedy (The Oxford Mysteries Book 1) Alis Hawkins (@Alis_Hawkins)#TuesdayBookBlog

Hi, all: I liked the sound of this book although I didn’t know the author, and it worked wonderfully for me. Beware, though, as not everybody likes the protagonists. A Bitter Remedy (The Oxford Mysteries Book 1) by Alis Hawkins A Bitter Remedy: A totally compelling historical mystery (The Oxford Mysteries Book 1) by Alis Hawkins. Amongst the scholars, secrets and soporifics of Victorian…

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#1880s #advertising #historical fiction #Jesus College #Oxford #pattern remedies #women&039;s education

[katakaluptastrophy]

You know when you're at a dinner party with God and things start to get...weird...? It's Maundy Thursday, and it's time for more Bible study for fans of weird queer necromancers!

It's currently Holy Week, the week where liturgical Christians reenact the events of Jesus' death and resurrection in real time. And today, it's Maundy Thursday, which commemorates the Last Supper, where Jesus ate with his friends before he was crucified.

Before we get to the Locked Tomb, what's so special about the Last Supper?

There are actually a few significant things that happen during the Last Supper, but this is where Jesus introduces the concept of communion:

Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood. - Matthew 26:26-28

This isn't actually the first time Jesus has told his followers they will need to literally eat him:

So Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. - John 6:53-56

If you're thinking that sounds a bit intense, you're not alone - the Bible says that "many" of his disciples left after being told that they were apparently going to have to eat Jesus to be saved and resurrected.

While many Protestant denominations take this symbolically, Catholicism teaches transubstantiation: that when the priest prays over the bread and wine at mass, they really do become Jesus' body and blood.

With this in mind, let's circle back to necromancers:

"Overseas to Corpus. (She likes the word corpus; it sounds nice and fat.)"

This is probably Corpus Christi College, Oxford (named after the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, where the church celebrates the real presence of Jesus in the eucharist). The symbol of the college is a pelican - there's even a fabulously gilded pelican atop the sundial in their main quad.

What do pelicans have to do with the eucharist? Quite a lot, actually... The pelican is a really old symbol for Jesus, because it was believed to feed its young on its own flesh and blood in times of famine. The pelican on the Corpus Christi sundial is pecking at its own chest.

The pelican, like Jesus, was believed to give its own body to save those it loved.

Okay, so we've talked about Jesus, and weird cannibal birds, but why is this relevant to necromancers?

Specifically, the necromancer, the Necrolord Prime. John Gaius styles himself as "the god who became man", echoing Jesus as "the word became flesh". His entire pastiche of divinity is a sort of bootleg Catholicism. But while Catholicism posits Jesus' offering of his own body as foundational to the salvation and resurrection of humanity to eternal life, John's godhood relies the exploitation of other's bodies as the foundation of an empire of eternal death.

I've mentioned before in discussing Lyctorhood, how vampires have been understood to represent a sort of inversion of the eucharist because instead of consuming Christ's blood to receive eternal life in heaven, they consume other people's blood for an cursed eternal life on earth. John, and the Lyctors who followed him, gained power and eternal life from the consumption, body and soul, of another person.

In Catholic theology, Jesus offered his own body to degradation and death for the eternal salvation of humankind, but John forcibly consumes someone else's in service of his own apotheosis and immortality, dooming humanity in the process. He wants to be a Catholic flavoured god, but without the suffering that entails. But he's perfectly willing to outsource that suffering to others.

There's something just achingly awful about Alecto liking the feel of the word "corpus" - "body" - when she so hates the body that John constructed for her. John describing Alecto as "in a very real way" the mother of humanity and the mother pelican on the Corpus sundial rending her own flesh for her children. John forcing the earth into a personification of femininity and playing Jesus on another's sacrifice. His daughter, unwillingly trapped in her own corpse walking around with the wounds of her significant self-sacrifice like the resurrected Christ but yet again another body exploited by John in support of his performance of godhood. It brings to mind a very different fantastical engagement with Catholicism, where in the Lord of the Rings Tolkien - riffing on St Augustine - suggested that evil cannot create, it can only mock and corrupt. The ethics of The Locked Tomb may be messier than that, but there's something indicative in how John shies away from his creative powers - his abilities to grow plants, and manipulate earth and water - in favour of his dominion over death.

The metaphysical world of The Locked Tomb is clearly not intended to be the same as that of Catholicism. But with hindsight, perhaps John was onto something when he was surprised that he didn't "get the Antichrist bit" from the nun too.

John isn't the Antichrist. But he is, thematically, anti-Christ.

If we're talking about John and Jesus, there's also, of course, the question of Resurrection. But we've got to go through Hell and back before we get there on Sunday...

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #john gaius #alecto the first

[dani-sdiary]

Story: I'm a Method Cashier!

And this was a role I could really sink my teeth into.

Okay, so, first of all, to work at Store there are 2 online applications, an online training course, 3 questionnaires for your references to fill out, 3 interviews (2 alone and 1 group), a background check, an unpaid 4-hr. orientation, a drug test, a pacer test, a polygraph test administered by an F.B.I. agent (and not like the sexy ones on Criminal Minds), a blood oath, and you have to be able to put on lipstick like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club. Jesus, there are less requirements to be elected president. And a cult wouldn't make you jump through this many hoops to join.

My Marketable Skills: I'm a warm body and I'm not an asshole. I'm not going to say "we should hang out outside of work" to my coworkers or mouth off to the customers. Basically, you should hire me because you could do a whole lot worse.

But I couldn't just say that. I couldn't just be honest. It had to be, with tears glistening in my eyes: "It has been my lifelong dream to be a cashier at Store. Cashiering is my passion. I have 3 Ph.D.s in Applied Cashiering, Cashiering Theory, and Experimental Cashiering from Harvard University's School of Cashiering, and I completed a postdoctoral fellowship at Oxford University's St. Cashier Cashiering College. I have 97 years of experience in the field."

So, I get there, for the first interview, in my silly little outfit, mostly stolen from my mom's closet. I walk in and say excuse me to the first employee I see. She clutches her chest, looks bewildered, and says "excuse me" back.

Daniella, apprehensively: "Hi, I'm here for an interview, could I speak to a manager please?"

Employee #1, startled: "Yeah." She walks off and I assume I'm meant to follow her.

My real name sounds vaguely similar to the name of a character from a classic poem you read the Wikipedia summary of in ninth grade English class. The first five letters are the same, but the character's name ends with an a, and mine with an e. Anyway, while we were walking, we introduced ourselves and she said, and I've never have cause to use the word "chortling" before, but if there was ever a time, it was then, "Well, your mother must have been a big The Poet fan, huh?" (as if I've never heard that one before). I mustered a polite chuckle and said nothing.

Employee #1, sneering: "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Daniella, wishing for death: "No, I know the poem."

Employee #1, under her breath: "Big deal."

The rest of the walk is silent. We turn a corner and see a boy about my age. She starts calling his name, he fully makes eye contact with her, and then turns and speedwalks away. She keeps calling after him and picks up the pace to reach him, but he outruns her. No need to watch the documentary through your fingers, the antelope is safe this time. It turns out he wasn't even the manager, because I meet her next. The interview goes okay and I get the second one. I ask a different employee this time. She says into her walkie-talkie, "Anthony, Daniella is here for an interview, do you want to deal with that?"

Anthony comes be-bopping up to me at 1,000 mph. When he's still several aisles away, he calls out "Hi, Friend!!" in an acoustic guitar-playing youth pastor voice. He leads me to the office, racing down the aisles like there's an serial killer revving a chainsaw behind him, and by the time I catch up in my pencil skirt and heels, I'm panting and sweating. Maybe this is part of the interview: seeing if you can keep up metaphorically and literally. The weakest shall be sacrificed.

Tony asks me, not why I want to work at Store, but why I want to work in general, as if earning money to eat is a casual hobby, like knitting. He asks me if I've applied anywhere else, like Store is a jealous girlfriend. Then he asks me if I have any questions, and I know you're supposed to have something, so I pull a couple out my ass. After he answers them, he asks if I have any more, and, thinking I'm out of the woods, I say not for now.

Anthony, ominously: "You sure?" Slowly pan back to Daniella.

Daniella, brightly: "I'm sure I'll have more during orientation if I'm hired, but I think I'm covered for now. Thank you!"

(Beat.) Anthony: "Well, you know, I'm just gonna give you some advice: you really should have more questions. But don't worry, I'm gonna go ahead and tell you a little bit more about how the Store family does things."

45 minutes later, he asks for a third set of questions, and then, believe or not, a fourth. Sir, this is my interview. You're not a celebrity guest on The Fucking Tonight Show. If you're so desperate for me to ask you questions, why don't you apply to this job? Or do like the rest of us and pretend you're on Ricki Lake talking about how brave you are to share the story of your divorce from Tim McGraw and how it inspired your new album, "Warm Regards, Dani," currently topping the country charts while you shampoo your hair.

Three business days later, my email: "Congratulations! You have been selected to join the Store Family! Please report for orientation next Wednesday at noon."

Another day, another dollar.

#jobs #working #employment #work #job search #career #jobsearch #jobseekers #cashier #retail #customer service #service #shift work #funny post #funny #funny stuff #funny shit #humor #lol #jokes #haha

[magicaloxford]

The stunning chapel of Jesus College, Oxford 🌟. To see a carved dragon nestled under a table, look below the cut!

🐉.

#oxford #dark academia #college life #university #dragons #classic academia #academia #university of oxford #fantasy creatures #mine #old church #academia moodboard #dark academia moodboard #light academia #stained glass #woodwork #autumn #academia aesthetic #fantasy #classic aesthetic

[justforbooks]

David Soul, who has died aged 80, stormed to fame in the 1970s as half of the television “buddies” detective duo Starsky and Hutch, who careered across Los Angeles in their red and white Ford Gran Torino, over the roofs and bonnets of other cars, and through piles of cardboard boxes.

“When the Starsky and Hutch series was showing, police on patrol duty were adopting sunglasses and wearing their gloves with the cuffs turned down,” claimed Kenneth Oxford, a British chief constable. “They also started driving like bloody maniacs.” In south London, a council lowered a wall after fans of the tyre-squealing screen action used it as a launchpad to jump on to parked vehicles.

While Paul Michael Glaser played the streetwise, cardigan-wearing, junk food-eating Dave Starsky, Soul’s character, Ken “Hutch” Hutchinson, was the quieter, yoga-loving, healthy-eating one – two cool cops looking after each other as if they were brothers.

Over five series (1975-79), they patrolled a rough area populated by muggers, drug dealers, sex workers and pimps. They also fraternised with Huggy Bear (played by Antonio Fargas), a snazzily dressed, “jive-talking” informant with his own bar.

Soul traded on his newfound stardom to return to his first love, music. He recorded the ballads Don’t Give Up on Us (1976), a No 1 in the US and UK, and Silver Lady (1977), another British chart-topper.

His television career continued, but the starring roles rarely resonated beyond his homeland. An exception was the miniseries World War III (1982), in which he played an American cold war colonel trying to avert a nuclear holocaust. It also chimed with his political and social campaigning, which included supporting the anti-nuclear movement.

He took up the tempting offer to play Rick Blaine in Casablanca (1983), a five-part TV prequel to the film classic, in the role originally played by Humphrey Bogart, but it proved a flop.

Soul found renewed success – particularly on the West End stage – after moving to Britain in the 90s. He even hit the headlines beyond the review pages in the title role of Jerry Springer the Opera (Cambridge theatre, 2004-05), taking over from another American actor, Michael Brandon, as the “shock” talkshow host.

The BBC’s decision to screen Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee’s musical, complete with thousands of swear words, transvestites, tap-dancers dressed as Ku Klux Klan members and a nappy-wearing Jesus, received more than 60,000 complaints from viewers.

Soul simply relished the chance to fulfil his “dream to play in the birthplace of English-speaking theatre” after failing to “cut the mustard” when auditioning on Broadway.

He was born David Solberg in Chicago to June (nee Nelson), a teacher who had also performed as a singer, and Richard Solberg, a Lutheran minister of Norwegian descent. His father’s work as a representative of the Lutheran World Relief organisation during the reconstruction of Germany after the second world war meant the family moved to Berlin in 1949, returning to the US seven years later to live in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where David attended Washington high school.

He then acted in plays while studying at Augustana College, before moving to Mexico with his family. Influenced by his father’s work, he initially had plans to join the diplomatic service, and learned Spanish and studied Latin American history. He was also taught to play the guitar by Mexican students.

After a year, he hitchhiked to the US, landed a job singing Mexican folk songs at a coffee shop in Minneapolis and set his sights on a career in music. He also gained some acting experience with the city’s Firehouse theatre company.

While talking with friends about the metaphorical masks people wear, he came up with the idea of wearing a real one while performing so that the music stood on its own merits, and billed himself “David Soul, the Covered Man”. The William Morris Agency signed him up after hearing a demo tape, and he soon had bookings. One was in The Merv Griffin Show on TV between 1966 and 1968, when he eventually dispensed with the mask. More significantly, a talent agent spotted his acting potential.

He had a regular role in Here Come the Brides (1968-70), a comedy western series set after the civil war, as Joshua Bolt, one of the brothers running a logging company in a male-dominated Seattle frontier town and importing marriageable women.

A guest star, Karen Carlson, became Soul’s second wife (1968-77), following the dissolution of his first marriage, to Mirriam “Mim” Russeth, in 1966, three years after their wedding.

Soul was then popping up all over American TV in guest roles himself, and had a short run in 1974 as Ted Warrick, the defence lawyer’s assistant, in Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law, before wider fame came in Starsky and Hutch. By then, he was living in an “open” relationship with another actor, Lynne Marta. When he moved on to his third marriage, to Patti (nee Carnel, 1980-86), former wife of the 60s pop idol Bobby Sherman, he hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons.

In 1982, having already struck Patti several times, he returned home drunk one night following a day’s filming on Casablanca – which he correctly feared would bomb – and hit her repeatedly. He was arrested on a charge of misdemeanour battery, but a judge spared him jail on condition that he underwent therapy. Soul admitted to having a violent streak and, although he and Patti were reunited, the marriage was soon over.

He kept working, landing starring roles as Roy Champion in the cattle ranch soap-style drama The Yellow Rose (1983-84), the private eye of the title in the TV movie Harry’s Hong Kong (1987), and “Wes” Grayson, leading an FBI forensics team, in Unsub (1989), but his star was on the wane. Another marriage, to Julia Nickson (1987-1993), also failed, before he had a relationship with the actor-singer Alexa Hamilton.

Soul’s career was revived when in 1995 the theatre producer Bill Kenwright was looking for an American to star in the comedy thriller Catch Me If You Can on tour in Britain. He played Corban, a newlywed whose wife goes missing. There were other tours and Soul was in the West End as Hank in The Dead Monkey (Whitehall, now Trafalgar, theatre, 1998), Chandler Tate in Alan Ayckbourn’s Comic Potential (Lyric, 1999-2000) and Mack in Mack & Mabel (Criterion, 2006).

In between, he had one-off roles on British television, including as a locum surgeon in two episodes of Holby City (2001 and 2002), a Boston detective helping to investigate his wife’s murder in Dalziel and Pascoe (2004) and a criminology lecturer in Inspector Lewis (2012). Soul and Glaser had cameos in the 2004 film spoof Starsky & Hutch, alongside Ben Stiller as Starsky and Owen Wilson as Hutch. In the same year, Soul was granted British citizenship.

He is survived by his fifth wife, Helen (nee Snell), whom he married in 2010, and five sons and a daughter.

🔔 David Soul (David Richard Solberg), actor and singer, born 28 August 1943; died 4 January 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #david soul #in memoriam

[rancidpancakebatter]

Another Way to Fly-[P.P.] | Chapter Three

Pairing: TASM!college!Peter Parker x female!college!reader

Summary: You've been dating Harry Osborne for three years. You love him...but maybe not as much as you once did. Maybe not enough.

AU Where Norman isn’t as sick- he’s just an asshole- and Gwen didn't go to Oxford. Harry is functioning as an apprentice at Oscorp (He graduated with a master's in two years because of his studying abroad). You, Peter, and Gwen are all seniors at ESU. Because Peter isn't Spider-Man and Norman isn’t dying, the whole “Goblin” thing is scratched from the record, so Peter and Harry are besties.

Prompt: Based on an ask for my 200 Follower celebration

Word Count: 5.3k

Content Warnings: Swearing, Implications of sex

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As you walk in, Peter can tell that you are clearly irritated. You move stiffly, and your brows are furrowed slightly. To anyone else, they may believe you were just thinking about something, but Peter knew you really well. 

He met you about four years ago in the campus library. It was finals, and the building was packed with students pulling out their hair and silently sobbing at tables crowded with colourful worksheets and laptop charging cables. He had almost tripped over you, walking through the shelves on the third floor. You were hunkered down in the 150s of the Dewy Decimal System. Papers and textbooks were fanned out around you, and you typed away on your laptop, oblivious to the world as a soft melody spilled from your wired earbuds. 

Your head shot up when you noticed a foot land on a piece of paper before quickly hopping off, but still leaving a large, dirty footprint on your notes. You pulled out your headphones and looked up, ready to use all of your pent-up frustration and stress to rip the offender a new one, but before you could even start, his panic started spilling out. 

“Oh, Jesus. I’m so so sorry. Shit, uhhh lemme just…” He picked up your notes and tried to wipe them off, but the dirt just smeared. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. You can have mine.”

The boy standing above you was tall, his curls flopping over as he moved his head around. You could tell he was lanky under his layered shirts and baggy jeans. He was pretty. You blinked a few times, breaking your train of thought to focus on what he said. 

“Are you taking Intro to Psychology?” You asked.

His face reddened slightly, “...No.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the strange man. “Then how could I borrow your notes?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times before a dry chuckle left his lips. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

Your irritation melted at the sight of this awkward man. He obviously didn’t mean any harm, and it’s not like your notes were ruined, just dirty. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Parker- er, I mean Peter.”

You laugh at his uncertainty. 

“Did you get a concussion on the way over here?” you tease. 

Again, the man flushes, “No.”

“So which is it?” You ask, “Parker or Peter?”

He blinks a bit, pulling a face like he’s trying to solve a riddle, “Both.”

“You’re name is Parker Peter?” You ask, your confusion only building. 

He buried his head in his hands, shaking it side to side, then pulls his hands away and sighs. 

“Can we start over?” You nod your head, and he does a little spin, reappearing with a smile splitting his face. “Hi, I’m Peter Parker, and I’m so sorry for stepping on your notes and then making it worse by smudging everything and being incredibly awkward.”

You chuckle, then tell him your name. 

“Cool, well, it was nice to meet you (Y/n). I’ll leave you alone forever now.” 

He turns to walk away, but you call after him. He turns with a look of surprise on his face. 

“You can join me if you want. There’s not many places left to study, and if you’re working, it’ll keep me from getting on my phone.”

Peter smiles at you and takes you up on the offer. You sit in silence for about two hours before Peter gets a phone call. You are only mildly annoyed by the interruption, and Peter looks embarrassed to have disturbed the peace. He gives a “Harry” directions to find him and begins packing up his stuff. 

A few minutes later, you noticed a shadow cast over you and looked up to see crystal blue eyes. You hold each other’s gaze for a moment before he finally speaks. 

“Hi, I’m looking for a really annoying know-it-all with a skateboard.” 

His smile gleamed in the light as he stood over you in a well-tailored dress shirt and slacks.

“Hey! I’m right here, asshole.” Peter exclaimed. 

The polished man only broke his eyes away from you then, walking around you and looking to Peter with a teasing smirk. “Oh! Hey Pete. Sorry, I didn’t see you past this beautiful woman.” 

Peter slugs him in the arm, and they hug.

Boys, you think as you roll your eyes.

“And this ‘beautiful woman’,” Peter says, “is (Y/n). I stepped on her notes and then made a complete fool of myself. She took pity on me and let me study here.”

You stand as graciously as you can with your left foot asleep. “Yeah, he even offered to replace my notes for a class he doesn’t take.” 

Harry laughs, and then his eyes roam over your body. It’s a quick scan, but it makes your heart race. 

“Psychology?” He asks.

You look between them, a little surprised. Peter matched your expression. “Yeah, Intro. How’d you know?”

“You hunkered down in the physiology section,” The blond says with a coy smile, “...and I think I’ve seen you in class before. Room 3304 with Professor Markle, right?”

You confirm his memory, and he extends his hand to you. “I’m Harry.”

That day you formed a little study group. You agreed to meet at the campus coffee shop on Wednesdays. You met Gwen, who seemed really nice- albeit a little too put together. You guys all got closer, and you brought up the idea of trying different coffee shops until you found one you all liked. 

That summer, you discovered Cafè Luna, Harry’s last name and its significance, about Gwen’s dreams of studying abroad, and that Peter had really good taste in music. You guys would get together and have Harry get you into different bars to see the local shows and drink. Eventually, it became just your and Peter’s thing, as Gwen wasn’t big into the music, and Harry couldn’t get behind the whole “eat the rich” message as much as he wanted to. 

Slowly you grew to be very close with Peter. You began to confide in him, and he, you. You learned about how his uncle had passed, and that it was just him and his aunt. You told him about growing up in Brooklyn. You were invited to Hannukah and Birthday dinners. May also had a Christmas dinner, and Harry kissed you under the mistletoe after months of heavy flirting. It was a good year. 

And now, Three years later, Peter knew better than anyone when you were peeved. Especially when you dramatically plopped into your chair next to his, letting your bag drop to the floor next to you. Peter also knew that asking you what was wrong was dangerous. Sometimes you snapped, denying there was any problem at all, or you would rant for hours on end (that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but regardless) until you were blue in the face. And with your arms crossed firmly across your chest, he thought it would be more of a snapping response. 

He also knew that there were a lot of things that could cause your sour mood. Sometimes it was a simple fix, like a greasy cheeseburger or a walk in the park, but sometimes it was much more complicated. He sincerely hoped it was a simple fix. 

“Hey, Led Head.” He tried, testing the waters. This was a nickname he gave you because you love Led Zeppelin.

“Hey, Pete,” You said with a slight bite, but it didn’t feel directed at him. You could’ve been explaining the difference between fettuccine and fusilli, and the chill would remain the same. 

“How’s your day goin’?” His Queens’ accent dripped into his words. 

He didn’t miss the sarcasm in your “Swell, how’s yours?”

“Eh, can’t complain,” Peter shrugged, tapping his pencil on his desk, “but it looks like you can.”

Just then the professor walked in, and any remark you could have made was silenced as you all tuned into the upcoming lecture. 

You try your best to focus on taking notes, but Peter notices the way you’re constantly fidgeting, one hand scribbling and the other tugging on your shirt, your skirt, your socks, etc. This goes on for the whole duration of the lecture, and after watching it go on for thirty minutes, Peter can’t stand it anymore. 

You feel a nudge at your arm and look up to see Peter hunched over his desk, leaning in towards you. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You huff slightly, annoyed and not wanting to get into it right now. You still had another hour left of class, and you just wanted to get through it. 

“Come on, Heartbreaker,” Peter said, charm skating off his tongue. He was pulling out the big guns now. Calling in the “this nickname always makes you feel special, but only certain people can use it, and I’m one of them” nickname. This was a nickname he gave you because you loved Led Zeppelin, that song specifically. “You know better than to try and lie to me.”

Your shoulders deflate as you give in. 

“I’m just…uncomfortable.” you settle on. 

Peter props his head on his hand dramatically, waiting for you to expand.

“I had a sweater, but now it’s stained– probably forever– with my latte that I didn’t get to finish this morning, and my breakfast is probably still sitting in the middle of the road covered with tire tracks, and my tits are out, and my clothes are tight, and it’s cold, and I feel like I can’t breathe!” You harshly whispered all in one breath. 

Peter stifled a laugh, and you slugged him in the arm, now unable to suppress your general irritation any longer. 

“Alright, alright,” He says, pushing you away slightly. 

“We can get you some food and caffeine after class, but for now,” He pulls off his jacket and hands it to you. “You can wear this.”

You gladly take it, and as soon as you bring it over your shoulders, you’re almost overwhelmed by the smell of his cologne seeping into the fabric. You take an unashamed, long sniff. 

“Peter, what cologne do you use? This smells fucking amazing.”

Peter doesn’t answer, just shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

“Seriously,” You say more to yourself than your desk mate, “I need to get Harry some of this stuff.”

You turn your head and see him giving you an “I can’t believe you,” look- a “You say the darndest things” look- and you start snickering. In turn, Peter also starts snickering. This exchange compounds exponentially until you’re both swallowing down full bellows of laughter. Your hand is over your mouth as a few choked snorts seep through the cracks of your fingers. Peter’s fist is pressed firmly against his lips, trying to seal the leak of laughter. 

“Excuse me.” Your heads raise, and the laughter in your throat dies at the pointed glare from your professor. “If you’re done flirting, I’d like to continue my class.”

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, embarrassment flooding you as you sank into your seat and pull Peter’s hoodie tighter around you, as if to hide. Peter mumbled out a sorry, seemingly just as embarrassed as you. Your professor looked as if she was holding back an eye roll before turning back to the rest of the room, and continuing her lecture.  

You weren’t flirting. Of course you weren’t. And certainly not with Peter, one of your best friends and the best friend of your boyfriend since childhood. And he definitely wasn’t flirting with you. He was in a happy relationship with his high school sweetheart, who was truly an amazing girl- even if you two weren’t particularly close. The mere notion of you two flirting is laughable, improbable, and downright preposterous. 

You refused to look anywhere other than the screen your professor projected her slideshow on. You couldn’t focus on the presentation she had no doubt slaved over. You could see from your peripheral Peter looking over at you. You couldn’t meet his gaze. 

You were consumed by a tight feeling in your chest and a thought that made you sick. It was just there for a moment; it didn’t mean anything. It flashed across your mind the same way a “That’s a cool shirt” or “Do we need eggs?” might, but you felt guilty regardless. 

I want Peter to flirt with me.

It rang through your head- echoing and shattering the contents within. Your hand reached up towards your neck, where a thin ‘H’ rested above your heart. The metal felt warm to the touch; the edges feel sharp enough to slice your skin. 

I want Peter to flirt with me. 

You didn’t, obviously. That would be weird. It would ruin your friendship. It would ruin your relationship. You didn’t see Peter like that. Sure, he was pretty, and smart, and kind, and a tried and true “momma’s” boy, but you were never into him. And you’re not now. 

You took the jacket because he’s your friend. And as your friend, he offered it to you. To make you feel better, because that’s what friends do. They help each other and make sure they’re comfortable. And you were laughing because Peter made a silly face. And it’s funny when you’re friends make a silly face. It meant nothing more. Your professor called it flirting because she was upset, annoyed. Not because it looked like flirting. Not because anyone thought you were flirting. You certainly didn’t. And Peter obviously didn’t think so either. Because he wouldn’t do that. Because you’re just friends. 

The kind of friends that would force the other to sit down at a diner nearby because they have the best burger in town. And he’s completely right. Nothing in this world compares to Benny’s Burger Palace. 

You've probably seen a place like it though- a retro diner with rounded chrome trimmings on all the counters and tables. Checkered tiling, slightly yellowed from the years. Red, patched booths with the softest cushioning and well-worn vinyl. Benny’s got great shakes, is open twenty-four hours, and always sells breakfast. But they also sell- you guessed it- burgers. 

Benny had unfortunately passed away in the eighties. But since then, his son had taken over- Lenny- and the recipe was well preserved. Lenny was a big man with a shiny bald head, and a black apron folded in half and tied around his waist. He was always at the grill with a bright smile readied for every customer and a deep laugh that rattles through your chest. He recognized you guys as soon as you walked in and immediately threw some patties on the grill, telling you, “Your booth is open.” 

Your smile was lukewarm, though still appreciative. Lenny, of course, didn’t notice a difference. Peter did. You hadn’t said much since earlier when your professor called you out. You were very vocal, with your joy and your rage, so your near-silent brooding was nerve-wracking. The last time you were this quiet, you disappeared for a few days, then returned with bangs and a new tattoo. Then there was the breakdown a month later that resulted in you breaking up with Harry for two months. Neither of you liked to bring it up, and if anyone asked, you guys had been dating for three years. Peter didn’t even know why you had broken up. He just knew that you were mad, and you ended it. 

He had tried several times to spark a conversation with you and was confused as each attempt failed. You met each statement with a half-interested grunt or hum. And now he sat across from you while you played with your sleeves and stared out the window. 

“Hey, are you alright?”

You sighed, knowing he was eventually going to ask. You were never very good at hiding when you were in a bad mood. And your mood had worsened since that interruption in the classroom. Peter was your friend, but you realised you didn’t want to tell him what was on your mind- especially when you didn’t know what it meant. 

“Yeah, I think I just needed to eat something.” 

Peter didn’t quite believe you but accepted the answer, for now. 

“And some caffeine?” He offered. 

You gave him a small smile and nodded your head. Peter immediately flagged down your waitress to order a pot of coffee. 

She returned with a youthful pep in her step, ponytail bobbing and smile gleaming. Her eyes never left Peter as she dropped off the coffee and a small bowl overflowing with creamer, and then she reached across the table to move the sugar towards him. Peter politely thanks her, and she hangs around for a few awkward moments before she finally moves onto another table. 

You reach for the (single) mug she brought to the table, tucking your knees up to your chest as you fix your coffee. Once satisfied, you take a sip, the warmth travels from the inside out, and you can tell it’s a strong brew from just a small taste. 

You finished your first cup in silence, which was only broken now, by Peter, as you struggled to open more creamer cups. 

“So…is there something particular bogging you down…or is it just…a bad day?”

You pause in your stirring, thinking through the best answer. 

“Norman stopped by, unannounced, for dinner last night.”

You took a sip, feeling validated by Peter’s sympathetic wince. 

You told him all about him ogling you and every passive-aggressive (and not-so-passive) insult he threw your way. You told him about the fundraiser and the fit he threw over the food you had made. When you got to the “Adult Film” comment, Peter interjected. 

“Yikes! What did Harry say?”

Your face twisted like you had eaten something sour, and in a way, it felt like you had. As you spoke, you felt the bitter taste the words left on your tongue. You cleared your throat, making sure to “speak with your chest.”

“He didn’t say anything. He watched the food for me so I could go upstairs and change.”

Peter made a face of disgust, but just then your overly bubbly server returned. She placed each burger in front of you, and you ignored that Peter received more fries than you. Again, she tried to speak a little while longer, trying to ignite a conversation not realising she was trampling over the coals already set ablaze. 

You took a bite from your burger and you can taste the love and history seared in. As juice starts to trickle between your fingers, you get lost in this perfectly flavoured, flame-grilled patty. It’s so good you could eat it plain. But you don’t because you’re not a psychopath that eats plain patties. 

You’re so lost in your delicious burger that you don’t see the distracted way in which Peter is picking at his fries. There’s a question hanging from his slightly pouted lips; confusion resting on his brow. He lets you enjoy a few bites before eventually he decides that he did hear you right and that he needed clarification. 

“Wait…Harry didn’t say anything?”

You shook your head no as you swallowed your bite.

“He didn’t say anything?” Peter asked again. 

You nodded your head, quickly grabbing a napkin to wipe and cover your mouth. 

“What do you say to that? ‘Hey! Don’t say that!’” You scoff, “Like Norman would listen.”

Peter gave you a sad look before muttering a “Yeah, I guess,” before encouraging you to go on. You told him about the rest of the night (or at least the rest of Norman’s stay), before skipping to this morning. You told him about the outfit conundrum and the coffee-breakfast fiasco and when you finished, Peter let out a sigh, letting your words wash over him. 

“Damn,” he finally said, “That sucks.”

You hummed an “mh-hm” as you bit into your burger, then insisted that he share about his day around a mouthful of cheddar, beef, tomato, lettuce, and some in-house sauce you desperately wanted the recipe to, but knew you would never get. 

As you ate, Peter told you all about how Gwen is getting ready for England- about how stressful it is to get her ready in just six weeks. But also how sad it is knowing that one of his favourite people would soon be living in a different country for a year, and the best he could do was visit. 

He told you about how he needed to find a roommate, and he was considering Ned, someone he met at the Bugle, who was apparently pretty cool. He told you about his nightly phone call with May, which was funny, to you, because they saw each other all the time. Seriously. If Peter wasn’t home or at work, he was with May: helping her out with groceries, with the laundry, or fixing anything that squeaked in the house. It was really sweet. 

Peter then starts talking about other things, and you chew along as you follow his train of thought down every broken track and blindsiding curve. You honestly feel a lot better with food in your stomach. You forget just how hangry you can get. 

But as helpful as that burger was, you knew it was the company you shared that made you feel better. Peter Parker had once again worked his magic, and you felt loads better. He’s making you smile and laugh, helping you forget all the shitty hours before now. Time is now at a standstill. There’s nothing here but you and Peter, in your own little world. 

You feel a nudge at your foot and Peter wears a face of faux-indignation. You make your own face that reads, “What do you want?”

Peter fights back a smile, “You weren’t listening.”

You swallow your bite, “Yes I was, you were talking about your essay on some bacteria in the metabolism.”

“No,” he says kicking your foot again, “I was talking about the differences between Acrocanthosauruses and Carcharodontosauruses, but you were too lost in your burger to care.”

He breathes a dramatic sigh, imitating “every woman in a period piece ever” and the very reason he refuses to watch any of them with you. You smack his foot, breaking him from his false wallowing. 

“Was there a reason you were ranting about dinosaurs again?”

Peter returns the smack with a kick of his own. 

“Well, you would know that I was studying prehistoric plants in my botany class right now if you were a good friend.”

His words hold no ire, instead, they are spoken in a nasally, mocking tone. You kick him back, defending yourself anyway.

“I am a good friend! I’m paying for lunch and letting you rant about dinosaurs uninterrupted.”

Peter kicked your foot again with dramatically furrowed brows but a smile he couldn’t hold back, “I give you dinosaur lessons for free. You should be grateful for all that I share.”

You return the kick, “I am! I loved last week’s lesson on cephalopods-”

“The ​​Nautiloids, specifically.” Peter corrects, swatting at your foot again, “Cephalopods include a lot of things, such as squids, octopi, and cuttlefish.”

You roll your eyes at Peter’s triumphant grin. With no whitty remarks left you smack his foot again, this time a little harder, and stick out your tongue. Peter takes that as a declaration of war, and soon, a game of footsie breaks out. Towards the end of it, your pumping both of your legs as if biking while Peter does the same. 

You call a truce when Peter notices the waitress coming back over. Her uniform had changed since you first walked in. Now she wore her hair down, the chestnut waves falling over her shoulders. Her apron was folded over, much like Lenny’s, and her shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show she had cleavage without really showing it. 

“Hey, just wanted to check on you.” She says through a smile with way too much teeth, to Peter. Not you. She has only been looking at Peter, this whole time, who is of course, oblivious.

“I think we’re ready for the check.” You say shortly. 

The girl doesn’t say anything, just nods her head and promises to be right back. You pull out your wallet, card ready for when she returned. She passed the check to Peter when she returned, once again, ignoring you completely. Peter made a confused face before passing it to you. While you filled out the receipt the waitress tried once again to drum up conversation. 

“I’m Margot, by the way.” she stutters out. 

Peter is polite as ever, offering his name and his hand to shake. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard you talking about dinosaurs.” You notice the way she’s leaning forward, all but shoving her boobs in Peter’s face. “I just think they’re so cool. What’s your favourite one?”

You felt an anger rise within you. Margot looked to be a few years younger than you, maybe eighteen or nineteen. She’s young and pretty and way too obvious. Couldn’t this girl just leave you guys alone? Were you just fucking invisible? Why couldn’t you just talk to your friend in peace? 

Before sweet, oblivious Peter could answer her, you snap, “He’s taken.”

The young woman looks at you with a sort of horror on her face as she straightens back up. She looks between you guys a few times as her cheeks begin to redden. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t realise-”

“No, not by me!” You almost shout.

 You want to slam your head against the wall. Why is it that everyone thinks you’re a couple, or want to be? Is being friends so crazy?

“Just in general. He has a girlfriend.” You lamely explain. “Who isn’t me, but is very real.”

She looks at you with a look that could be confusion but you take it as disbelief. 

“...okaayyy…” she says as she awkwardly steps away from the booth. You fell back against the cushioned seat, sipping on your coffee as you avoided Peter’s wide eyes. You couldn’t avoid his laugh though. He very obviously thought your behaviour was hilarious. In fact, he voiced just how funny it was that you “defended his honour.” That you chased off the waitress he was too oblivious to notice was flirting with him, all on his behalf. 

“You pulled a ‘me’ at the bar!” he choked out between gasps of laughter, clutching his stomach as he fell deeper and deeper into the seat of the booth, referring to all the times he’s had to step in when a guy just couldn’t take a hint. 

You didn’t say anything, just stomped his foot under the table until he got the message. You weren’t truly cross with him, merely embarrassed. But Peter got that, because he always did. 

And you were always grateful for that. Especially now as your walking Peter back to class as he tells you all about the dinner May is planning next weekend. She was making a five-course dinner to celebrate Gwen getting into Oxford and was super excited about it. It warmed your heart to hear Peter’s impression of his Aunt as she insisted all of his friends were in attendance. 

“Seriously dude,” Peter says with wild eyes and a finger pointed in your face, “you have to be there, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You swat his hand away with a laugh and check his shoulder as you walk across the street, and passed the library. Peter laughs along with you and he’s happy to see you feel a lot better. 

Your smile is back and radiant, and your sass has returned. Along with that twinkle in your eye, the setting sun makes your irises glitter like river stones. There’s a slight rosiness to your cheeks from Jack Frost’s ruthlessness in these November days. And Peter was tracing the constellations he found on your face- mesmerized by the fables they told. 

Halfway through the story of when you stopped believing in Santa Claus, you got a call and both of your wonderment was broken. You can see the health and science building in front of you. But you feel it. A force that pulls you. Like a marionette on a string, you pull your phone from your pocket. 

“It’s Harry.”

You don’t know why you sound so sad when you say it. You didn’t mean to say it like that. Through a dead sigh and slumped shoulders. With a subtle drag at the corners of your mouth and a tightness in your chest. But you do feel bad, for not being excited to talk to him. You should be. 

You tuck your phone back in your pocket, deciding that you just like spending time with Peter, your friend, and you haven’t gotten to do that often. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to your boyfriend, you’re not avoiding him, you just didn’t want to say goodbye to Peter just yet. 

“He can wait,” You say more for yourself than Peter, but you feel like you’ve made the right decision as his smile stretches across his face. 

Peter beams and gives you a small thank you as you continue to walk Peter up the stairs. Once to the top, you stand across from one another, just smiling. You wrap your arms around your friend and he returns the favour. You bid him farewell, promising to see him next weekend and he promises to text you later. 

You can’t fight the smile on your face. Not when you open your phone again to see four missed calls and two text messages from Harry. Not when you pick up the phone and he lightly scolds you for not answering. Not as he tells you he has the driver circling around the campus because he got out of work early, and wanted to surprise you by picking you up. You can’t fight it when you finally get in the back seat. 

Harry grabs at the side of your neck once you’ve settled and pulls you closer to lay a strong kiss on your cheek. 

“Did you have a good day?” He asks. 

You can’t help but laugh as you tell him that you actually had a terrible day, “But I got lunch with Peter and that made up for a lot of it.”

Harry agreed, “Ole Petey Boy can turn any day around.”

You laughed along, “He sure can. It’s a gift.”

Before you can tell him what went wrong in your day, Harry is telling you about the amazing breakthrough they had at oscorp with a regenerative plant species. You don’t quite understand what he’s saying, but you know it’s good because of how excited he’s getting. And it’s rare to see him express excitement. 

He stops talking and looks to you for a response. You gasp, then tell him all about how amazing he is and how smart he is. He smirks, thanking you but trying not to let you see the compliments inflating his ego in real time. 

In an attempt to not look so big-headed, he said, “Well, I couldn’t have done it without my researchers- Gwen included. Which reminds me…My father wants to host another gala next weekend, to promote our breakthrough and announce the Marathon.”

Suddenly everything is bad again and you wish life would give you some kind of warning before your neck breaks from the whiplash. Harry notices the way your face falls and offers you comfort in his arms. You curl up against his chest as he absent mindly strokes your hair. 

“I’m sorry dear,” he offers, “I know you don’t like the Galas.”

“No, No, it’s not that,” you say with a sigh. “It’s just….May wanted to have this dinner, for Gwen, and she really wanted all of us there. And I promised I would.”

You rest your chin against his chest, batting your eyelashes over your hopeful gaze. 

“I’m sorry dear, I’ll be sure to send her flowers and a nice Piedmont.”

Your hopes are dashed. It seems you're going to a gala instead of a Parker family (and friend) dinner.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @supernerdycookietrashblr, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

#Rancid Writes #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #andrew peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm imagine #tasm!peter x you #tasm peter parker #tasm 2 #tasm!spiderman x you #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter imagine #the amazing spider man #spiderman #tasm #peter Parker imagines #spider-man imagines #spiderman x y/n #spider man x reader #spider man x you #spider man x y/n #best friend peter parker

[01libra]

Jesus college, university of Oxford

#mine #oxford university #dark academia #academia aesthetic #light academia #exteriors #historic architecture

[breakfast-at-timothys]

One of the most revolutionary events in English history, the Dissolution of the Monasteries (sometimes referred to as the Suppression of the Monasteries), was the set of administrative and legal processes between 1536 and 1541, by which King Henry VIII disbanded monasteries, priories, convents and friaries in England, Wales and Ireland; in effect, sacking and looting them for their income, land and assets.

In order to grasp the impact of the Dissolution, it is necessary to understand that in the late 1530s there were nearly 900 religious houses in England (around 260 for monks, 300 for regular canons, 142 nunneries and 183 friaries). As such, some 12,000 people in total (4,000 monks, 3,000 canons, 3,000 friars and 2,000 nuns), were engaged in carrying out the functions of those religious houses. To put this in context: if the adult male population was 500,000, one adult man in fifty was in religious orders.

Henry was given authority by the Act of Supremacy, passed by Parliament in 1534, which made him Supreme Head of the Church in England, thus separating England from Papal authority; the King's position further strengthened by two Acts of Suppression (1536, and 1539). The policy was originally envisaged as increasing the regular income of the Crown, and much former monastic property was sold off in the 1540s to fund Henry's military campaigns; though by the time Henry VIII turned his mind to the business of monastic reform, royal action to suppress religious houses already had a history of more than 200 years.

The first case was that of the so-called, Alien Priories (some, merely agricultural estates with a single foreign monk in residence; others, rich foundations in their own right, such as Lewes Priory, which not only answered to Cluny of Paris, but sent money overseas, too).

Given the fairly constant state of war between England and France in the Late Middle Ages, the money sent to France by these Alien Houses was a matter of significant grievance in England. As such, the first sequestrations of the assets of the Alien Priories began under King Edward I, continued in the reign of Edward III, and still further continued by act of Parliament in 1414, under the authority of Henry V.

Money and land acquired by the Suppression greatly increased the royal purse, though some of it was also used to found educational foundations: most often setting up new colleges at both Oxford University and Cambridge University. Further instances, include: John Alcock (Bishop of Ely), acquiring the Benedictine nunnery of Saint Radegund to found Jesus College, Cambridge (1496), and William Waynflete (Bishop of Winchester), acquiring Selborne Priory in 1484 for Magdalen College, Oxford.

Dissolution of Monasteries was not an act exclusive to England. In 1521, Martin Luther published 'De votis monasticis' (On the monastic vows), a treatise declaring monastic life was not compatible with the true spirit of Christianity. In Sweden in 1527, King Gustavus Vasa secured an edict allowing him to confiscate any monastic lands he deemed necessary to increase royal revenues; and in Denmark in 1528, King Frederick I grabbed 15 of the houses of the wealthiest monasteries and convents.

King Henry VIII's chief political and legal architect in the Dissolutions was Thomas Cromwell (also instrumental in monastic suppressions instigated by Cardinal Wolsey); though Henry is also said to have been influenced by Desiderius Erasmus and Thomas More; both of whom ridiculed such monastic practices as repetitive formal religion and superstitious pilgrimages for the veneration of relics.

Most parish churches had been endowed with Chantries (each maintaining a priest to say mass for the souls of their donors), and these continued until they too were dissolved under the Chantries Act (of 1547), by Henry VIII's son, Edward VI.

Along with the destruction of the monasteries, the related destruction of the monastic libraries is said to have been on a catastrophic scale: Worcester Priory, for example (now Worcester Cathedral), had 600 books at the time of the dissolution; only six of them are known to have survived intact to the present day.

Similarly, the Abbey of the Augustinian Friars at York, had a library of 646 volumes, of which only three are known to have survived.

[resplendentoutfit]

Nicholas Hilliard (1547–1619) (attributed to school of) • Elizabeth I (1533–1603) • Jesus College, University of Oxford

Deathly Pale

The beauty ideals for women in Elizabethan times was alabaster skin, ruby red lips, thin eyebrows, and a high forehead. Very little, if any, color was applied to the cheeks. Pale skin signified a woman of nobility, perpetually sheltered from the sun, with an abundance of servants to perform all the necessary functions of daily life. Tanned skin was for peasants laboring in the fields.

In the Elizabethan era, mercury was a common ingredient in makeup. At that time, it was used to clear the skin of spots and wrinkles, much like today's acne treatment is designed to do. However, the mercury was not treating acne; it was in fact removing the skin and corroding the flesh! If someone found that method didn't work, they might have mixed birch sap, elder leaves, and sulfur, applied it to their skin at night and removed it in the morning. Other forms of skin cleansers were made from urine, rain water, donkey's milk or red wine. If all this failed, bring on the leeches!

To achieve her signature, porcelain look, Elizabeth's favorite cosmetic was 'Venetian ceruse', a mixture of white lead and vinegar. The queen powdered her face and neck with the substance, transforming her skin into a porcelain canvas, slowly poisoning herself in the process.

To keep that tiny waist and show off one's best stomacher, women would swallow tapeworms that would digest most of the food they'd eaten.

Sources:

Elizabethan Costuming Page, stylecraze.com, The Flower Letters, fragrantx.com

#the resplendent outfit #portrait #art #elizabeth i #makeup of the Elizabethan era #tapeworm diet

[scotianostra]

October 12th 1929 saw the birth of Magnus Magnusson, writer, broadcaster and quiznmaster in TV programme “Mastermind”.

Aye ah know he wasn’t born in Scotland but -I’ve started so I’ll finish!

Magnus was born in Reykjavík but grew up in Edinburgh, where his father, Sigursteinn Magnússon, was the Icelandic consul. Magnus’ Icelandic name at birth was Magnús Sigursteinsson, but in Scotland his family adopted British naming conventions and from childhood he used his father’s patronymic as a surname. Living in Joppa, he was educated at the Edinburgh Academy and was in the school’s marching brass band. So to those saying he’s not Scottish, he did live almost his entire life here.

After graduating from Jesus College, Oxford, Magnusson became a reporter with the Scottish Daily Express and The Scotsman. He went freelance in 1967, then joined the British Broadcasting Corporation, presenting programmes on history and archaeology as well as appearing in news programmes.

He retained his academic connections, however, and was Lord Rector of Edinburgh University from 1975 to 1978 from 2002 served as chancellor of Glasgow Caledonian University. The Magnus Magnusson Fellowship, an intellectual group based at the Glasgow Caledonian University, was named in his honour. Magnusson’s books included I’ve Started so I’ll Finish, a memoir of his years on Mastermind, and Scotland: The Story of a Nation.

Magnus of course is most famous for the quiz show, Mastermind, it was originally broadcast late on a Sunday night and was not expected to receive a huge audience. In 1973 it was moved to a prime-time slot as an emergency replacement for a Leslie Phillips sitcom, Casanova ‘73, which had been moved to a later time following complaints about its risqué content. The quiz subsequently became one of the most-watched shows on television. Magnusson was famous for his catchphrase “I’ve started so I’ll finish,” which was also the title of his history of the show. The original series was also noted for the variety of venues where filming took place—often including academic and ecclesiastical buildings. The last programme of the original series was filmed at St Magnus Cathedral in Orkney.

To further add to Magnus’s credentials for being a Scot he married Glasgow lass Mamie Ian Baird and they had 5 children together, including Reporting Scotland presenter Sally.

On 12th October 2006, his 77th birthday, Magnusson was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Magnusson mordantly noted that “This has to be one of my worst birthdays ever”. His condition forced him to cancel a string of public appearances. He died on 7th January 2007.The Aigas Field Centre a nature centre near Beauly has a building named in his honour.

In 2014 an auction sold off a lot of his belongings for the Scottish based Balmore Trust, a fair trade charity which sells fairly-traded goods in its shop The Coach House and supports projects in Africa, India and the west of Scotland.

Magnus Magnusson, Icelandic by birth Scottish through choice. Anyone still not convinced of his Scottish & Proud credentials, check out this quote from the man “I have got the best of both worlds; growing up in Edinburgh and now living outside Glasgow.”

Scotland is a welcoming country and have a rich culture which comes from all round the world, with his writing and knowledge Magnus brought so much to our country

Magnus Magnusson is buried in Baldernock Churchyard, East Dunbartonshire.

#Scotland #iceland #icelandic #Scottish #TV personality #TV Presenter #Author #history

[gaykarstaagforever]

English in the 160+ years between Chaucer and Shakespeare was wild. This is Middle English, where the English court finally decided to stop using French and use their own damn language.

...Which had already been like 40% French for 400 years.

Plus every 20 miles you went in Great Britain, the people would be speaking an incomprehensible dialect and using a different alphabet.

Case in point:

That thing that looks like a 3 falling down is supposed to be a "g," but I think they also randomly use it as an s or a z. Because they didn't have a z, and s already had two different letters, depending on where it appeared in the word.

Also u is a v...sometimes. Next to an e. Sometimes. The e's at the end of words was pronounced...except when it wasn't.

Also w's might be v's sometimes. Or literal double-u's, like "oo." Because they used a w, but not a v...?

Also j is a soft c when it is near an s. ...Which you kind of don't need, because you already have an s. But French has soft c's, so they added them, but wrote them as j's.

Y's and i's are equivalent, except when they aren't. Sometimes a y is just the word 'ye'. Except when it might stand in for 'and'? Maybe?

Also 'ee' is the same as 'i' and 'y'. And 'ie'. They're all the same. Except when 'ie' sounds like 'eye,' instead. There is zero textual way to tell.

And they use the letter thorn pretty consistently for 'th'. Except where they just USE 'TH'.

Also sometimes they actually use an actual letter 'g' instead of the 3 thing. And half the time it is silent. So what the hell is the point?

You figure this out. This is apparently a hymn to Mary about how Jesus is cool, but...also might be about Jesus kissing Mary Magdalene? I can't tell, because they keep randomly dropping in full Latin phrases I don't understand, but which they apparently did.

Probably.

You tell me, people who didn't drop out of college.

This is why English spelling remains incomprehensibly weird. They gave up before they even started.

The University of Oxford was founded in 1096 probably just to help people figure this nonsense out. And they never did!

#history of the english language #middle english #15th century #english history #etymology

[thesarahshay]

Oxford: We're a university but we're actually made up of a bunch of separate colleges with different names

Me, an American: Ok, sure

Oxford: So we've got like Queen's College and Exeter College

Me: Right, sounds very British

Oxford: And there's Christ Church and Jesus and Corpus Christi

Me: That scans historically

Oxford: We've also got Balliol and Brasenose

Me: Haha, cute

Oxford: Also there's one called New College

Me: Huh, ok

Oxford: It's one of the oldest

Me: Seems confusing, but you do you

Oxford: And then of course there's University College

Me: ...Now you're just messing with me

#I knew almost nothing about Oxford before I discovered Dorothy Sayers and now I know things I can't unknow #Oxford is basically another planet #Oxford University #Gaudy Night

[freddieraimbow74]

ON THIS DAY In Queen History - 18 April

QUEEN: 1974 Kiel Auditorium, St Louis, MO; 1976 Hordern Pavilion, Sydney.

FREDDIE MERCURY: 1987 + Mike Moran record ‘Have A Nice Day’, Town House Studios, London, for OIQFC Convention.

BRIAN MAY: 2011 Playing guitar Steve Cropper “Dedicated – A Tribute to the 5 Royales” release, track ‘I Do’.

2011 + Kerry Ellis interviewed + played ‘I Loved A Butterfly’, Fern TV chat show, UK;

2013 Guest of Lord Krebs,Jesus College, Oxford, discussing animal welfare/badgers;

2013 + Anita Dobson British Animal Honours televised ITV.

#freddie mercury #queen band #j’adore #roger taylor #jhon deacon #musique #queen #music #original character #brian may

[some-pers0n]

On a related note to that proship Wikipedia page, there's actually a hilarious instance of a radqueer *giving a college speech about the radqueer community and recording it online* lol. Moons above, some people are just so terminally online lol. Bonus points for the fact that the speech doesn't even make sense unless you're intensely following discourse around radqueers, much less even know what they are.

www.archive.org/details/VriskerFic8onRadqueerSpeech

Listening to it and just. jesus christ what am I even hearing. "Transableism isn't ableist because being disabled isn't a bad thing and wanting to be disabled isn't bad" imagine being a college prof and hearing that.

(More inane ramblings below the cut + live reactions)

Not to also mention it just baffles me the idea of, say for example, neurotypicals identifying as "transautistic" because they feel like they are autistic. You can't be serious with me right now. You cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that you are oppressed because you identify as disabled despite being able-bodied. I get it somewhat if it's a OSDD/DID thing and you've got alters and whatnot, but it's just asinine. It's beyond terminally online. The second hand embarrassment from seeing that this was handed in as a project is so intense. You'd have to be toiling in the darkest, deepest parts of the internet to even understand this.

"It can't be offensive because most of us are minorities" ??? WHAT EVEN IS THAT LOGIC??? Like can you apply that logic to fandom racism? Like imagine people calling somebody out for racism and they went "erm I polled my followers and most of them were queer minorities so it's not offensive" are you kidding me.

Oh my fucking god of course they're a Vriska kinnie. The way they're describing being "transcharacter" makes me nauseous like... Okay, fine, I understand kinning characters. This stuff here sounds like a cult or signs of some sort of dissociative disorder. My sibling in science you need help if you genuinely feel like harming yourself over not being a fictional character.

"I'm trans-half-blind" be serious with me rn. Be fr. Be honest with me here

I do very much agree that harassment and doxing is utterly vile and I feel for these people and how they've been affected, but I don't think suffering immediately makes their identity any more valid. You can't just be. transdisabled. You are either able-bodied and wearing an eyepatch for fun or you're actually disabled.

The thing with these transdisabled people is that they never identify with "gross" disabilities either. Where's the transdisabled people who want feeding tubes. Where's the transdisabled people who claim that they've got dysphoria because they don't have a oxygen tank. What about the disabilities that aren't easy to make you look cool and edgy? Don't got dysphoria for that now, huh?

God I hate fakeclaiming people with mental disorders but I also think that you gotta have at least something with you in order to feel dysphoria about not being a system or not having autism.

Again imagine being a normal well-adjusted person who (at most) has a Snapchat and Instagram account and hearing this. They just talk about this stuff like you're already aware of it. Goodness gracious. The thing here too is that I'd be terrified of giving them a bad mark for being, well, incomprehensible in case they decided to take that as me being a violent bigot and further harm themselves.

What are they even talking about right now

Why are they talking about the Oxford dictionary

"This calls us attention seekers. Well, don't you know that attention seeking is a sign of emotional neglect?" you didn't debunk the argument. You just said: "Well, yeah, maybe we are attention seekers, but don't you know we're also traumatized? Boom, gotcha there. Now you can't criticize us because we're traumatized"

OH MY GOD THEY ACTUALLY WEAR AN EYEPATCH WDHUAIWHAIUA--

Oh how brilliant of a conclusion: people are people and not everyone's emotions and experiences are the same. How ground-breaking. Curious, I wonder what it would be like to ask a person who has a missing or damaged eye their thoughts and opinions on a transcharacter Viriska wearing an eyepatch and telling people they're disabled. I wonder how they'd feel.

God this whole thing is so immature. They call anybody who disagrees with them a child when they themselves have been doing little more than make cheap arguments, curse, and barely formulate even a single coherent thesis statement. It doesn't even sound like they have a script, more like ramblings straight from the heart.

Kid, I don't really care if a person is transID or whatever it's called. I care if they're a decent person more than anything. I'm not going to maul them and drag them into the streets for people to stone to death. Why do you act like you're oppressed in this way? I get that you and your friends have been mistreated, but to be honest it's still like. ridiculous to me.

Please don't...gouge your eye out...

I know I've said it before but GOD imagine being a prof and receiving this. I would be utterly terrified and don't know what to do because it's clear the person is not exactly in. stable condition mentally.

#ask #ash

[fideidefenswhore]

☕️ thomas cranmer (love your blog btw!!)

cheers!

cranmer was one of nine siblings, he had a sister that lobbied both mary i and reginald pole for his release, despite that her own religious beliefs were quite different to her brother's (it's been assumed that this was alice, his sister that was a nun, whom he later installed as prioress, but DM stated in his biography we cannot be certain of that)

a chaplain to bishop clerk of bath and wells said "he trusted to see the day his lord of canterbury would be burned" (1533)

catherine of aragon referred to him as "a shadow” 1534

the curate to one of catherine's chaplains referred to him as a "hostler" (a hostler was a man that took care of horses at an inn, the rumor of this origin seems to have come from his brief marriage that took place somewhere between 1515-1519, at which point he had to forfeit his fellowship and became the 'common reader at buckingham college', lost his housing at jesus college and lodged his wife joan at the dolphin inn)

hostile londoners hung up bundles of hay at his gates once he was ordained as an archbishop, in relation to the "hostler" rumor

he once said "of all sorts of men, i am daily informed that priests report the worst of me" (1534)

brought “revolutionary liturgical change” by “[asserting] in the text of his 1549 marriage service [....] that marriage could be ‘fun’”

after his first, half-hour interview with henry viii, referred to him in a letter to a friend as “the kindest of princes” (1527)

wolsey was fond enough, or admiring enough, of cranmer as a scholar and theologian to attempt to “tempt him from cambridge to cardinal college, oxford”

he was lodged at thomas boleyn’s residence at durham place by 1530 at the latest

anne boleyn was crowned and anointed by cranmer with the crown of st edward the confessor on whit sunday (1 june, 1533)

issued the marriage license for henry’s final marriage on 10 july, 1543 (”in any church, chapel, or oratory without the issue of banns”)

was godfather to both the future elizabeth i and edward vi

had a “fashionably elegant wardrobe”, including a “chammer (a rich gown that opened at the front) of scarlet faced with crimson satin”, “a gown of russet furred with lamb and faced with martens”, and “a short riding jacket of worsted linen with cotton”

mary i would not pay in full the bailiff’s reimbursment in the case of cranmer in her lifetime, the “faggots, stakes, and labour” that had gone into the burning of cranmer was an outstanding debt of the crown until the protestant bishops of elizabeth’s reign finally paid it in full ("the case is miserable, the debt is just”, wrote the regius professor of divinity to archbishop parker)

#anon #trivia + HF meme

[viscountessevie]

Uhhh my OG anon about the poll,,,,you came to the right person: ya non-binary pal is a Greek nerd and honestly wtf is that comparison. Actually you know what Imma just show yall the INSANE ask I just got. Not cos of the anon but the insanity that is the Polio fandom.

I am LEGIT seething at this comparison. First the show wants to do My Fair Lady aka Pygmalion and now this bullshit. RMB (while an okay book) IS NOT THAT DEEP! 

More Under The Cut [Cos it got long and this is the TDLR Sanji is Pissed Version]

Also the book couple had chemistry, the show version does not!! All this education and they can’t fucking read our full arguments. The Greek shit aside, I knew adding the education qn would be a slippery slope this whole fucking convo is SO condescending. It’s giving the assholes who put down Simone for being a college dropout in comparison to CC’s Oxford degree. 

Anyways that’s my knee-jerk reaction to getting these asks - thank you anon for them!! If any of you who has seen this thread, would you by any chance be cool sharing screenshots of this convo? They don’t deserve anonymity for such brain dead takes. I’ll be making a full well thought out thesis about this - you bet your ass you’re getting a spin off to My Fair Lady thesis but now its Why RMB Will Never Be The Odyssey. 

Also anyone else wanna send asks about this post or add comments/reblogs to this post pls do so! Imma compile everything together in one master post and add in everyone’s thoughts on this too. 

Before I forget, I initially made this post to tell the anon to give me time cos this is gonna have a MONSTER of an answer and also I’m working on another long ask atm! So I wanna clear that as well before diving into this. I was gonna tackle S3 asks but this is tooo insane to let it wait 

EDIT: I’m adding in the newer asks because holy shit the extended convo is horrifying: 

The quotes of this full ask between these two screenies were all quotes that are compiled above so it seemed redundant to put those quotes in again but it looks like more people have found that insane public thread yikes. 

I CANNOT STOP LAUGHING AT THIS TAKE “I’m from SEA so I enjoy something more light hearted” LMAO WHAT girlie did you not have strict Asian parents who parentified you?? But I also get it if that person was traumatised by her life that she finds comfort in light hearted romances which is valid but Jesus this is not it. 

You’re SO right babes I’m gonna cover this in my masterpost. I think they’re trying to overcompensate because we always call them dumb for liking a ship with no chemistry and one of them is a racist in their show version. Anyways can’t wait to see what else yall have to tell me on this topic! Also it doesn’t have to be just the Education question, since we’re talking about the poll we might as well pick it apart! 

#Bridgerton #Bridgerton Fandom #Bridgerton Discourse #anti penelope featherington #Penalty (Bridgerton) #Anti-Polin #Pelican (Bridgerton) #Block these tags if you don't wanna see this shit #God I wish I could be this delusional as those users #I'd be happier in life for real #Bridgerton Poll #Bridgerton Asks