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thecrazyworldbuilder · 2 years

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Slightly changed common forenames

Aaron Ada Adam Adrian Adrienne Agnes Alan Albert Alberta Alberto Alex Alexander Alexandra Alexis Alfred Alfredo Alice Alicia Alison Allan Allen Allison Alma Alvin Alyssa Amanda Amber Amelia Amy Ana Andre Andrea Andrew Andy Angel Angela Angelica Angelina Angie Anita Ann Anna Anne Annette Annie Antoinette Antonia Antonio Antóny April Arlene Armando Arnold Artúr Ashley Audrey Barbara Barry Beatrice Becky Belinda Ben Benjamin Bernadette Bernard Bernice Bertá Bessie Beth Betsy Betty Betány Beulah Beverly Bill Billie Billy Blanca Blancé Bob Bobbie Bobby Bonnie Brad Bradley Brandi Brandon Brandy Brenda Brent Brett Brian Bridget Brittany Brooke Bruce Bryan Byron Calvin Camille Candace Candice Carl Carla Carlos Carmen Carol Carole Caroline Carolyn Carrie Casey Cassandra Cathy Catérine Cecelia Cecil Cecilia Celia Chris Christian Christie Christina Christine Christopér Christy Cindy Claire Clara Clarence Claude Claudia Clayton Clifford Clifton Clinton Clyde Cody Colleen Connie Constance Cora Corey Cory Courtney Craig Cristina Crystal Curtis Cyntûa Cád Cárlene Cárles Cárlie Cárlotte Célsea Céryl Céster Daisy Dale Dan Dana Daniel Danielle Danny Darla Darlene Darrell Darren Darryl Daryl Dave David Dawn Dean Deanna Debbie Deborah Debra Delia Della Delores Denise Dennis Derek Derrick Desiree Diana Diane Dianna Dianne Dixie Dolores Don Donald Donna Dora Doreen Doris Dorothy Douglas Duane Dustin Dwayne Dwight Earl Ebony Eddie Edgar Edith Edna Eduardo Edward Edwin Eileen Elaine Eleanor Elena Elisa Elizabeth Ella Ellen Elmer Eloise Elsa Elsie Elvira Emily Emma Enrique Eric Erica Erik Erika Erin Erma Ernest Ernestine Essie Estelle Estér Etél Eugene Eula Eunice Eva Evelyn Everett Faith Fannie Faye Felicia Felix Fernando Flora Florence Floyd Frances Francis Francisco Frank Franklin Fred Freda Freddie Frederick Gabriel Gail Gary Gayle Gene Geneva Genevieve George Georgia Gerald Geraldine Gertrude Gilbert Gina Ginger Gladys Glen Glenda Glenn Gloria Gordon Grace Greg Gregory Gretcén Guadalupe Guy Gwen Gwendolyn Ian Ida Inez Irene Iris Irma Isaac Isabel Ivan Jack Jackie Jacob Jacqueline Jacquelyn Jaime James Jamie Jan Jana Jane Janet Janice Janie Janis Jared Jasmine Jason Javier Jay Jean Jeanette Jeanne Jeannette Jeannie Jeff Jeffery Jeffrey Jenna Jennie Jennifer Jenny Jeremy Jerome Jerry Jesse Jessica Jessie Jesus Jill Jim Jimmie Jimmy Jo Joan Joann Joanna Joanne Jodi Jody Joe Joel John Johnnie Johnny Jon Jonatán Jordan Jorge Jose Josefina Joseph Josepûne Josúa Joy Joyce Joánna Juan Juana Juanita Judith Judy Julia Julian Julie Julio June Justin Kara Karen Kari Karl Karla Kate Kathleen Kathryn Kathy Katie Katrina Katérine Kay Kayla Keith Kelley Kelli Kellie Kelly Ken Kendra Kenneth Kent Kerry Kevin Kim Kimberly Kirk Krista Kristen Kristi Kristie Kristin Kristina Kristine Kristy Krystal Kurt Kyle Lana Lance Larry Latoya Laura Lauren Laurie Laverne Lawrence Leah Lee Leigh Lela Lena Leo Leon Leona Leonard Leroy Leslie Lester Leticia Lewis Lila Lillian Lillie Linda Lindsay Lindsey Lisa Lloyd Lois Lola Lonnie Lora Lorena Lorene Loretta Lori Lorraine Louis Louise Lucia Lucille Lucy Luis Lula Luz Lydia Lynda Lynette Lynn Lynne Mabel Mable Madeline Mae Maggie Mamie Mandy Manuel Marc Marcella Marcia Marcus Margaret Margarita Margie Marguerite Maria Marian Marianne Marie Marilyn Mario Marion Marjorie Mark Marlene Marsá Marsáll Marta Martin Martá Marvin Mary Maryann Mattie Mattéw Matéw Maureen Maurice Max Maxine May Megan Megán Melanie Melba Melinda Melissa Melody Melvin Mercedes Meredith Micáel Micéal Micéle Micélle Miguel Mike Mildred Milton Mindy Minnie Miranda Miriam Misty Mitcéll Molly Mona Monica Monique Morris Muriel Myra Myrtle

Nadine Nancy Naomi Natalie Natasá Natán Natániel Neil Nellie Nelson Nettie Nicole Nicólas Nicóle Nina Nora Norma Norman Olga Olive Olivia Ollie Opal Ora Oscar Pam Pamela Pat Patricia Patrick Patsy Patti Patty Paul Paula Paulette Pauline Pearl Pedro Peggy Penny Perry Peter Phyllis Priscilla Pûlip Pûllip Racáel Racél Rafael Ralph Ramon Ramona Randall Randy Raquel Raul Ray Raymond Rebecca Regina Reginald Rene Renee Ricardo Rick Ricky Ricárd Rita Robert Roberta Roberto Robin Robyn Rocélle Rodney Roger Roland Ron Ronald Ronnie Rosa Rosalie Rose Rosemarie Rosemary Rosie Ross Roxanne Roy Ruben Ruby Russell Ruth Ryan Rónda Sabrina Sadie Sally Salvador Sam Samantá Samuel Sandra Sandy Sara Sarah Scott Sean Sergio Seth Sidney Silvia Sonia Sonja Sonya Sopûa Sopûe Stacey Stacy Stanley Stella Stepánie Stepén Steve Steven Sue Susan Susie Suzanne Sylvia Sáne Sánnon Sári Sáron Sáwn Sáwna Séila Sélia Sélley Sélly Séri Sérri Sérry Séryl Sûrley Tabitá Tamara Tami Tammy Tanya Tara Tasá Ted Teresa Teri Terrance Terrence Terri Terry Tiffany Tim Timothy Tina Todd Tom Tommy Toni Tony Tonya Tracey Traci Tracy Travis Tricia Troy Tyler Tyrone Télma Téodore Téresa Tómas Valerie Vanessa Velma Vera Verna Vernon Veronica Vicki Vickie Vicky Victor Victoria Vincent Viola Violet Virgil Virginia Vivian Wade Wallace Walter Wanda Warren Wayne Wendy Wesley Willard William Willie Wilma Winifred Wûtney Yolanda Yvette Yvonne Zacáry Ánnah Árold Árriet Árry Árvey Áttie Ázel Éatér Éctor Éidi Élen Énrietta Énry Érbert Érman Ólly Ópe Óward Úgh Ûlda

#name list #names #naming characters #name #character name

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dneurin · 2 years

Video

vimeo

El desayuno (Film, short version) - Miguel Casco from Miguel Ángel Casco on Vimeo.

Largometraje / Performance / Videoarte Miguel Casco en colaboración con Hekatombe Producción Artística

Catorce personas habitan su propia piel para atestiguar el amanecer y compartir sus cuerpxs mientras el sol naciente ilumina el espacio. La interacción se suscita entre ellxs y la premisa principal es celebrar la vida, honrar la libertad y el disfrute. El Desayuno invita a abrazar la desnudez y entrar en sintonía con la naturaleza.

miguelcasco.com

D I R E C C I Ó N Miguel Casco

D I R E C C I Ó N E S C É N I C A Andrea Garay

D I R E C C I Ó N C O R E O G R Á F I C A Sebastián Santamaría

D I R E C C I Ó N E J E C U T I V A Catalina Navarrete

R E P A R T O Mar Castañedo Mónica Colin Marlene Coronel Mariana Domenech Jimena González Aileen Kent Carlos Nunez José Francisco Ordóñez Luis Ortega José Ortiz Baruk Serna

V I D E O Alan Espinosa Erik Jonguitud Michel Trevilla F O T O G R A F Í A Alejandra Edwards David Flores Rubio

M Ú S I C A Sebastián Lechuga (Intro, Oscuridad, Ofrenda y Desayuno) Alejandro Preisser (Locura, Descenso, Claridad y Outro)

E D I C I Ó N D E V I D E O Miguel Casco Erik Jonguitud

D I S E Ñ O F L O R A L Alejandra Velasco

M U S I C A L I Z A C I Ó N E N V I V O Jail Less

E Q U I P O T É C N I C O Humberto C. Cáceres Heber Leonidez Elena Manero Ehécatl Moreno María Naidich Alfonso Pérez Yair Ramírez

P R O Y E C T O R E A L I Z A D O C O N E L A P O Y O D E Etna M. Arroyo, Jacobo M. Casco, Patricia Almada, Luis Antonio Garay, Elsa Hernández, Carlos Navarrete, Rocio Barajas, Carlos Santamaría, José María Macías, Andrés Castañeda, César Meza, Enrique Ajuria, Susana Tovar, Valeria Casco, Luis Antonio Casco, Heleni Castro, Óliver Victoria, Andrea Ayala, Andrea Anderson, Indira Zamora, Roberto González, Andrés Piña, Rafael Hernández, David C. Parra, Youtaek Hwang, Eduardo Palacio, Remi Cárdenas, Rogelio Toledo, Ross Romero, Isabella de la Mora, Tabaré Arroyo, Yair Ramírez, Luis Almada, Omar Cobos, Silvana Larrea, Raffaela Schiavon, Isabel Vieitez, Rebeca Zequera, Leonardo Galicia, Mark Feldmann, Francisco Saldívar, José Francisco Ordóñez, Neil Haidorfer, Bárbara Huerta, Adriana Degetau, Tere Sáenz, Chloe Estes, Fernando Almazán, Gina Guzmán, Mariano Nava, Rubén Ojeda, Diego Ortiz, Santi San Martin, Carlos Santamaría Barajas, José Funcia, Malimna Etnegorozka, Pablo P. Caro, Gabriela Chávez, Gabriel Picazo, Rubén Torres, Roberto Praxedis, Luis Pérez, Jeannette Betancourt, Elena Manero, Ma. Ceci Cuesta, Humberto Schiavon, Celeste Bejarano, Mario Montes & David Martínez.

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metuatqeg · 2 years

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Knowing how many young celebrities get abused, growing up troubled, I don't feel comfortable watching young people on screen at all any more. Just to list a few, there are many more:

Jeannette McCurdy

Corey Feldman

Corey Haim

Britney Spears

Amanda Bynes

Lyndsay Lohan

The Olsen twins

Drew Barrymore

Alison Arngrim

Anthony Edwards

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scxttershot · 2 months

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Floyd re. Susan Lawton [this is an amateur writer's baseless speculation, please don't take this as canon]. Mostly copied from a random-ass Discord DM rant to a friend.

Until proven otherwise I'm rolling with "it [their relationship] was a pretty TV/Hollywood-stereotypical example of young love, I don't think either of them knew any better and it's likely that up until that point my version of Floyd had only had short, violent relationships with men". They were young. Not necessarily dumb, but inexperienced at best. Probably at least high school sweethearts? Plus she got pregnant given how Deadshot is the least careful person on Earth and despite himself, he didn't want to abandon a child like his parents abandoned him. Even then I'm headcanoning that she miscarried that child as is very common. Unfortunately the demons took over when they had a living kid and he [canon] ended up treating Edward Jr. more like he was a chore to be around from the outside opinion of everyone else.

I actually kind of go into his own thoughts on it in this fic paragraph, not to be a shill but I feel it's a decent summary: '“That’s it? Just ‘yeah’?!” As if he’d been stung, or perhaps bitten by a series of ants, George flinched away, putting as much space between them as the confines of the tent would allow.

“You didn’t let me finish.” And perhaps he hadn’t. Floyd inhales sharply, shakily. “I’ll be honest. Don’t have the words for any of this ready at hand. I ain’t much use with feelings either, you know that. I’m not some simpering broad. Can’t tell you what to feel, or do, and I certainly can’t offer any advice. I got hitched by a stroke of luck and I wouldn’t be amazed if it turns out we’re both cheatin’ with some other guy or gal. Me and Suze have been on the rocks for a while, thought a kid or two would fix it. It didn’t. It didn’t, and some small part of me wishes I felt anything about it other than hoping Eddie ends up with her rather than me in the divorce.” Purposefully, he blinks, nice and slow. “So, yeah. Sure. You’re slobbering over the cock of a psychopath. I can’t love you, George. I’m not sure if I ever loved anybody.”'

I'm not sure he fell out of love with Susan how I interpret it so much as he was maybe never in love and throwing himself at the first warm body who paid him notice and wasn't a man seeing as that would have been dangerous in anything but modern times. At best, at maximum, Floyd Lawton is not a man who has a great handle on his emotions, nor can he really identify emotions. It's genuinely hard to gauge whether he's felt anything other than the most shallow form of attraction. At least until Jeannette/Catman came around but that is a tale for another time and also something I'd really prefer to talk to other RPers about. Not that I know anyone who writes Jeannette.

#out of bullets - headcanons #metaanalysis #ooh some meta for you!#suggestive

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thenoticeblog · 5 months

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Support The Notice Blog this Giving Tuesday!

Did you know The Notice Blog is a 501c(3) nonprofit production company? We support and produce narratives from BIPOC, Queer, Immigrant, and Formerly-Incarcerated people in Media, Journalism and the Performing Arts. We depend on support from community members like YOU to continue our work.

Make a tax-deductible contribution to The Notice Blog today here: https://donorbox.org/thenoticeblog

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porestoria · 1 year

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Rothschild

Grew up in Switzerland surrounded by rich powerful people's kids.

ADUARDA (Mahria) writes! Most of her work comes from poetry.

Eventual morte: Morte cerebral. Terá seus órgãos doados.

Nascida: Mahria Eduarda Rothschild - Rio de Janeiro, Brasil. (Pseudônimo: Aduarda)

Cresceu em: Winterthur, Suíça

Peso: 53,3 kg | Altura: 175,1 cm

Lugar favorito oficial: Museu de Winterthur

“Eu ia [ao Museu de Winterthur] todo ano, em meu aniversário. Era o evento favorito e mais esperado por mim.”

Status civil: Casada, desde 2015 (aos 21 anos)

Marido: Edward/Eddie Cullen (2015—)

Profissão: Médico cardiologista e advogado jurídico

Parentes

Pais biológicos: Desconhecidos

Pais adotivos: Robert e Alexandria Jeannette Rothschild (✝2007/2001)

Avós adotivos: Liberté e Lukas Rothschild (✝2001)

Principal lar

Papeete, Tahiti

Pós morte

Sua casa na França se tornou um museu/parque nacional com gratuidade duas vezes ao ano (aniversário e aniversário de morte). O local é repleto de árvores diversas, plantas e flores coloridas. Seu jardim favorito era o Roxo, repleto de tulipas e rosas da cor e muito “mato” verde.

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dextervexter · 1 year

Note

10, 12, and 19 for the book ask?

10) A book that didn’t live up to your expectations?

Winterset Hollow by Johnathan Edward Durham. I take part of the blame because I misread the back and thought this was like, a wind in the willows type murder mystery. It wasn't, and I powered through it but I think the author still has a lot of work to do on his writing style because it was pretty weak and underdeveloped and the biggest problem with the book.

12) What was the most unexpected book you read this year?

Flowers in the Attic by VC Andrews. Honestly I only read it because it was mentioned in one of my favorite books and because my aunt read the Dollanganger Series and recommended them. it wasn't my style really but I'm not upset to have read it.

19) Best non-fiction book(s) you read this year

chief im so sorry i rarely read non-fiction. I read I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jeannette McCurdy? I had mixed feelings on it.

send me some end of the year book asks!

#thanks for asking!

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adamantiumdragonfly · 3 years

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No Ordinary Time: Part Two “wherever you are tonight”

"...A time when the United States is what we fight for..."

The occupants of the Grisham Hall boarding house were no strangers to the war effort. Brothers, cousins, old flames, and current sweethearts have been wrenched from their grasp, the only contact to their stolen loved ones is military-grade pencils and scraps of paper.

Estelle prides herself on her mind for numbers but a usurper from her past rears his russet head and threatens to steal her thoughts every chance he gets. Bessie has been searching for a home in every patron in that cafe but she's left seeing his face everywhere she looks. Constance hears her lover's voice on the wind, finding quiet in the graveyard shift of the machine shop. Margaret refuses to admit defeat but the distance between her letters and her love grows wider each day. Jeannette has read many stories about tragic heroes. Her childhood friend has told tales of his plans for wealth and ending the war on his own. She just hopes she has a chance to do her part first.

wherever you are tonight

Taglist: @rinadoesstuff @vintagelavenderskies @julianneday1701 @wexhappyxfew @trashgoddess600 @pilindieltheelf @sunnyshifty @rogue-sunday @thoughpoppiesblow @pxpeyewynn @50svibes

Norfolk, VA. 4th of April, 1944.

While some found the adjustment to loved ones being taken from their grasp rocky, Elizabeth Ferguson had the advantage that only a select few possessed. She had already lived through it, making the sting nothing but a fond memory. It didn’t stop stinging though, no matter how many times one felt it. A dull ache would be a more appropriate term, the bruised flesh tender, and the black discoloration fading but the strain of muscles didn’t let the memory fade entirely. It was enough to make a first-timer bedridden for a week but to a repeat offender like Elizabeth, it was a mild discomfort. She had said goodbye before and did her best not to, when given the chance.

She held onto forlorn books, ragged quilts, and threadbare shirts to keep the end at bay, trying to prevent the inevitable ache. Elizabeth tried her best to limp about when the goodbyes were unavoidable. That could be said of everything she attempted. Bessie was a trier, an all-around trier and failer. She didn’t have a wall of degrees like Estelle or a self-assured flick to her head like Vera. She was just Bessie Ferguson, who had clattered and crashed her way through twenty-one years of life. Not that she hadn’t attempted school (she wasn’t the best student) and not that she hadn’t attempted to walk with the confidence that her theatrical friend possessed (it ended in a twisted ankle and a scraped-up knee) but by god, she tried.

She liked to think that her determination was her best attribute, right up there with the dimple on her left cheek that had gotten her more than her fair share of tips when she had been employed at Charlie’s. The real Charlie had said she was one of his best workers and his gruff voice in her head still brought a smile to her lips, bringing out the money-winning dimple.

Even when goodbyes were said, Bess found ways to hold onto the people or things. She still frequented her old place of work long after she was employed in the noble service of her country. Every Friday, like clockwork, she was in the second to last booth, the red vinyl striking against the blue of her uniform.

I look like the American flag, Bess thought, examining herself in the reflection on the glass of the window. Red booths, white mugs, and a blue uniform. How was that for patriotic?

She looked different, hair sleek and uniform pressed. Was this really Bessie Ferguson who knew every waitress and cook’s name in Charlie’s Diner? Or was Bessie older now, with the WAVES blue wool on her shoulder, finer and warmer than anything she had owned in her twenty-one years. 1941 seemed like a century ago, not three years.

“Hiya, Bess,” Angie was still there, her bouffant of pin curls still perched precariously on her brow. “You got a letter from your boy, I see,”

Bess came in every Friday, with a new letter or to write her own. The grease-stained walls had brought her luck and good memories. She thought that she could imbue them into the stationary, sending them across the ocean to him.

“Yup,” Bessie said, smiling.

“About damn time,”

She had been sat without a letter for some two weeks now. The patrons and the staff of Charlie’s had been concerned, fretting more than Bessie had herself.

“He was a dear thing, that Powers boy,” Angie said, tucking her pad back into the apron Bess was all too familiar with. There was no need to take her order, Bess ordered the same thing every time. “Two sugars, right?”

No matter how tenderly she tried, the bruise was liable to be bumped or brushed. She tried not to wince at the words.

“I saved you a seat,” He would say, even though she was working. He knew full well she shouldn’t sit during her shift but he would say it anyway and she could never say no, either. His smile had seared itself into her mind, a soft glow that warmed her better than any cup of coffee ever did. He would pour her a cup anyway, from the pot she had brought to refill his own mug. “Two sugars, right?”

That had been before rationing. That had been before the war had been set to boil when it was brewing like the dark roast that soaked every inch of this diner. It had been percolating, slowly dripping and staining their country. He had been a machinist at the shipyard’s graveyard shift and she had been a waitress at his favorite diner, that served coffee with “the prettiest smile I ever saw”. It had been a romance sweeter than any baked good in the case and more poetic than Jeannette’s Shakespeare.

She had been a different person then, just a little girl in her third house in three years. Bessie hadn’t known Mrs. Grisham’s motherly touch or the soft smile of her beau. Bessie had only known how to try and try she did.

the ‘30s hadn’t treated Bessie’s family well but she knew they weren’t special in that aspect. The world had been gripped by the choking thorns of financial strain and the vines had pulled the last strains of life out of her parents. When her father had died, Bessie had thought things would be okay. The farm she had grown up on and the family she had been surrounded with was invincible, or so she had thought. She would grow up under the bows of that oak tree that towered in the yard, swatting the swarms of yellow flies and raking up the leaves in the fall. It was her home.

But Bessie watched her family home disappear from view in the backseat of a second cousin’s car, eight years old and she had never seen her new home before. Her oldest brother, Arthur, was sent some twenty miles to the west, only twelve, to provide labor to yet another distant relative’s floundering farm. Eight years old and Bessie would never see home again.

Elizabeth Ferguson hadn’t been raised to admit defeat. As the Depression stretched on and her bags were packed and unpacked, Bessie kept trying. She made her peace with every attempt, trying hard to be useful, helpful, and liked. Her name provided a blank slate, quickly covered in her current caretaker’s preferred nickname. Elizabeth. Beth. Bess. Bessie. Lizzie. Liz. Eliza. She answered to them all and she didn’t mind, truly she didn’t. She would try her best to be what that family wanted, what that home demanded but she’d end up with the suitcase in her hand and a new route to a new home.

Elizabeth had parted ways with the last relative, the last attempt at home, at the age of eighteen. April had dawned cold that year, 1941. She had found employment with the sticky floors and chrome edgings of Charlie’s, turning up on the Grisham’s doorstep. It had been Carrie, Vera, and Estelle back then. Before the war.

Before the war. She worked hard, shoes wearing thin and bones aching when her head hit the pillows. Elizabeth had worked hard and tried to cling to what she had left, the friends she had gained, and the home she had made. Maybe if she clung to them, the one god thing wouldn’t slide away from her, finding a home in some other harbor.

She hadn’t been looking for him or anyone and yet, they had found each other. Drawn towards each other, blending and blurring in watercolor of perfection. Maybe the best pieces of art were the ones that weren’t intended.

“Has anyone seen to you two?” She had asked, whirling around on the slick tiled floor. They were a grease-stained pair, smelling of oil and sleepless nights like every machinist who crossed the line from Portsmouth for a cup of coffee after work.

“No, ma’am,” The tallest, a thin, rake of a boy who didn’t seem much older than Bessie said. His voice was soft, not loud and course like the usual Shipyard folk. “We are fine to sit for a spell-”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth shifted the bus bucket of dirty dishes to her hip, bracing it with her arm so she could retrieve the pad and pen from her pocket. “What can I get you two?”

“Ma’am, do you need a hand?” The soft-spoken one made to reach for the bucket but Bessie raised a hand to stop him.

“It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.” She smiled. “Now what can I get you two?”

Faces came and went in that little diner on the corner of College and Duke, there were the regulars and there were the strangers. Elizabeth had treated them all the same, a bright smile and a warm plate. It was the least she could do and she knew what it was to need a smile from a stranger or two. These two machinists weren’t the only blue collars who sat in the vinyl booths but she fought to keep her eyes on the paper and not straying towards the one who offered her help. The orders were taken and the niceties exchanged, Bess turned on her heel, biting her lip to keep from grinning.

As she marched towards the kitchen, his companion jabbed and teased, the blush creeping up the soft-spoken boy’s face, settling into his hairline. She

These two machinists quickly became regulars, coming back every Friday. Small talk was made and a rough sketch of their characters was established. Elizabeth had never been one to chase but it seemed the work was being done for her. Mr. Wynn and Mr. Powers returned week after week. As the months dragged by and April came and went, Mr. Powers would linger.

“Where are you from, Mr. Powers?”

“Clincho, ma’am,”

“I’ve got family out that way,” Elizabeth had said. “How long you been in the area?”

“I’ve been in Portsmouth for about a year now, I reckon,”

“I’ve an aunt in Portsmouth. Over on Bains Creek,”

“Where don’t you have family, ma’am?’

“The moon,”

He had smiled, bright and warm. Elizabeth felt like she had taken a warm cup of coffee and held it tight to her chest, fingers warming on the ceramic. The dimple on her left cheek appeared in response.

“It’s Elizabeth,” She said. “Elizabeth Ferguson.”

“Darrell Powers,”

Elizabeth had never thought that sharing a smile could be something so special. She had smiled at hundreds of patrons, offering a grin here and there until the muscles in her face hurt, all for a few extra quarters thrown on the table. Elizabeth had never expected a tip from Mr. Powers, or Shifty, as he said the boys called him. Mr. Powers, he remained to her, even on their tentative agreement to a show at the cinema on some Friday night. Mr. Powers, he would be, until he walked her home from her shift, offering her his jacket in the rainstorm that sent them racing towards the nearest porch. There, standing on a stranger’s porch, in the April rainshower, Elizabeth wrapped his jacket tighter around her disheveled uniform, breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke and oil. There, the rain beating down around them and his hair slick against his blushing face, he asked her if he could call her Elizabeth.

“Liz, Bess, I don’t care,” She said.

“Which do you like better, ma’am?”

“My brother used to call me Lizzie,” She admitted.

His eyes studied her like she was some fine painting he had spent hours perfecting and the name on his lips was the signature at the bottom, declaring the work as his. The colors could run and the ink would fade but Elizabeth Ferguson would cling to that coat in its smokey comfort. She had worn it as the rain had lightened up enough to begin their route to the Grisham front door. She wore it on the front porch and burrowed her hot face into the leather as Vera pounced on her, pounding her with questions and squeals.

Elizabeth Ferguson knew what it was to lose thing but Lizzie was willing to try and hold onto this boy as tight as she could. Lizzie was going to try her damn near hardest. This boy with his soft words and bright smile would be taken from her kicking and screaming. She allowed herself to be lulled into a sense of security, taking the two sugars in her coffee and his offered hand too. Lizzie was all bright paints and newly sharpened pencils and Shifty Powers was all steady hands and fresh paper, the perfect medium for this new home Lizzie dared dream of. She was ready to start something new, something untouched by the inevitable goodbyes.

Then the bubbling brew of Europe had overflowed into the spitting flames. Steam rose and Pear Harbor shattered like a ceramic mug on hard tiled floors. Vera left, caught up in the theatrics of secrets and intelligence and Carrie joined up, bringing her soft words and soothing hands to the wounded. Estelle left her school and allowed her talented mind to be lent to the Navy, putting together pieces of puzzles and breaking codes like they were the Sunday crossword. Lizzie wasn’t brave or smart or soft like her friends. Elizabeth Ferguson was a stumbling, bumbling trier and she grasped for the remaining pieces of that home she had searched for. She had spent years searching for family in the faces of strangers, reaching for that oak tree and rope swing in houses that would never be her home and she wasn’t about to lose it. Not to war, not to an Army, and most definitely not now.

“Don’t worry about me,” he had said, gripping her hands in his own calloused ones. He had volunteered, given himself up willingly. Lizzie could have screamed. The Airborne had terrified her, the planes and the silk chutes were terrifying. Their kiss on the Grisham Hall’s front porch had tasted like possibility and tears. He left for Georgia that morning, leaving her in Norfolk with only a pen and an empty hand.

She had told him she wouldn’t if he promised not to worry about her. She had tried not to be worried but maybe he had every reason to be worried about her.

“Bess?” Angie said again, snapping her fingers. “You good, sugar?”

“Yes, sorry,” Elizabeth said, smiling sheepishly. This diner could pull her back when she didn’t have a thought for the present.

Angie shook her head. “Baby, I think they are working you too hard over there,”

“There” was the mailroom on base. “They” were the WAVES, summoning Bess to their cause. She had joined up in April of ‘43. He had been gone for a week and Bess couldn’t stare at the booth where he had once sat for hours. She didn’t mind the work, and she told Angie so. Being surrounded by all those letters and being the reason soldiers and families heard from their loved ones was the only thing that kept Elizabeth sane. She could try and offer some peace to the fellow fretting wives and friends who longed for a letter, a word, or even a telegram that told them that he was safe.

Angie wandered back to the counter, Elizabeth’s order safely scribbled in the confines of her mind, leaving her with her thoughts and her pen. Staring at the traffic that passed outside the window, her fingers gripped the pen, sketching out the twist of his head and the twinkle of his eyes as she remembered it. As his face burned into her mind.

She didn’t draw him as often as she wanted to. Elizabeth’s sketchpads were filled with the same sketches over and over, page after page, burned into her memory. She didn’t have to look at a reference anymore, the oak trees and the slopes of the house never changed. The smiling faces and the bright eyes as she remembered them didn’t shift. Every so often, a new face would grace the pages but that wasn’t a usual occurrence and was a great honor when a stranger or new face caught her attention. Flipping through the sketchpad, Elizabeth saw his face etched into the pages. She only put pen to paper and chronicled his features on the days she missed him the most. He haunted her more than she drew, hours spent with her finger on the desk tracing out his smile.

“They said you’d be here,” Jeannette Edwards stumbled through the door, arms full of books as she slid into the seat across from Bess. In the few weeks that Jeannette had lived in Grisham Hall, she had slowly acclimated herself to the Norfolk streets.

“Jeannie,” Bess smiled, closing her sketchpad. “Estelle still working?”

Jeannette nodded. “She said to meet you here and that we’d take the bus home.”

Bess folded her letter, sliding her belongings to the side so that Angie could place her order on the sticky tabletop. The mug of coffee, two sugars carefully rationed and dissolved, and the apple pie. Offering Jeannette the fork, she encouraged her to take a bite. Bess was passionate about oil pastels and pastries, making it her mission in life to share those passions with her friends. When a pie or a drawing was offered, Bess’s trust soon followed.

“Why do you rank pie, if you don’t mind me asking?” Jeannette asked, using the side of the fork to cut a piece off of the wedge of glistening golden pie.

“Every home is the same but the apple pie is different everywhere you go.” Bess explained.“Mrs. G’s is third best, this is the second-best apple pie.”

“Who is the first place?”

“Mine,” Bess smiled.

“You are multi-talented then,” Jeannette said around the mouthful of second-best pie, dipping her head towards the sketchbook she had abandoned.

“I just doodled,” Bess shook her head but she offered the book to Jeannette all the same. Watching her thumb through the pages, Bess’s heart was wedged firmly in her throat, not daring to hope for any kind words or critique.

“These are beautiful,” Jeannette said, her fingers tracing the lines that intricate leaves that had first taken hours and now took a matter of minutes. “Where is it?”

“That’s my family’s farm.”

“You must visit often to sketch it so much,” Jeannette said.

Bess smiled, taking the sketchpad back and tucking it into her bag. Reaching for the cup of coffee, she stared into its dark depths. Maybe Jeannette knew the words to describe how she felt. Jeannette was better at words than Elizabeth.

“It’s hard to forget,” She admitted.

A knock on the window beside their booth made both women jump, the fork clattering on the shared pie plate. Estelle’s face pressed against the window as she beckoned them out, her lipstick faded after the long day hunched over the papers and codes. Estelle Tran was rarely seen with a hair out of place, much less with her signature red lipstick anything but striking against her pale skin. Bess insisted she looked like a real version of Snow White, something that Estelle had always shake her head at. Disney’s princess hadn’t been college-educated, she reminded them.

Bess dropped the money on the table and gathered up her purse and hat, waving goodbye with her fistful of gloves to the cooks and the regulars who still knew her name.

“See you next Friday, Bess,” Angie called as the door swung shut behind them.

“How was work, Stell?” Elizabeth asked, looping her arm through her friend’s as she tugged the gloves over her graphite-smudged hands.

“Heinous,”

The disheveled appearance of the usually put-together Estelle was indication enough. Bessie nodded.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

It was, in moments such as this, when rest is most needed that the world decides to test you.

The bus pulled up to its spot, just as it always did. It was a route that Bess was familiar with, a routine that she welcomed. Fridays were spent at the diner until Estelle got off of work. They would then walk home or, if particularly exhausted, take the bus. Bessie hopped inside without hesitation, ready to sit in a seat and watch the world pass by while she finished the letter she had drafted in her mind. The bus driver, a new face, said nothing as she entered. But, on the days when rest is most needed, inconvenience is the Devil’s worst weapon.

“We don’t let your people on,” The bus driver said, the passengers peering over the edge of the nest, not daring to disagree.

“I beg your pardon?” Bess looked back, seeing that he was not referring to her in her American blue uniform but Estelle. Dear Estelle with her features nothing like the usual faces of Norfolk, Virginia.

Jeannette’s mouth hung wide and Estelle froze, foot perched on the step. Her face fell and Bessie could almost hear it shatter on the pavement. The Grisham girls had been informed that Estelle’s family hailed from the Indochina islands in the Pacific and had been in America since Teddy Roosevelt’s days. She was most ardently NOT the enemy. Mrs. Grisham would sniff indignantly at such a mention and Vera, before she had left, had been known to glower at anyone who dared say such a “fucking disgusting thing”.

Bessie stepped forward, ready to give the man the facts but a hand encircled her arm, pulling her out of the bus and back on the pavement before the doors swung open. Swearing so loudly and vehemently that Mrs. Grisham would have been sent to an early grave, Bessie aimed a kick at the tire of the bus before it sped off, sans three passengers.

“It’s fine,” Estelle said.

“You aren’t Japanese!” Elizabeth growled, her shoes stomping on the pavement. Bess was a trier and she was a fighter. She was ready to try fighting for Estelle, even if that meant throwing a fist at this burly bus driver.

“It’s fine, Bess,” Estelle said.

“That was a despicable thing to do,” Jeannette fumed.

“Let’s just go home,” Estelle muttered, squashing her hat more firmly over her brow and leading the way down the street.

What good was it, Bessie grumbled to herself as she followed Estelle, to serve your country when you were still considered the enemy?

Estelle worked harder than any man and she had been working hard for many years. She had been a teacher and now fiddled with codes that boggled even the male mind. And yet, she was only seen as the enemy. Estelle Tran, by seniority or by necessity, had taken the unofficial role of den mother among the women of Grisham Hall. On the third floor, nothing went on without Estelle knowing. She guarded the girls like they were her own, a grim mother hen who warded off broken hearts and bruised feelings with wise words and her own experience. Bessie loved Estelle like she was a sister and she would have gladly punched that bus driver if she wasn’t wearing the uniform of the US WAVES. Women’s work in the war was precarious enough as it was.

Elizabeth didn’t say a word, as she slipped her hand into Estelle’s, gripping it tightly as they marched through the streets of Norfolk, their heads held as high as they could manage. She knew she couldn’t fight to change every mind or man in this country but Bessie Ferguson was a trier, through and through. Home may not have looked like that oak tree or the face she had sketched so often but she’d hold onto it as long as she could.

#world war two women #grisham hall for ladies #estelle tran #Bessie Ferguson #bessie x shifty #jeannette edwards #no ordinary time #bessie backstory #flora skye writes #tildy writes #band of brothers fanfiction #hestias of the homefront

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duranduratulsa · 3 years

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Now showing...Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) on classic DVD 📀! #movie #movies #scifi #actionadventure #terminator #terminator2 #terminator2judgmentday #T2 #arnoldschwarzenegger #LindaHamilton #EdwardFurlong #RobertPatrick #JoeMorton #earlboen #jeannettegoldstein #xanderberkley #dannycooksey #90s #dvd

#movie #movies #scifi #action/adventure #terminator #terminator 2 #terminator 2 judgment day #james cameron #arnold schwarzenegger #linda hamilton #edward furlong #robert patrick #joe morton #earl boen #jeannette goldstein #xander berkley #90s #dvd

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 2 years

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What's Ada like?

Long Post Warning: I'll try to stay brief but I do love to ramble so bear with me. (Also there is a brief mention of attempted suicide)

much of the following is copied from my mock up of Ada's character profile and personal history in the style of the Twilight Illustrated Guide.

NAME: Adeliza Charlotte Wakefield Cullen; preferred name: Ada

DATE OF BIRTH: November 25, 1795

DATE OF TRANSFORMATION: March 15, 1815, at age 20

SOURCE OF TRANSFORMATION: Jonathan

PLACE OF ORIGIN: Hartland, Devonshire, England

HAIR COLOR: Coppery red

EYE COLOR: Hazel (human); gold/black (vampire)

HEIGHT: 5’3½”

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Ada has a diamond-shaped face and a shapely, not quite buxom figure.

SPECIAL ABILITIES: She can see and hear people wherever they are in the world. She cannot see people she has never met, though there have been exceptions on two occasions. Unlike Alice, her gift is not limited by werewolves or hybrid vampires.

EDUCATION/OCCUPATION: Ada has attended high school and college with her siblings several times. She has several degrees in various humanities, including history, music, fashion, art, and psychology. Her current focus is anthropology, which has led to her particular interest in the Quileute tribal customs and history.

HOBBIES: Ada, like Edward, is very musical and plays several instruments, though she has a particular preference for string instruments and the Baroque style. She shares an interest in cars with her siblings Edward and Rosalie.

VEHICLES: Black Cherry Mazda RX-8 Shinka, a white (“Bianco Isis”) Lamborghini Murcielago, a Damson/White 1972 Triumph Daytona motorcycle

PERSONAL HISTORY:

Ada was born Adeliza Charlotte Wakefield in Devonshire in 1795 to Rev. Charles Wakefield, the local vicar, and his wife Charlotte nee. Stevens. Ada was the middle child of five. She had two older brothers: Charles, a fellow at Cambridge, and Frederick a soldier; and a younger sister, Maria.

Ada was deeply Romantic and fell in love with her brother Frederick's best friend and fellow soldier Lieutenant Henry Beveridge. Though Ada wished to be married before Henry left to fight in France, Henry wanted to wait until after he'd made his fortune.

After Henry left for France Ada became extremely anxious for his safety and her latent psychic ability began to manifest in the form of dreams which showed her what was happening to her lover and brother.

When Ada received a letter from Frederick telling her that Henry was missing in action and likely dead, she fell into a deep depression which eventually led her to attempt suicide by throwing herself off a cliff into the sea. She miscalculated her jump though, and landed not in the sea but on the shore. The fall did not immediately kill her and she lay on the shore for an immeasurable period of time waiting to die, cold and in terrible pain. She was discovered by a vampire named Jonathan, who bit her there on the shore and fled with her to Glasgow, Scotland his home city.

Jonathan intended for Ada to be his mate, though he did not disclose this to her until a year after her transformation. By this point Ada had discovered her fully developed psychic gift of remote viewing which allowed her to see her family, and also revealed to her that Henry was, in truth, alive and well and living in France. Her ability to see her family made it difficult for her to separate the humans she preyed upon from those she remembered having relationships with and inspired a deep moral conflict. Despite her gratitude to Jonathan for saving her and giving her a second chance at life Ada had no interest in a romantic relationship with him, especially now that she knew her fiance was still alive.

Younger, stronger and faster than her ungifted creator, Ada slipped away from Jonathan while he was hunting and fled to France. There, she met a friendly coven of two, a brother and sister named Albèrt and Jeannette. They were intrigued by Ada's search for her lover and agreed to help her find him, though neither were very talented trackers.

They eventually found Henry in a small village in the country side. What Ada's ability had not shown her was that Henry was married. Filled with rage, Ada considered killing Henry and his wife, but was stopped by Jeannette and Albèrt, who knew that Ada would hate herself if she did. When Ada was calmer, she returned to Henry's home in the night and read his diary, desperate for an explanation. When she read the passages describing his separation from his regiment, how he was wounded, and his grief when he finally received word of Ada's disappearance, she realized that Henry may have attempted suicide himself, had it not been for the comfort he found in the woman he later married, she decided, with difficulty, to leave him in peace with the happy life he'd built for himself.

Ada returned to Paris with Jeannette and Albert, and began to experiment with her ability in more depth. Curious as to what had become of Jonathan, she sought him out with her gift but saw him not in Glasgow but in Europe, less than a day's run from her location. She fled, first to Greece on Jeannette's recommendation, where she met a coven of four, though her stay was short lived. Jonathan caught up with her quickly, in addition to tensions re-igniting between the Greeks and a Rival Turkish coven following the outbreak of the Greek War for Independence.

Ada spent the next several years as a nomad traveling across Asia, evading Jonathan all the time. Eventually she found herself in Japan where she met another semi-permanent coven. They were not as convivial as the French or as welcoming as the Greeks, though they were not hostile to her. As strict about vampire secrecy as the Volturi, they heard Ada out and their leader, O Tomoe, decided that Jonathan was an unwelcome risk and must therefore be eliminated.

Ada found herself surprisingly comfortable with the Japanese coven and stayed with them for many years. She left in 1854, when Japan was opened to trade.

Over the following century, Ada returned to Greece before finally settling back in France with Jeannette and Albèrt. They were the most understanding of Ada's compunction regarding human life. In spite of their empathy for her, they discouraged her early attempts to resist human blood. After decades of struggle, Ada became depressed with the toll of human life, and the fact that all her human family had now aged and passed on. Ada missed the comfort of family; despite her fondness for Jeannette and Albèrt, their inability to fully understand her conscience created an insurmountable barrier between them.

It was as she was in the depth of this longing that Ada experienced an anomaly in her ability. For the first time she saw with her gift people that she had never met before: a family of three. Though the vision was brief, she was able to see that they were vampires and had gold eyes and seemed peculiarly intimate. Feeling that the anomaly must have had a purpose, Ada decided to leave France and find them. Jeannette and Albèrt encouraged this decision, hoping that Ada would find with this strange coven the peace and understanding that they could not give her.

Ada discovered the Cullens in upstate New York in late 1928, shortly after Edward left to begin his vigilante life. Carlisle and Esme accepted Ada happily and unconditionally. Ada feared that when Edward returned he might view her as having tried to take his place, but this, fortunately, was not the case. Though Carlisle and Esme hoped, as they later would with Rosalie Hale, that perhaps Edward would find a mate in Ada, neither Edward nor Ada were romantically inclined. Edward felt no attraction to Ada, and Ada was unready for a relationship, as she still clung to her human memories of love for Henry. She and Edward did, however, form a very amicable relationship as siblings, as they shared many interests in common, particularly music.

When Alice Brandon and Jasper Whitlock joined the family in 1950, Ada was very intrigued by Jasper’s story, particularly his period of depression and how his supernatural ability made it harder for him to handle killing humans. As with Edward, she was able to bond with Jasper over their similarities, and is perhaps the member of the family Jasper is closest to, other than his mate Alice.

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

What are Ada's relationships with the family like?

Though she makes greater attempts to govern her emotions and judgement than she did in her human life, Ada is still very romantic. She's closest with Jasper, though she and Alice have a strained relationship. Ada sometimes feels inferior to Alice, since their gifts are so similar but Ada's is seemingly less useful that Alice's. This is somewhat balanced out when Ada discovers that the Quileute wolves are not exceptions to her ability the way they are to alice's.

Ada is also very close with Carlisle, with whom she shares many moral convictions. Ada's love of baroque music is something that particularly delights Carlisle. As Ada's room is located on the third floor, directly above Carlisle's office, he often gives her specific requests as to what she plays. He's especially fond of her interpretations of Bach and Scarlatti, though her own favorite composer is Vivaldi. Ada makes her own violins and other string instruments, mainly copies of Stradivarius instruments. Her favorite violin is a recreation of the 1721 "Lady Blunt" violin, which she chose to replicate because she is dismayed by the fact the the real Lady Blunt has been treated as a collectible and not played for most of its life. She has also copied the 1727 "Reynier", 1707 "Cathedrale" and 1713 "Baron Rothchild" violins.

(Lady Blunt)

Though Ada and Edward naturally spend a lot of time together as the only single members of the family, Ada's naturally passionate optimistic nature often clashes with his more acerbic and nihilistic personality.

What are Ada's interests outside of music?

Ada's favorite decade of the 20th century was the late 70's and early 80's. She was very interested in the rise of the Goth movement and by goth rock and new wave music (particularly in how they drew from Romanticism), which still makes up the bulk of her listening diet, with favorites being Depeche Mode, Nine Inch Nails, Bauhaus and Joy Division--though her broader tastes are as eclectic as Edward's.

The one area in which Ada and Alice find commonality is fashion, though it annoys Alice that Ada prefers to choose her own clothing instead of letting Alice assemble a wardrobe for her. Ada's love of the gothic aesthetic was something she indulged in heavily during the 80's, with the logic that it wouldn't hurt as long as she kept it low key, and that it would be normal with a large family of teenagers for at least one of them to embrace the current era's brand of counter-culture. The Satanic Panic of the late 80's and early 90's put a brief stop to this as it would be more likely to call attention to the Cullens in the small towns they frequented. Ada still incorporates dark colors into her wardrobe wherever she can, though they are never placed in direct contrast to her skin, which is usually covered with a pastel base-layer.

Ada shares the car bug with Rosalie and Edward, but Ada probably derives the most pure enjoyment from driving. Even when Edward isn't in a mood to race, Ada spends most nights driving by herself and listening to music. She owns three vehicles (read about those here). Ada's motorcycle is her primary method of transportation to and from school.

How does Ada feel about Bella?

Initially she doesn't really know what to think about the situation. Rather like Emmett she's mostly just curious. Once Alice makes the announcement that Edward is in love with Bella, or will be, Ada is very sympathetic and falls in line with Esme's cautiously optimistic take on the situation, since it appeals to her romantic sensibilities. When Edward pursues the relationship more openly, Ada is supportive, although she is a little jealous of the couple since it makes her own loneliness that much more acute. (Although she finds her own other half, Cem, during the Cullens' year away from forks, which she spends visiting her Greek friends.)

Ada is vehemently opposed to Edward's insistence on the Cullens leaving in New Moon, because she is fearful of what Bella might do, considering how she herself reacted under similar circumstances. She flatly refuses to promise Edward that she won't "look in" on Bella.

Ada is extremely interested in the Quileute wolves when she learns of their resurgence. Her interests in anthropology make her very curious about Quileute culture and history, and she is very favorably disposed to the Wolf Pack despite their distrust of the Cullens.

Various Other Details

Ada's room, as I mentioned is located on the third floor of the house and is positioned over Carlisle's office on the North-West corner of the house. As with all other members of the family Ada has an en suite closet and bathroom. Her closet is a reverse L shaped room that backs onto the library; it connects to her bathroom which is set against the North face of the house.

Ada’s room is decorated in light shades of lavender blue with dark wood trim, similar to the paneling in Carlisle’s office. A matching writing desk is set against the South-facing wall. The West wall is dedicated to her Harpsichord, string instruments and sound system, with a window seat set into the corner; while the east wall is covered in a book case containing her small library. This wall also features a dumbwaiter connecting to Carlisle’s office so they can pass books between libraries. Like Edward’s room, there is no bed, but there is a very accommodating sofa on the west wall, beneath the high windows.

Ada attends the Forks High School Prom with the rest of her siblings, despite having no "date". Alice and Jasper drove with her in the four-door Mazda, as Alice refused to climb out of the back of Rosalie's two-door BMW in her Cerutti gown. Jasper and Emmett both take turns dancing with Ada during the prom.

This is the inspiration for Ada's prom dress, which, like SM did for Bella's and Alice's, I chose from Paris Fashion Week 2003.

(It's Valentino)

And, barring the details of her meeting Cem and the development of their relationship (which is the subject of the story I'm writing), that's about everything.

#twilight saga #twilight renaissance #twilight oc

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paulinedorchester · 2 years

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Women conductors you should know

Today, March 31st, is the last day of Women’s History Month in the USA. With that in mind, here are some women conductors. This is not intended to be an exhaustive list, nor does inclusion here constitute an endorsement of the conductor’s work. The point that I’m trying to make is that women in this field are no longer the jaw-dropping novelty that many in the non-music press would have you believe. They aren't really a new phenomenon.

I’ve given each conductor’s country of birth; this isn’t necessarily where she ended up, and please note that some were born long enough in the past, in parts of the world that have seen great political tumult, that their native countries no longer exist.

Marin Alsop, USA

Jessica Bejarano, USA

Gisèle Ben-Dor, Israel

Victoria Bond, USA

Nadia Boulanger (1887-1979), France

Antonia Brico (1902-1989), Netherlands

Sylvia Caduff, Switzerland

Sarah Caldwell (1924-2006), USA

Daniela Candillari, Yugoslavia

Karina Canellakis, USA

Joana Carneiro, Portugal

Elim Chan, Hong Kong

Han-Na Chang, South Korea

Mei-Ann Chen, Taiwan

Avril Coleridge-Taylor (1903-1998), UK

Catherine Comet, France

Jessica Cottis, Australia

Odaline de la Martinez, Cuba

Alondra de la Parra, Mexico

Sian Edwards, UK

Laurence Equilbey, France

JoAnn Falletta, USA

Alice Farnham, UK

Nicolette Fraillon, AM, Australia

Dame Jane Glover, UK

Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla, USSR

Emmanuelle Haïm, France

Barbara Hannigan, Canada

Sara Hicks, Japan

Margaret Hillis (1921-1998), USA

Imogen Holst (1907-1984), UK

Apo Hsu, Taiwan

Monica Huggett, UK

Jeri Lynne Johnson, USA

Julia Jones, UK

Karen Kamensek, USA

Vítězslava Kaprálová (1915-1940), Austro-Hungarian Empire

Eun Sun Kim, South Korea

Carolyn Kuan, Taiwan

Jeanne Lamon (1949-2021), USA

Anne Lundy, USA

Oksana Lyniv, USSR

Susanna Mälkki, Finland

Joana Mallwitz, Germany

Ariane Matiakh, France

Gemma New, New Zealand

Tomomi Nishimoto, Japan

Eva Ollikainen, Finland

Nicole Paiement, France

Eve Queler, USA

Andrea Quinn, UK

Stephanie Rhodes Russell, USA

Speranza Scappucci, Italy

Barbara Schubert, USA

Anna Skryleva, Russa

Jeannette Sorrell, USA

Nathalie Stutzmann, France

Anu Tali, Estonia

Keri-Lynn Wilson, Canada

Diane Wittry, USA

Jenny Wong, Hong Kong

Simone Young, Australia

Jiemin Zhang, China

Xian Zhang, China

Zheng Xiaoying, China

#classical music

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winsonsaw2003 · 2 years

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Looking For Descendants Of William Thomas Lewis (1790-1875) Bencoolen,Penang

I’m looking for descendants of William Thomas Lewis (1790-1875) to share some information.

Son of Henry Charlesz Lewis and ?. He was Resident Councillor of Penang from (1855-1860).He died in 1875 Penang,Malaysia. He married 1st,Jane Lancaster,2ndly Maria Antonetta Neubronner. His issue:- i) Jane Lewis ii) Elizabeth Martha Lewis (1821-1839). iii) Wilhemina Lewis (1823-1856). iv) Henrietta Elizabeth Lewis (1828-1891),Brighton married to Captain George Smart. Their issue:- ai)Alexander William Smart(1848-1922)married to Fanny Amelia Kearns.His issue:- bi)George Edward Smart,Royal Garrison Artillery(1881-?) married Marion Alice Barrow. bii)Sir Walter Alexander Smart(1883-1962)married Amy Nimr Pasha.His issue:- ci) Micky Smart(1935-1943).A niece,Soraya George Antonius. biii)Hugh Sale Smart(1885-1915). aii)George Henry Robert Smart(1850-1898) married Caroline Elizabeth Hughes. aiii)Annette Elizabeth Smart(1852-1922) married 1stly Thomas Munn & 2ndly John Frederick Sale. aiv)Edward de Sausmarez Smart(1859-1931)married 1stly Amy Beatrice Dugdale & 2ndly Elizabeth Raim. av)Helen Alexa Smart(1862-1941)Hove,Sussex,married Robert William Duff. v) Catherine Isabella Lewis(1829-?) married Joseph Rose. vi) William Lewis (1830-?). vii) Maria Mary Lewis (1834-1907) married Robert Crosse. Their issue:- ai) Rev.Thomas George Crosse (1850-1932) married Fanny Maria Nelson.His issue:- bi) Frances Katharine Crosse(1887-?) married Elwyn Storer Bowen. Their issue:- ci) John Elwyn Bowen (1928-1995). cii) Joan Beatrice Bowen (1931-1984). bii) Thomas Latymer Crosse(1889-1916). biii) Robert Grant Crosse (1894-1916). biv) George Hallewell Crosse(1896-1949),South Africa married Doris Jessie Forrester. His issue:- ci) Charles George Latymer Crosse. bv) Edward Neufville Crosse(1898-1970) married Margaret K Mackillop Brown. His issue:- ci) Gillian S Crosse married Martin W Evans aii) Charles Robert Crosse (1852-1921) married Catherine Da Costa Porter. His issue:- bi) Mary Da Costa Crosse(1878-1962) married Arthur Sydney Bates. Their issue:- ci) Anne Mary Bates(1915-2006) married John Oliver-Bellasis. Their issue:- di) Hugh Oliver-Bellasis bii) Whitworth Charles Crosse(1879-1948) married Enid Isobel Lewis. His issue:- ci) David Charles Whitworth Crosse(1923-2001). biii) Jeannette Annie Crosse(1881-1948) married Alan Harvey Lockyer Prynne. Their issue:- ci) Michael Whitworth Prynne (1912-1977) married Jean Violet Stewart. His issue:- di) Bridget Mary Prynne married Donald Ian Fleming Spence. Their issue:- ei) Arabella Jean Spence married Nicholas C I Burge. Their issue:- di) Lily Victoria Burge. dii) Thomas Charles H Burge. eii) Robert Ian James Spence. dii) Caroline Anne Prynne married Terence Michael Kehoe. Their issue:- ei) Susanna Jane Kehoe. eii) Catherine Jenny Kehoe. eiii) Olive Anne Kehoe. diii) Celia Jane Prynne married David Christopher Greenberg. Their issue:- ei) Christopher Michael Greenberg. eii) Richard Martin Greenberg. eiii) Alexander David Greenberg. div) Andrew Geoffrey Lockyer Prynne married Catriona Mary Brougham. His issue:- ei) Jessica Jean Prynne. eii) Miranda Wendy Prynne. eiii) Natasha Sally Prynne. cii) Mary C A Prynne(1913-?) married Norman A Leonard. ciii) Alan St George Prynne(1917-?) married Marcia Catherine Huggins. His issue:- di) ? Prynne (1943-?). biv) Reginald Meredith Crosse (Crosse-Kelly) (1883-1947) married Ethel Beatrice Bedingfeld Kelly. His issue:- ci) Richard C B Crosse-Kelly married Kathleen K Swan. His issue:- di) Angela C Crosse-Kelly married William E Strong. viii) Henry Alfred Lewis (1836-?). ix) George Lewis (1838-1858). x) Louisa Clemence Lewis (1839-?) married William Hewitt Seton-Burn. xi) Clarence Aleric Lewis (1842-1843). xii) Edward Lewis (1846-1847).

Please contact me at - [email protected]

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moonlightchild-otome · 3 years

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Ikemen Vampire - Jean d’Arc Route Summary Chapter 10

here is the tenth chapter!

to clarify again, I’m not very good at japanese so if anything is wrong or weirdly translated everything is on me.

of course there is going to be some spoilers so do not read if you don’t wish to know jean’s story yet.

*also little bonus at the end about Jeanne d’Arc real story! of course you don’t have to read it to understand his route in the game but it’s very interesting :)*

The Count tells MC the history of the war between France and England, also known as the Hundred Years’ War...

【 Comte 】 Jean was a soldier who led the French army during the Hundred Years War.

Jean fights for his country, France and defeats the English army. Jean d’Arc, soon after the defeat of the enemy, becomes a true hero for his people.

However, such glory won’t last for Jean :( 'The most tragic end of the world's heroes', as they say.

In the course of the battle, Jean was captured as a prisoner of war by the enemy. The King didn’t want to help him for some reason. 😡

And of course... 🙄

【 Comte 】 Jean was convicted of heresy and it has been decided that he would be sentenced to fire.

After Jean's death, the king ordered a re-examination of his treason and found him to be innocent, and he went down as a hero of France.

The fact that Jean never knew went down as a hero after his death and this won’t change the fact that he died as an innocent. The protagonist is angry because it doesn't make any sense.

From the bottom of my stomach, I feel a mixture of anger and frustration.

Here, the MC asks the Count a question. “Why did he bring him back to life after such a death?”

There's something different about the Count returning the great men of the mansion and Jean.

The MC wonders if Jean really wanted the Count to bring him back to life. Before the Count can answer, Jean appears, interrupts him, takes the MC by the arm and leads her away.

【 Jean 】 One look at this man's face is enough. I don't like it. Let's go, woman.

As soon as they arrived in the library, Jean seems to have calmed down a little lets go of the MC's arm.

The protagonist apologises for trying to find out about his past without his permission, but Jean says that's okay. Jean says it's okay, because his life has been written about in books anyway. However, he says that he doesn't want the Count to tell her about it.

【 Jean 】 ...It's not enough to say I hate it, it's too much.

Jean says that he is not a hero and that he is no different from the children's book he used to read, The Ugly Duckling.

it hurts me so much that this is the way he perceives himself when he deserves all the love in the world </3

Jean's gaze fell on the book 'The Ugly Duckling', which was still on the table.

That’s it for chapter 10!

here is some real background info about the real Jeanne d’Arc! She is such a brave and interesting historical figure. The epitome of a real badass, fearless and powerful woman.

so, the hundred years' war, if we summarize as much as possible is a series of armed conflicts that began in 1337. which opposes the kingdom of france and the kingdom of england.

in 1328 at the death of king charles iv, the question arises as to who will inherit the french crown.

one then has the choice between the cousin of the preceding king philippe de valois and edward iii the king of england who by his mother isabelle is also a descendant of the french throne.

you can imagine putting an english king on the french throne, wasn’t seen very well.

edward not happy, which led to a succession crisis, which lead to the hundred years' war.

obviously this conflict, quickly overcomes a simple succession crisis.

it's a mess.

what you have to remember, is that the english are gradually invading part of the kingdom of france.

in 1415, after the battle of azincourt and the english victory, the english king henry v controls much of the north of the kingdom of france, including paris for that matter.

but it is far from being the only concern.

what you have to keep in mind is that the king of france at the time, charles vi, is reached at rather regular intervals of madness.

this obviously prevents him from administering the kingdom properly.

as a result, in parallel with the conflict with the english, a real civil war breaks out.

to find out who between his son the heir charles and his cousin the duke of burgundy will be able to take back the reins of the kingdom; the duke of burgundy is supported by the burgundians who will end up allying themselves with the english and the son of the king the heir charles is supported by the armagnacs.

but during this time, charles is betrayed by his own father who disinherits his son and after his death, gives the crown to the english.

i warned you that it was really messy.

and it is in this incredible mess that our jeanne arrives.

and where exactly does jeanne come from? from domremy.

she is also often called the virgin of orleans.

she is associated with the city of reims, but jeanne was originally born in domremy.

and where exactly is this place? domremy is this little town to the west of the city of the vosges department, on the banks of the meuse river.

isn't it pretty?

this is jeanne's birth house,

she would have been born around 1412. the building classified as a historical monument since 1840 includes in addition to a cellar, three large rooms originally used to house the whole family, her parents and four siblings.

according to jeanne's trial, it is here that she would have learned to sew or weave which were two occupations of the young girls of the time.

her father was a ploughman, so she often had to look after the animals.

and since she is very pious she spent a lot of time praying.

she went on pilgrimage at least once a week, for example in the notre dame de bermont chapel, about three kilometres (as the crow flies) from her birth house.

and jeanne d’arc, as you may have guessed, wasn't always called jeanne d’arc.

no, in history she has had different names and official nicknames.

there are of course the best known ones: the virgin of orleans, jeanne the virgin or even just the virgin and in the vicinity of domremy she was also called the jeannette de rommée, in connection with her mother's name. she has even signed several letters with the name jehanne.

and it's even more complicated if you're interested in her surname “d'arc”.

which was originally written darc, without the apostrophe. here again there have been many variations, and i'll mention a few of them: tarc, dars, darx and even d'ailly or daly according to the phonetic transcription of her name, with a lorraine accent. from there we move on to duly, then du lys.

when the king ennobled jeanne and her family, it is written on the deed, la dame du lys in reference to the royal coat of arms.

this is the magnificent bois-chenu basilica, which was built between 1880 and 1940 in honour of jeanne.

and for the record, this incredible basilica was sometimes considered to be the place where jeanne would have heard voices.

however if we refer to the trial, it is in her father's garden, near the house, that jeanne would have started hearing voices, celestial calls, coming from saint catherine of st. margaret's and the archangel saint michael.

the divine mission entrusted to her was very “simple”.

she was only commanded to be a cavalier, to cross a kingdom occupied by the english to go and find the future charles vii and convince him that she is the one sent from heaven.

to help him to take his place on the throne by her coronation in reims.

to show him how to liberate the kingdom of france, of the english presence.

it seems to be an easy enough mission for me. 😅 (nope)

so obviously you can imagine that the people didn't take her seriously right away. it took a few years before she managed to convince the world that she wasn't completely crazy.

- jeanne?

- yes?

- this is the voice.

- is someone talking to me?

- you are the chosen one, jeanne, join me.

- yes, i'm coming.

- i hope you like human barbecue. (ok i'll stop :/)

how is the legend of jeanne forged? how does one go from being a peasant girl eager to help, to jeanne of arc, heroine of the kingdom of france?

this is le centre d’interprétation (the interpretation centre), which is just behind jeanne of arc's birth house and retraces her youth and adventures.

her journey is incredible, at 17 years old, jeanne can't stand not doing anything anymore, she has been hearing voices urging her to act for four years now.

so she decides to return to the châtellenie de vaucouleurs, to meet captain robert de baudricourt, one of the king's faithful followers and after several vicissitudes, she manages to convince him. it wasn't easy, i remind you that her main point was that she hears voices. but yeah, he finally agrees to send her with an escort, join the heirn in chinon.

the journey is quite long and above all risky, we are talking about more than 500 kilometres and in this period of turmoil, the dangers were quite present especially if you look at the map, one realizes that the small expedition crosses areas not controlled by the enemy coalition.

fortunately, everything went well for jeanne, who arrives at her destination on march 1429 and gets an audience with the heir two days later. he was quite suspicious of this young woman at first, who claims to hear divine voices but according to the story she made a revelation to him that we don't know which eventually convinced him.

for the entourage of the suitor of the throne, it's not that simple and you can understand them, betting on jeanne is a little bit like a poker game. so they insist that she will be given a few interrogations, she is questioned about her life, about her morals and finally confidence is established, she is equipped with military equipment. she then undergoes mini combat trainings and here we go, her dream is about to come true, she joins a supply convoy in blois and on april 22nd, with more than 4000 men, she is headed for orléans.

the arrival of jeanne of arc changes many things.

her faith, her confidence in victory gives hope to the soldiers and to the inhabitants, who are filled with new energy. they manage to win in less than 10 days, 10 days and the english are obliged to give up their plan, which consisted of taking the city and then attacking the south of the loire.

jeanne who comes out of this battle with this image as a victorious, ultra badass woman and just earned her nickname... la pucelle d'orléans (the virgin of orleans).

thanks to her victory in orleans, jeanne thus becomes a kind of national heroine. she represents by her fame and her qualities, a not insignificant asset for the heir in his fight against the english and the burgundians.

but what makes a real difference is less her qualities as a war strategist and more her ability to charm and to galvanise the troops and the inhabitants along the way.

it's quite simple, before jeanne's arrival, the english had a reputation for never losing their invincibility.

and jeanne achieves the feat of restoring confidence in a possible victory.

it gives the impression to the troops that they are going to receive a kind of divine help and it changes everything in the soldiers' minds, all the more so because before her arrival there was a prophecy, who said that a virgin would help defeat the english so when jeanne arrives, everyone thought "it's ok, we're saved"!

jeanne persuades the future king to start a ride to reims who is in the middle of enemy territory, to be crowned.

jeanne thus succeeded in carrying out one of the following missions which were supposedly entrusted to her by the voices she hears; in other words, since she has succeeded, she is necessarily an envoy of god, and that for the mood of the troops, it makes a huge difference.

unfortunately after the time of victories comes the time of defeats.

after the coronation, the king and jeanne no longer really agree. she is convinced that her mission is to keep the english out of france.

the king, for his part, is longing for a little rest.

for example, he does not feel at all capable of taking back paris, while jeanne, a little bit stubborn, goes there anyway and suffers a failure.

on top of that she is wounded, she gets a crossbow arrow in her thigh, moreover, she breaks her sword which had for all victories...

it's a bad sign.

some people think that the virgin is abandoned by god. some time later jeanne went to compiègne, a city besieged by the burgundians and by some english contingents and once again it goes wrong, she is taken prisoner in may 1430, by the burgundians.

she tried to escape, but all her attempts failed and in november of the same year, she was sold to the english. jeanne is then taken to the castle of rouen, where members of the church judge her for heresy.

the trial was to say that charles vii was crowned thanks to a witch, she is also blamed for everything and anything, for dressing in men's clothing,

for deferring directly to god's judgement without going through the church, for hearing the voices of demons and not of saints.

jeanne really plays her life on each of her answers, in addition, she faces accusers totally committed to the english cause on her own when she was only 19 years old.

moreover, the witnesses are obviously not chosen at random, everyone who could speak up for jeanne is under pressure. everything is being done to ensure that she is condemned. finally, she ends up at the stake, on the market square, and we make sure there's nothing left of her body, to prevent it from being turned into holy relics.

and then after the end of the hundred years' war, i.e. almost 25 years later, the church reverses this first court decision. king charles vii wants to wash away the insult that was done to him through this trial and he pushes jeanne's family to ask for a review. pope calixtus iii agreed and jeanne was rehabilitated in 1456. the investigations carried out are more serious, many of jeanne's contemporaries jostle to plead in her favour and even people who had once spoken badly of her finally return to saying good things about her.

the first judgement is broken and the young woman's memory is rehabilitated.

an unusual little fact in the end - many people have not been able to admit that the story of the virgin ends up on a pyre. for them it was impossible, this story was too beautiful, this too extraordinary woman.

and it went far enough that people found stories of women, who a few years later claimed to be the real jeanne.

just imagine them saying stuff like "oh yeah, yeah it's me i didn't burn at all, my face has changed a little bit but it's me, i assure you, believe me, really".

a certain claude des armoises is said to have pretended to be her, in the metz region. after having acquired a certain renown, having been given gifts by former relatives of jeanne; she even went so far as to meet two of the virgin's brothers, who (hold on because it's completely insane) believed her.

they really believed it was their own sister who had died at the stake.

it's a crazy story!

well, we don't really know if they really believed it, or if one pretends to believe it for financial reasons for example.

in any case, this woman, who was talked about everywhere, is unmasked by the king himself, so that this fraud can be stopped.

in the end, i find this story quite unusual.

here are the friends!

i hope it wasn’t too long to read (it probably was) and that you have learned two, three little things on our dear jeanne d’arc. after all, she is one of the most famous women in history!

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