#and by 'great' = largesse

[fideidefenswhore]

Who do you think is the most successful of Henry’s wives child bearing aside??

I don't know how to measure success? 'Survived' is obviously Parr and to a greater extent Anne of Cleves, so that's sort of the Game of Thrones answer.

Anne Boleyn was, however, a greater landowner than her predecessor, and, actually, a greater landowner than any other Tudor consort. So, if we measure success by that, ie power held during the reign, not necessarily over time or the length of reign, I suppose it would be her?

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Gabe/Stephen; largesse (pt I)

For the prompt: Gabe and Stephen being sappy at SOME point

Feat. everybody's favourite: Soft Stephen Petersen (but don't you dare call him that to his face)

I'm going ahead and posting this a day before the poll even closes, because it was winning by a landslide and also, well, Passover. This thing decided to grow legs, as so many prompts do. The second half will be posted next week.

Stephen loves holidays.

It takes a long time for Gabe to figure that out — he's talking literal decades — because Stephen’s actually pretty good at hiding it. Or maybe it isn’t that he’s good at hiding it so much as it’s exactly what someone would expect from him. Stephen exudes ‘too cool for holidays’ energy.

But then, to be fair, Stephen exudes a lot of things that aren’t true. Like how he pretends to hate hugs, but that’s only true in limited circumstances: he dislikes hugs from strangers and distant acquaintances, that’s true, but he liked hockey hugs, and hugs from his family, even though he always scoffed before he got them, just so they wouldn’t get the right idea, and a good hug is often enough to get him out of a bad mood. The thing Stephen hates most about hugs is how much he doesn’t hate them.

He’s like that with a few things: he spent years pretending he couldn’t stand math, even as he was getting straight As in it, helping Gabe out with his homework, but never without muttering how pointless math was. He still pretends to hate his sisters, and groans when Dmitry and Oksana come over, even when he explicitly asked Gabe to invite them, and constantly pretends he isn’t absolutely delighted to find a kindred soul in Jared. Gabe can see right through all of that. Always has. But Stephen’s apparent holiday hatred managed to fool even him.

That is, until Stephen accidentally shows his hand when Passover arrives. Stephen’s been doing something or another for it for years, packing Gabe little lunch boxes so he has options on the road, even including uncharacteristically sweet little notes during one playoff run.

Gabe always figured it was because Stephen knew it was hard to be across the country from his family, especially when Passover fell at the same time as their birthdays, or the last stressful days of the season, or the even more stressful start of the postseason — it’s never been great timing. And as much as Stephen would like to deny it, he’s always been thoughtful about those kinds of things. Always been kind.

But this year it's different. Gabe’s Passover planning usually just extends to hitting up the kosher section at the grocery store to stock up on non-leavened alternatives, maybe head to the deli he likes to get some inferior version of something his mom would make if he’s feeling particularly homesick.

Stephen’s putting a little more effort in. For one, he's decided to cook. Relatedly, he's spending half his time on the phone with Gabe’s mom, it feels like — recipes can’t take that long to convey, no matter how chatty Gabe’s mom is — and shooing Gabe out of the kitchen with his traditional Passover lunch box, even though he isn’t on the road this year, and, thank fuck, it’s still the regular season this time. It’s rough, having to abstain from all of his favourite ways to carboload just in time for the postseason.

And then there's Seder. The fact they're having one, but also the fact they've got a guest list: a few of Stephen's university friends, a Jewish colleague of his who also lives across the country from his family, and Jared and Bryce, Dmitry and Oksana.

He spends Gabe doesn’t even know how much time and energy getting it together, brushing off most of Gabe’s offers to help. Gabe’s exhausted just doing his minor part and low-key worrying about Dmitry or Jared saying something to set Stephen off.

Everyone's shockingly well behaved, though, to the point where Gabe wonders what Stephen threatened them with. Something horrible, he’s sure. At the end of the night, everyone parts with leftovers, which Gabe is a little wistful about — he knows they kept a little of everything but it’s his favourite, and Stephen did good job with it, if not a Miriam job — and Gabe starts clearing the table, because Stephen looks like he’s hit his limit.

The kitchen is such a disaster Gabe doesn’t even know where to start — he didn’t think they had this many dishes. He doesn’t even recognise all of them. Gabe has never been more grateful to have a dishwasher. He only wishes they had two. Or three, even. Three would be good.

“I think that went okay,” Stephen says as Gabe starts rinsing the dirtiest of the dishes.

“It went great,” Gabe says. “What’s the occasion, anyway?”

“Passover,” Stephen says.

“Steve,” Gabe says.

“Oh, well,” Stephen says. “It’s important to you.”

But he’s flustered, and not just flustered in the way he gets whenever he has to admit he’s done something nice for someone.

That doesn’t typically apply to Gabe anyway. Stephen claims that it’s inherently selfish to do nice things for Gabe, because they’re a partnership, and helping his partner helps him. Gabe figures whatever helps Stephen sleep at night after doing embarrassing things like offering Gabe the last piece of pizza — obviously not during Passover — or telling him he likes his playoff beard when they both know it’s mid at best.

Though, Stephen actually seemed pretty into it, last year, to the point where Gabe was starting to think he might have a bit of a thing for the beard. So maybe that was selfish after all.

Gabe, equally selfishly, hopes they make it even further this year, just to test that theory.

"Well," Gabe says. "Thank you," and notices Stephen looks relieved that he's letting it go. Even grateful.

So of course that's when Gabe starts paying attention.

[whencyclopedia]

Caesarea Maritima

Caesarea Maritima was a city built over 2,000 years ago (c. 22-10 BCE) on the coast of the Eastern Mediterranean. With Roman engineering and largesse, Herod the Great (r. 37-4 BCE) accomplished this feat by constructing a whole metropolis with a colossal harbor that would make Caesarea the maritime trading oasis of its day.

Continue reading...

[socialjusticeinamerica]

Timothy Mellon.

From Wikipedia:

“Political views

Mellon's self-published autobiography describes his political views. Mellon called social safety net programs "Slavery Redux," adding: "For delivering their votes in the Federal Elections, they are awarded with yet more and more freebies: food stamps, cell phones, WIC payments, Obamacare, and on, and on, and on. The largess is funded by the hardworking folks, fewer and fewer in number, who are too honest or too proud to allow themselves to sink into this morass." Mellon wrote that as of 1984 (Reagan's re-election campaign), "Something had obviously gone dreadfully wrong with the Great Society and the Liberal onslaught. Poor people had become no less poor. Black people, in spite of heroic efforts by the 'Establishment' to right the wrongs of the past, became even more belligerent and unwilling to pitch in to improve their own situations," and that "Drugs rose to the level of epidemic. Single parent families became more and more prevalent. The likes of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton pandered endlessly to fan the flames."

[doomingthenarrative]

i do not know. if people have experienced the glory of meeting Isobel as Shadowheart. so i am sharing with the class bc it is one of the FUNNIEST FUCKING INTERACTIONS OF THE GAME. neither of them have any chill

Transcript under the cut:

Isobel: I didn’t realize I had an audience.

Isobel: And a Sharran one at that.

Shadowheart: I thought I smelled a Selûnite.

Isobel: At your service.

Isobel: Frankly, I’m surprised you’re willing to help us. Your kind aren’t known for their decency - particularly when a Sharran curse is our greatest obstacle.

Isobel: But if you are who I think you are, I’d be a fool to reject your help. The True Sould with… well, a soul. Imagine.

Shadowheart: I’m glad you’ve remembered who needs whose help here.

Isobel: Oh- aren’t you looking for a protection spell?

Shadowheart: I am already protected. My Lady shields me from the curse.

Isobel: For now, perhaps. But Shar can be fickle, and her love can prove fleeting. Do not turn your back on an advantage you may need… even a Selûnite one.

Isobel: If nothing else, it can aid any companions who travel with you - somehow I doubt Shar’e largesse was extended to them.

Shadowheart: Try to understand what’s happening

Narrator: Is Lady Shar punishing you? Or perhaps testing you? Is it the tadpole, or a curse? You cannot say.

Isobel: Well! If the Moonmaiden didn’t strike me dead for blessing you, she must rather approve of this little alliance.

Isobel: This will block the lesser effects of the shadow curse, allowing you to traverse the darkness outside… should Shar’s own protection falter, that is.

Isobel: But there are places it won’t help- places where the curse is darker. Stronger.

Isobel: The cultists are able to traverse even the deepest shadows, though. I don’t know how- the Harpers are trying to figure it out.

Isobel: Curious. Surely the Nightsinger could have shielded all her followers, and made this place her domain long ago… yet she only acts now, and aids you alone. I wonder why.

Shadowheart: The Dark Lady’s works aren’t for me to question.

Isobel: Must’ve question the great shadow mother, must we?

Isobel: I’ll stop needling you, though. You have more important things to do, after all.

Shadowheart: I’d better be off, then.

Isobel: Good luck, and may the Moonmaiden protect you - if you can stand jt.

Isobel: While you’re busy in the Towers, I’ll be sure to - wait. Do you hear that? Something’s wrong…

[zibethrose]

Love is a powerful force gifted by Divine grace.

It cannot be demanded, commanded or bought at any price.

Love is indiscriminate in its largesse, gifting it despite or in spite of laws, customs or culture forbidding such unions.

You cannot command it to come or go💞

Love does not waiver from its duty of fostering our interconnectedness as human beings, and in that, it is an unstoppable force.  Love parades in many forms. We have the romantic love between couples, the love between great friends and siblings and the love that parents have for their children, to mention a few. Recognize that this plethora of loves are important and very necessary in our daily lives. The Divine is love and has purposely designated these varied loves to ensure we are always surrounded by love. It is thus important to treasure love in all its varied forms by expressing our heartfelt thanks to our loved ones regularly and acknowledge how their love nurtures and blesses our everyday. 

Please comment, share, like, subscribe and follow me @www.zibethrose.com

[wonder-worker]

Writers who knew [Marie of France Countess of Champagne] depicted her in several guises. For Chrétien de Troyes, the most elusive of contemporary writers, she was an assertive patron of romances, dictating for example the subject and meaning of the Lancelot tale. The mischievous Andreas Capellanus, who was close to Marie in the mid-1180s, drew a highly entertaining parody of Marie and the prominent women of her milieu resolving the conundrums of amatory conduct in “courts of love,” in the manner of modern advice columnists. In Hugh of Oisy��s musical performance, Marie cut a fine figure as a combatant in a tournament of elite women. It is striking how in three quite distinctive imaginative works written in the 1180s, Marie appears as an author of an Arthurian romance, a judge at a court of love, and a participant in a tournament mêlée.

Others who knew Marie well in the 1180s and 1190s remarked different aspects of her character. The Eructavit poet noted her penchant for the trappings of wealth, and addressing her directly during a performance of his religious drama, chastised her for her “largesse and lavish expenses.” [Canon] Evrat, on the other hand, a resident canon of St-Étienne who observed Marie closely in the 1190s, stressed her spiritual and moral character. Seeking to understand the deep meaning of the scriptures, he wrote, she provided him a copy of Genesis to translate into the vernacular and annotate with the findings of the latest “academic” studies. In an epilogue added after her death, Evrat penned a eulogy praising her largesse and renown, and comparing her, la gentis contesse Marie, to the three biblical Marys—“she would be the fourth.”

An entirely different side of Marie was captured by Marie’s court stenographers, William (1181–87) and Theodoric (1190–97), who made verbatim transcripts of her comments and directives while observing her deal with the practical affairs of governance: assigning revenues (“I assigned 100s. on the entry tax on wine”), resolving disputes at court (“resolved in my presence in this manner”), confirming prior transactions (“I approved this act”), registering acts done at court (“done in my presence”), consenting to feudal alienations (“I approved because it was my fief”), founding chaplaincies (“for Geoffroy, count of Brittany, my brother”), and establishing endowments (“for the anniversary of my lord and husband, Count Henry”). All of that was “done in public,” usually in the presence of her officers and witnesses. It was precisely in her capacity as ruling countess of Champagne that she continued Henry the Liberal’s example of performing in public as prince of his principality. Having observed Henry at court—just as Henry, while a very young man, had observed the conduct of his father, which earned him the reputation as the “good” Count Thibaut—Marie understood that the comital court, as the core institution of the principality, demanded her active participation, and she paid close attention to the great and the minor issues presented there for her disposition.

It should be emphasized that Henry the Liberal’s principality was only three decades old when Marie became regent in 1181, and the primary comital residence and chapel in Troyes were barely twenty years old, not yet fully implanted as the seat of a new territorial state and mausoleum of a princely lineage. Marie’s task was to preserve the principality and its institutions intact, and to assure the continuity of the lineage. And that she did. Evrat sensed both the precarious nature of her rule and her achievement in holding a firm hand on the levers of comital authority, especially during those anomalous years of the 1190s: “Well did she protect and govern the land / letting nothing slip from her hand, / she was gracious, wise, valiant, and courageous.” By all accounts, Marie projected a complex, forceful, and captivating character, one that proved a worthy counterpart to the compelling personality of Henry the Liberal. [Canon Evrat rendered homage to her in the epilogue of his Genesis translation: 'She had the heart of a man and the body of a woman'].

-Theodore Evergates, "Marie of France Countess of Champagne, 1145-1198"

[thevelaryons]

ADDAM + HUGH

The way GRRM wrote these 2 dragonseeds, it's apparent they are meant to be contrasted against each other. With other dragonseeds, like Ulf, he exists as a sidekick to Hugh and someone who tries to take up Hugh's mantle after his death, so we don't even get much of a description of what he's truly like. Ulf's role in the story is more about having a presence as one of the betrayers so that the 2 Treasons plot can have urgency. Ulf is to Hugh what Alyn is to Addam. And because of that contrast, obviously Alyn is a character with much greater importance than Ulf. Nettles stands apart from the rest of the dragonseeds which is why her story takes a different turn at the end. With Addam and Hugh specifically though, they are narrative foils.

SMALL & QUICK VS TALL & STRONG

Small and quick as their mother, these bastards of Hull were both silver of hair and purple of eye, and soon proved to have “sea salt in their blood” as well, growing up in their grandsire’s shipyard and going to sea as ship’s boys before the age of eight.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: The Red Dragon and the Gold

The son of a common blacksmith, Hammer was a huge man, with hands so strong that he was said to be able to twist steel bars into torcs. Though largely untrained in the art of war, his size and strength made him a fearsome foe.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant

SECRETIVE VS BOASTFUL

And Addam Velaryon, lately Addam of Hull, sought out the Sea Snake after the battle; what they spoke to each other even Mushroom does not say.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: The Red Dragon and the Gold

Mushroom tells us there were two men on Dragonstone that night who drank to the slaughter in a smoky tavern beneath the castle: the dragonriders Hugh the Hammer and Ulf the White, who had flown Vermithor and Silverwing into battle and lived to boast of it. “We are knights now, truly,” Hard Hugh declared.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: The Red Dragon and the Gold

NOBLE COMPANY VS UNSAVOURY FOLLOWERS

Addam Velaryon was relentless and determined and glib of tongue, and the riverlords knew much and more of the horrors that had befallen Tumbleton. By the time Ser Addam was ready to descend on Tumbleton, he had near four thousand men at his back. Benjicot Blackwood, the twelve-year-old Lord of Raventree, had come forth, as had the widowed Sabitha Frey, Lady of the Twins, with her father and brothers of House Vypren. Lords Stanton Piper, Joseth Smallwood, Derrick Darry, and Lyonel Deddings had scraped together fresh levies of greybeards and green boys, though all had suffered grievous losses in the autumn’s battles. Hugo Vance, the young lord of Wayfarer’s Rest, had come, with three hundred of his own men plus Black Trombo’s Myrish sellswords. Most notably of all, House Tully had joined the war.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

Though Hammer’s ambition was unseemly in one born so low, the bastard undeniably possessed some Targaryen blood and had proved himself fierce in battle and open-handed to those who followed him, displaying the sort of largesse that draws men to leaders as a corpse draws flies. They were the worst sort of men, to be sure: sellswords, robber knights, and like rabble, men of tainted blood and uncertain birth who loved battle for its own sake and lived for rapine and plunder.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

LOYALTY VS TREACHEROUS AMBITION

Ser Addam flew far and fast, descending on castles great and small whose lords were loyal to the queen, to piece together an army.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

Lord Hammer (as he now styled himself) began to dream of crowns. “Why be a lord when you can be a king?” he told the men who began to gather round him.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant

WARRANT FOR ARREST VS WARRANT FOR EXECUTION

As Ser Luthor Largent and his gold cloaks rode up Rhaenys’s Hill with the queen’s warrant, the doors of the Dragonpit were thrown open above them, and Seasmoke spread his pale grey wings and took flight, smoke rising from his nostrils.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant

Nor did the once-gentle prince hesitate when Lord Unwin Peake presented him with warrants for the execution of Hard Hugh Hammer and Ulf White, but eagerly affixed his seal.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

HONORABLE DEATH VS DISHONORABLE DEATH

Young Ser Addam died bravely at the Second Battle of Tumbleton, proving his faithfulness with his life after it had been called into question by the deeds of the Two Betrayers.

— The World of Ice and Fire, Aegon II

When he spied Hard Hugh, Roxton saw his chance, and said, “Lord Hammer, my condolences.” Hammer turned, glowering. “For what?” he demanded. “You died in the battle,” Bold Jon replied, drawing Orphan-Maker and thrusting deep into Hammer’s belly, before opening the bastard from groin to throat.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

[qqueenofhades]

Admittedly I don't know much about academia, except for what I saw in The Discovery of Witches and read in your fics, so I might be ways off, buuut Rook & Rose OT3 (Dark) Academia AU? I feel like there's a space there for hidden identites, schemes, shenanigans, reluctant allies (to lovers), fighting evil cults and such...

Listen. LISTEN. I don't know what it says about me (other than, y'know, my extreme predictability) that I have had almost the same exact thoughts, but:

The setting: modern Nadezhra, which is wrestling with the legacy of empire, decolonization, wars of independence, etc.;

Our heroes are at the University of Nadezhra, busy building its profile in said postcolonial world but still heavily dependent on external funding/promotions/etc

Ren is the mysterious, seemingly-foreign Hot New Thing PhD scholarship student who seems destined for every great prize/appointment/other largesse who is of course doing her damndest to stop everyone from discovering that she is a total con;

Grey is taking advantage of the Vigil's free tuition program for Vraszenians who agree to work for them while they're getting a degree, while at the same time secretly pursuing his Vigilante Shit; he initially sees no contradiction in this;

Vargo is the hotshot local bad-boy turned good turned Youngest Ever Professor, who is ALSO desperately trying to keep everyone from discovering that he only knows anything because of Alsius;

There are campus protest movements and politics with the Stadnem Anduske who think decolonization is going way too slow and there is way too much corruption and etc;

There's still magic and whatnot but it's not cool to openly believe in it anymore, which causes problems when magic starts fucking people's shit up;

Our heroes meet! They all have secrets! They all have so much academic bullshit to deal with! They initially do not get along!

Do they fall in love?

Listen. What do you think.

...anyway. I am just saying. THOUGHTS. HAVE. BEEN. THUNK.

[indignantlemur]

hello! I was wondering about andorian wedding ceremonies and funeral rights.

For the wedding ceremonies do andorians wear anything special or do they style their hair like the vikings did?

For the funeral rights, what do the andorians do to honor their dead?

Thank you.

Hello again! This is a long one, so everything is below the cut!

Let's start with weddings! Andorian weddings are held on Clan grounds either on or adjacent to sacred sites. These sacred sites are places of great natural beauty, and each Clan goes to extreme lengths to preserve and protect these places.

Weddings are overseen by both government and religious officiants, usually those affiliated with the hosting Clan in some way. Where possible, people prefer to have officiants who are members of the host Clan, as the ceremony takes place deep within Clan territories.

Wedding attire varies widely, depending on the Clan, the region, and the religious leanings of the participants, but for the most part heavily embroidered Andorian silks are commonly worn, usually in riotous colours, and paired with warm furs and buttery soft leathers. Some Andorians will wear veils in one form or another, and use of which is not restricted to males or females at all. Some Andorians prefer to wear their their hair unbound and and free for the ceremony, while others go in for elaborate styles and accessories, but this is largely down to personal preference and often ties in with displays of wealth and power. The wedding bands, called vaangviik neek, are of course the most important pieces of ornamentation in the whole ceremony and are often elaborately fashioned and studded with precious stones.

Truthfully, Andorians care surprisingly little about what is worn for a wedding beyond the fact that they must be appropriately well-made and well-appointed for the occasion. Individual Clans might insist on certain items and accessories being worn or incorporated in some way, but in general the rules are actually pretty lax.

The wedding ceremony itself varies somewhat depending on the Clans involved as each has unique traditions that have been passed down throughout the centuries. Some Clans host lavish feasts as a show of largesse, while others perform feats of martial prowess and courage, and others still are much more subdued in their traditions. Further, what happens during a wedding differs depending on if it is a case of two bondmates coming together or a full quad, but for the most part the core ideas are all the same: there is a procession, the officiant guides the participants through the rites, and then the newlyweds are escorted to a designated area within the sacred site in which they are meant to spend the night.

In the case of a pair of bondmates, the first night is spent in total darkness deep in the ancestral grounds of the host Clan. In ancient times, the newlywed were meant to fend for themselves at this point, but modern practices usually have the families of the newlywed preparing a nest of sorts in advance for the newlyweds, usually laden with gifts and snacks. The next morning, the newlyweds are feted by the host Clan and the last of the paperwork is squared away. The couple then go on a four-day honeymoon, usually somewhere very remote where they won't be bothered outside of an emergency.

In the case of a quad, the first night is not spent in total darkness, but in a suite absolutely saturated with saf - an resinous incense which acts as a powerful aphrodisiac for Andorians. The resultant frenzy usually lasts no more than fourteen hours, but quads are generally given a couple days to recover from their exertions. In the days afterwards, each of the Clans from which the members of the quad hail will host the quad for a meal and offer an array of traditional gifts. Pregnancy announcements usually follow shortly afterwards, in quads of mixed sexes - which surprises no one, really.

As for funerals, Andorian customs are just as varied. The Imperial Clan exclusively inters their dead in caskets within the ice, embalmed and perfectly preserved, for example, and they are guarded at all times. Clan Tha'an prefers cremation and then to scatter the ashes over the Clan's sacred site. Clan Sannev prefer to preserve the blood of the deceased in specialised capsules and then inter the bodies whole and unaltered beneath the ice. Clan Hrisvalar burns their dead, buries all but a small portion of the ashes beneath the ice, and maintains a columbarium housing the rest.

Regardless of how the body is handled, the deceased are recorded in their Clan's Wall of Names, which is a massive work of stone and ice kept hidden in their Clan territories (the information is also copied into more modern, digital archives kept under lock and key by the head of the Clan, of course.) Every birth and death is recorded in the Wall of Names as they happen, and their genealogies span over a thousand years in some cases. The deceased are then interred into the ice in some fashion. In addition to the examples above, some Clans traditionally burn their dead and return the ashes to the ice in clay pottery, while other Clans prefer to inter their dead whole and unaltered, and other still commit to their dead to the sea below the ice, to feed the life within the depths and become part of the cycle of life of Andoria.

The Andorian Imperial Guard curates the Wall of Heroes, into which samples of blood or other remains of their deceased are encased and preserved, and the names, ranks, and deeds of the deceased are carved upon the Wall. Digital records are also made, of course. Many Guilds do something similar, recording the names and works of the deceased and arranging displays of their creations.

Mourning rituals are a little more unified. Imperial Guardsmen handle death by bringing some part of their comrade back to the Wall of Heroes (usually blood, but hair will do in a pinch) personally, and witnessing the internment of the remains at the Wall of Heroes. They usually follow this with tightly controlled displays of grief, followed by much more private and solitary mourning on their own time. Guardsmen don't have the luxury of falling apart willy-nilly - there's usually a job to be done, and that comes first.

Civilians are more prone to bombastic displays of grief - rending of clothes, tearing of hair, the works- but some religious sects believe that such displays entice a spirit to linger and haunt the premises. Their thinking is that the spirit of the decease will be distressed by the grief and sorrow of the living and try to console them, forsaking a peaceful rest in the afterlife to do so. These groups therefore do everything possible to mask their feelings until at least a day has passed, so that the spirit of their loved on moves on without trouble.

In general, Andorians don't linger on grief, however. It's not their way, and lingering on grief beyond the appropriate mourning period (which varies depending on the closeness of the relationship between the living and deceased, social rank, etc) is a sign of some sort of serious mental imbalance - and usually one treated as quickly and quietly as possible. It's acceptable for widowed spouses to refrain from accepting a new member into a quad for quite some time - many years even - but it rarely lasts longer than a decade at the most. It's understood that the loss of a bondmate or spouse - or a child, for that matter - is devastating, and that each person recovers from such a loss at difference paces.

The actual funerals involved can vary, depending on everything from status and rank to lifestyle, guild affiliations, and such. State funerals, such as those pertaining to the Imperial family, are extremely somber, extravagant affairs, and every member of the family visible to the public eye maintains a stone-cold, stoic facade for the duration - approximately a month of mourning, including the week-long funerary procession and the internment of the deceased's remains into the ice beneath their ancestral grounds.

By contrast, Civilians and Guild members typically have funerary rituals lasting about a week, including internment, and often combine the procession with a celebration of life at the end of the week.

There are specific days throughout the year that are set aside to honour one's ancestors and beloved dead, and those days are often celebrated with a blend of quiet contemplation and vibrant celebrations of life and living. Oil lamps are lit, prayers are carved onto thin, fragrant wax tablets and melted together in little bowls, and sweet, colourful treats are left out to assuage the restless dead and the souls of Andorians who died far from home and could not be brought back. Days which honour battle-dead, especially war-dead, are far more solemn affairs and are heavily ritualised, the most strict observers of which are the Emperor and the Imperial Guardsmen themselves.

Hope this answers everything - let me know if I've missed something!

[thirdity]

Whatever we live from — and because it has no name only muteness pronounces it — it is from that that I draw closer to myself through the great largess of letting myself be. Not because I then find the name of the name and the impalpable becomes concrete — but because I designate the impalpable as impalpable, and then the breath breaks out anew as in a candle’s flame.

Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G. H.

[gravalicious]

The limits of the welfare state are evident in the experiences of Black people, whom Britain has, for centuries, treated as expendable, except inasmuch as they enrich the state and serve white citizens. In other words, there are the deserving and undeserving poor. The difference was enshrined in the Act for the Relief of the Poor of 1601, which defined the deserving poor as unable to work to provide for themselves: young children without parents, the elderly, people with physical (and, presumably, visible) disabilities. Those who were considered able to work were denied financial assistance. The same year, Elizabeth I issued an order to round up and deport Africans and those descended from Africans, on the grounds that they had “crept into” her realm and were consuming “the Relief” that rightfully belonged to her subjects, to their “great annoyance.” The origin of state relief coincided with the determination that Black people in poverty must not receive the sovereign’s provisions, however paltry. The Elizabethan Poor Law remained unaltered until the 1830s, when reformers on both sides referred to the Black slave as an analogue for the illegitimate beneficiary of the state’s largesse, as Robbie Shilliam observes in Race and the Undeserving Poor: From Abolition to Brexit (2018). In 1942, the economist William Beveridge perpetuated the same logic in “Social Insurance and Allied Services,” which came to be known as the Beveridge Report and was the basis of the Labour Party’s welfare program. The report outlined “a comprehensive policy of social progress” geared toward Britain’s “reconstruction” following World War II. In reality, though, Beveridge’s proposal was not an eternal contract between subject-citizens and the state but a short-term plan to rebuild the white labor force. Beveridge advocated for the “defeat” of “want, disease, ignorance, squalor and idleness,” as well as the preservation of the skewed dynamic between the ruling class and the rest.

Derica Shields - A Heavy Nonpresence (2021)

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

I fucking hate the budget, and I especially hate Tory budgets.

Because you'll always get to the point in it that's something like:

"Yada yada cutting tax/freezing such-and-such -> will increase investment -> will increase GROWTH -> everyone wins."

And it's like how. How does everyone win. Are we going to get paid more? Are all those jobs that are (presumably) going to burst into being going to be high paying? Are employers suddenly going to learn the benefits of largesse? Now? Finally?

People are unhappy because 'investment' and 'growth' sound great, but in practise benefit, oh, I don't know, not them?

Gah.

[whencyclopedia]

Herod's Harbor

Herod's Harbor was a giant port built between 22 and 15 BCE by Herod the Great (r. 37-4 BCE), Rome's client king. Situated on the lower eastern Mediterranean coast north of Alexandria and south of Tyre, with Rome's largess and building skills, this structure was an engineering feat and visual wonder of its world.

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[academicelephant]

Fallingwater

Penn once asked a financially-savvy friend of his to help him learn to invest. His friend told him: become a star, make enough money, and hire somebody to invest for you. Very wise.

So now he's building a house in the desert in Vegas where we've moved, and he's doing it wisely. I found him a property that didn't quite suit me, but seemed to have potential. He thought it flawed too, but instead of wasting time shopping for the perfect location, he hired a budding architect who needs a break, and said, "Design me the coolest house in North America. I want it to have x, y, and z. Make it cheap and turn the minuses of the place I've bought into plusses."

The budding architect is working like mad. His ideas are stunning, the inspiration of a young man bursting to show how ingenious he can be. And (to make the project really happen) he's kept them very inexpensive. So, in exchange for some clever organization and well-placed cash, Penn will have his dream house built in a year, and nicely within his budget.

Now, when I on the other hand, think about building a house, I say, "Wow, building a house. That sounds interesting." So I drive around and around, looking for a wonderful piece of land. I haven't found it yet (that's how I found Penn his place). I've met four architects. I haven't hired one yet (Penn's architect is using one of the firms I found to do his final drawings and get official approvals).

I've xeroxed pictures out of architecture books. I've read the philosophy of floorplans. I've even drawn my own. But I know little about materials, nothing about construction. So here I am, trying to be Jefferson, the gentleman architect, emulating Palladio; but deep down, I doubt I'll come up with Monticello. To get workmanship like that you need slaves.

Nevertheless, when I realized that my show would be playing in Pennsylvania near Fallingwater, the legendary home Frank Lloyd Wright built for the Pittsburgh department store tycoon around 1938, I decided I'd have to see it. Not that I could afford to build a single room of it. Nor that I would even have the slightest notion what was holding it up. Not that a tycoon's woodland retreat on a mountain stream would have any features I could use on a cheap house in the desert.

No. I told myself I was going just to see for myself the home most architects consider the gateway into the modern era. You know Fallingwater. You've seen it in every book on 20th Century design: it's the one with the massive cantilevered terraces of concrete sailing over a waterfall.

It's located on Bear Run, a creek in the heart of a sea of evergreens, which the owners of Fallingwater, the Kauffman department store family of Pittsburgh, placed into the loving care of the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy twenty-three years ago. With the savvy largesse of successful entrepreneurs, the Kauffmans not only endowed the project - they stuck around and taught the new owners how to make the house-museum pay for its own wellbeing with a pricy gift shop, a serious admission charge, "membership" with perks like pretty nature calendars, and deft begging from those with deep pockets for the wellbeing of great art.

So I paid my extra twenty bucks for the exclusive in-depth tour - (you have to get there in the chilly dawn, but they let you take snapshots and visit the boiler room and the maid's boudoir) and embarked with my shivering group, captained by Sue, a cherubic woman who has been guiding tours at Fallingwater for twenty-three years.

Sue knew Edgar Kaufmann, Jr., the original owner's son, mad for architecture and so in love with Wright that he pursued him to Taliesen and lapped up wisdom at his feet. It was little Eddie that got dad to hire Wright to begin with. Later when Edgar, Jr. became sure that he had no talent as an architect he became a professional aesthete, teaching architectural history and running museums.

I asked about Edgar's character. Sue remembered saying to him, "Who came to stay with you at the guest house at Fallingwater?" In the graceful way of elderly bachelors who prefer to keep their private life private, he merely smiled and quipped, "Oh, just people who wander out of the forest."

As you approach, the house gradually reveals itself through the trees, and by the time you're standing on the concrete bridge across the creek (the one Wright rebuilt four times, so that instead of costing $2500, it cost $30,000) you can see it all. It flows down the hillside and touches the water - literally: a set of stairs, pure artistic gesture, enables you to walk down from the Great Room on the first floor and stand on a tiny platform in the middle of the stream. You can't jump off and swim. You can't launch a boat from here. It's just cool.

The Kaufmans never argued about that set of steps. Wright made it clear that on other things he would accommodate the Kaufmans to make the home practical. But on that one thing, he would not bend.

Beside the house, over the driveway, are concrete trellises. They form an open ceiling of straight concrete beams - except for one. There was a tree in the way of this one. So this trellis beam makes a semi-circular detour around what used to be a fat old tree. The tree died long ago, and they planted a new one. Now the beam makes a fat detour around a skinny young tree.

The front door is casual; you walk past a little square rock pool with a narrow stream piddling from the house into it (no doubt some Oriental sign of welcome - Wright loved Asian architectural stunts), and into the mouth of a cave, closed off only by a glass door, then ascend into the Great Room (the one in all the pictures of the interior of the house).

As we entered, Sue gasped. "Look at the floor! They must be showing off for the Advisor Committee." Overnight the cleaners had polished the huge, rough slabs of triangular stone quarried right on the property, with Johnson's Wax. They shone like giant patent leather shoes.

This is the room where the "open plan" became famous. No more "formal parlor" "library" "music room", but one Great Room with areas for each. Here is the birth of the American institution, the Dining Area (these dining chairs have three legs, because the floor is so irregular that four-legged furniture would drive you crazy.)

A boulder intrudes through the floor and legend has it that Kaufman Sr. brought Wright out to show him around and told him that this stone was his favorite place to sit and take in the scene. So Wright designed it as the core of the house, and topped it with a tall stone fireplace. The chimney rises through the house like a mast, and all the fireplaces in the upper rooms feed into the same stone tower.

The house, in fact, is really like a great rock and concrete ship. Each of the three floors is a deck, with both sheltered space indoors and open terrace space outdoors to promenade on and look down at the water. The lower deck is the Great Room and kitchen; the middle deck is master and guest bedrooms; and little Edgar, Jr. lived upstairs in the equivalent of the captain's quarters. Each door in the house is a single slab of wood, beveled to fit the minimal frame perfectly, with neat hinges that fold into the wood itself; they were constructed by a shipbuilding company, which also supplied all the interior lumber, a special kind of wood resistant the dampness on ships - or in houses built over waterfalls.

Wright and the Kaufmanns planned to dramatize the arrival of guests (and attract their eyes to the boulder fireplace) by presenting them with a cup of warmed wine from a huge cast-iron wine warmer which swings in an arc from its own alcove at the side of the fireplace to a position over the fire. It looks majestic. Unfortunately, the Cherokee red paint that Wright loved to paint metal (he even painted his car Cherokee red) instantly flaked off the kettle when it went over the flames. Also, the lid on the wine-warmer weighed seventy pounds, a bit cumbersome to manage with a wine-cup in your other hand, and the kettle was so massive that it took hours and hours to heat. So it stayed as a prop to one side of the fireplace and the Kaufmanns warmed their wine like normal folk in a pot on the kitchen stove.

In the Great Room, you first really notice the glass - walls of it. Normal windows in those days were little holes punched in the walls between between supporting uprights. But here the ceiling is cantilevered - there ARE no supporting uprights - so the windows drape like a sheer curtain lightly dividing each room from its terrace. In a showoff move suggested by Kaufman, Sr. the window corners of the Great Room don't have any upright at all - not even a frame: glass meets glass with a line of clear calking, and the ceiling seems to levitate above them.

As you ascend to the upper levels of the house, the rooms get small and tree-housey. There are nearly no window coverings, but since all the windows face southeast, every room has total privacy, from all but voyeuristic deer. I asked Sue, "Was there a lot of nudity among the Kaufmans?" She gave a cryptic toss of the head, "Quite a bit of skin showed here from time to time."

The house shows evidence of the struggle between client and architect. The top of a desk had been too narrow. Edgar, Sr. wanted it wider. But a wider desk top would block the arc of the swing of a window. So Wright designed the wider desktop with a quarter-of-a-pie cutout to allow the window panel to open into the top itself. Here and there you spot a comfortable non-Wright chair. By this time in his career, F.L.W. admitted that he had been "bruised enough" by his own very nice-looking, very upright furniture that he didn't mind people having chairs they could actually relax in.

Right up until his death in 1989, Edgar Kaufman, Jr. used to drop in and fuss with things to make them just right. He wanted to keep the house feeling like a house, not a museum, so he said. But still, if somebody picked a book out of the library and replaced it in a different position, he'd notice it at once. "Somebody's changed the rhythm of the books," he'd say.

Outside, by the carports, Sue made her pitch for the pretty- flower calendar. We gave her a round of applause and went off to enjoy the grounds.

I followed a husband-and-wife architect couple and eavesdropped. "Those windows would run over a million nowadays, wouldn't they, honey?" he asked, looking soulfully from the stream back up at the classic view of the house, with its cascade of glass down one side of the stone "mast".

"Uh-huh. I priced just one of those windows, four feet by twelve. Sixteen thousand."

I walked off. So. My house should have no windows, no bridges, and not be cantilevered over a stream. Since there's no on-site quarry and nowadays masons cost sixty-five dollars an hour instead of thirty-five cents, maybe I should minimize the stonecutting altogether. Concrete block. Yeah, and drywall. And maybe it will have rooms. Screw the open plan: I don't want to have somebody playing the piano while I'm trying to eat my cereal. No boulders in my kitchen, thank you, and no cast-iron useless wine warmers either; but I do want plenty of privacy for the nudity of any visitors who wander in out of the desert. If there's a cactus in the way of a beam, I'll chop it down. This house will rule, not kowtow to, nature.

But it will - it must - have one useless set of steps that lead to nowhere. Maybe on the desert they should lead straight up, towards the sun. It will be expensive, I know. But you just shut up. On this one point I will not bend.

© 1995 Teller

Source

[risalei-nur]

The Words - The Tenth  Word - Part 22

SECOND TRUTH: The gate of Munificence and Mercy, the manifestations of His Names the All-Munificent and the All-Compassionate. Would the Lord of this world, Who demonstrates infinite munificence, mercy, dignity, and glory through His works, recompense according to His Munificence and Mercy and punish according to His Dignity and Glory?

Consider the following: All animate beings are given some form of appropriate sustenance.21 Indeed, the weakest and most powerless receive the best sustenance; every troubled one finds its remedy almost on hand. Such bountiful largesse given with such noble magnanimity betokens a giving hand of Infinite Munificence. During spring, for instance, all trees are dressed in silk-like finery, covered with blossoms and fruits as if bejeweled, and made to offer many varieties of the choicest fruits on their branches, stretched forward like a servant’s arms. We receive sweet and wholesome honey from a stinging honeybee, dress in the finest and softest cloth woven by a handless silkworm, and find a great treasure of Mercy stored for us in tiny seeds. Who but One having the most perfect Munificence, the finest and most subtle Mercy, can do such things?