#tenter-hook

[parafrazerofhistory]

The Swinging Festival at Karwar

"There seem to be some reasons for thinking that the Indian rite of swinging on hooks run through the flesh of the performer is also resorted to, at least in some cases, from a belief in its fertilising virtue. Thus Hamilton tells us that at Karwar, on the west coast of India, a feast is held at the end of May or beginning of June in honour of the infernal gods, 'with a divination or conjuration to know the fate of the ensuing crop of corn.' Men were hung from a pole by means of tenter-hooks inserted in the flesh of their backs; and the pole with the men dangling from it was then dragged for more than a mile over ploughed ground from one sacred grove to another, preceded by a young girl who carried a pot of fire on her head. When the second grove was reached, the men were let down and taken off the hooks, and the girl fell into the usual prophetic frenzy, after which she unfolded to the priests the revelation with which she had just been favoured by the terrestrial gods. In each of the groves a shapeless black stone, daubed with red lead to stand for a mouth, eyes, and ears, appears to have represented the indwelling divinity. Sometimes this custom of swinging on hooks, which is known among the Hindoos as Churuk Puja, seems to be intended to propitiate demons. Some Santals asked Mr. V. Ball* to be allowed to perform it because their women and children were dying of sickness, and their cattle were being killed by wild beasts; they believed that these misfortunes befell them because the evil spirits had not been appeased."

—J. G. Frazer, The Dying God (The Golden Bough, vol. IV, 1914, pp. 278-279)

*Valentine Ball was a geologist who traveled to India under the auspices of the Geological Survey of India. He related his experiences there in his 1880 book Jungle Life in India, the source from which Frazer draws the account detailed above. According to Ball, the Churuk Puja had been banned in British India.

A hook swinging festival in India, c. 1836.

(Source: Minneapolis Institute of Art, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

[streetsofdublin]

IT IS TENTERHOOKS NOT TENDER HOOKS

The original Tenters pub dates from 1850 and was reconditioned about ninety years ago but it has never been listed as a building of importance.

THE TENTERS PUB WAS DERELICT FOR ABOUT TEN YEARS IT IS NOW PART OF THE ALOFT The Tenters area of Dublin is located in the Liberties, on the Southside of the city. It is bordered by the South Circular Road, Cork Street, Donore Avenue, and Newmarket Square. The area is named after the tenterfields that once existed there, where cloth was stretched and dried. When I was young I thought that the…

[historia-vitae-magistras]

2 and 21 for England?

2) Who they want to please the most. 

Wants to please... not many. Sexually speaking, Port comes to mind, Emma as well. François when they're getting along. Emotionally, even fewer. Rhys is probably the only person in his immediate vicinity who he gives a real fuck about when he's being particularly anti-social, what with the Brits being Europhobic the way they are. And even that is questionable and is more about trust than wanting to make him happy. His children are another one. There's always something very mercenary about it; they are, to this day, often an extension of his power, but he does want to see them flourish and be happy.

21) Their fondest childhood memory

I don't know its a memory so much as a child's amalgamation of calmer times. But sitting at his mother's or Brighid's feet using a drop spindle while they work a loom. The tapestries Brighid especially wove impressed themselves into his memory and language. "Pop goes the weasel" is from when spinning wool on a reel would flex and make a sound. 'On tenter hooks' comes from the frame to stretch the fabric out after being fulled. 'Button your lip' for shut the hell up. In the days before Saxons and Vikings, when a wall defined the end of the world outside his mother's jurisdiction, he sat at his mother's or Brighid's feet, listening to the stories that would one day come to make up the majority of his national canon in a language he can no longer recall except in the words he kept to count his own children. It's probably more Brighid, as she was more likely to wield the weaver's sword (used for tamping down rows in weaving) than their mother, whose bronze sword was practically forged in blood. He usually remembers doing something, listening rapt to the stories, but Brighid, Alasdair and Rhys are more likely to remember him curled up in a sheepskin, conked out drooling after spending most of the day being a hellion.

[irishsweetpotato]

tenterhook (noun) - a hook used to fasten cloth on a drying frame or tenter (gee thanks oxford)

“on tenterhooks” (phrase) - to be in a state of suspense or agitation because of uncertainty about a future event

[herewegobebe]

Just wanted to send some love and luck to your dog for tomorrow. Really hope it goes well. Doggo, fighting!

Thank you so much 💕 You're very kind - and yes! 'doggo fighting! ' She's my bby but she's very strong so I'm hoping for the best.

[alexanderlightweight]

Prompt fills will be super sporadic so I don’t burn out but it’s not the fills. I’m excited about my prompts and I will defend them to the end!!!

It’s that I have a deadline for a huge project on the second which was supposed to be several days later but got changed and ppl forgot to inform me that it was moved up until 7 days ago… but apparently it was officially changed 3 weeks ago and they just forgot I needed to know

Also helping go through some of the stuff of a housemates deceased family which is heavy and exhausting.

Today was supposed to be any easy day except the project is on tenter hooks and could even be escalated to Monday.

So Say (wolfetales) decided (because she is amazing and a goddess) to help me out and we’ve been doing errands and checking on my project and went to a job site and had been helping me do small jobs for 9 hours and it’s 98 F.

My health is not heat approved and so I have to be careful not to tank it… but we have to go home and do house things after a nap so I’ll get a break

And then writing I’m hoping at some point.

[subbyp]

well I think I did a good job but I'm not sure. they said they'd email me later tonight if I got the job so......my hooks???? tentered!

wish me luck y'all I have an interview for a job I really want today!

[archaeology-findings]

Etymology of Idioms: Part 4

Be on tenterhooks (waiting anxiously for something to happen)

A tenterhook is a hook on a tenter, a wooden frame that used to be used to stretch out newly-woven fabric while it dries. Therefore the phrase being on tenterhooks represents being figuratively stretched like the cloth on the tenter. Tenter itself came from the Latin tendere, meaning to stretch.

[dantiloquent]

i only watch dan because of colin # sorry not sorry

[unitpropaganda]

howd the “date” go?

Given he's got leave today we're all on tenter hooks to see how him and what's her name....onions or some other posh nonsense.... got on.

I hope she hit him.

-Barker

[maudie-pierre-de-grele]

La révolution de l'amour (par Rebecca Amsellem - Les Glorieuses)

(Extraits - voir la newsletter en ligne “Les glorieuses”. Je ne suis pas en adhésion avec tous les points de contenu, mais bien avec l’urgence de penser à fond la question des rapports amoureux, comme terrain d’une expression profonde des structures de domination). 

“J’ai toujours été une amoureuse de l’amour, dévorant les lettres échangées entre Maria Casares et Albert Camus, pleurant toutes les larmes de mon corps en relisant Heartburn (Nora Ephron) et fantasmant chaque jour depuis mon enfance la rencontre avec l’âme sœur. C’est avec cet imaginaire que je suis tombée amoureuse, que j’ai eu mon cœur brisé et que je me suis relevée. C’est avec cet imaginaire aussi que je me bats pour tenter de trouver un équilibre entre mon amour de l’amour et mon engagement féministe.

L’amour n’est pas le premier thème auquel on pense lorsqu’on parle de révolution féministe. Ou de révolution tout court d’ailleurs. Devant le visage sombre de la grande révoltée – la révolution, le tendre Éros (« dieu de l’amour ») dut disparaître précipitamment. On n’avait ni le temps, ni l’excédent nécessaire de forces psychiques pour s’adonner aux « joies » et aux « tortures » de l’amour. Pour la socialiste russe Alexandra Kollontaï (« Place à l'Eros ailé ! Lettre à la jeunesse laborieuse »,  1923), l’amour vient en second. Il est le hasard heureux qui vient s’ajouter aux actions plus utiles. Son caractère frivole en fait d’ailleurs – presque – tout son intérêt. Cela ne sert à rien et pourtant, c’est tout. Et pourtant lorsqu’on réfléchit aux rapports de domination dans notre société, on ne peut s’empêcher d’imaginer les conséquences qu’une révolution féministe aurait sur le sentiment qui semble être au premier abord le plus pur qui soit.

Dans une société patriarcale, hétéronormée, l’amour est un sentiment qui entre en contradiction avec des normes dans lesquelles les femmes sont complètement désavantagées. Aussi, ma définition de l’amour correspond-elle à un idéal passé ? À quoi ressemble l’amour dans une société féministe ? La remise en cause du schéma binaire de nos pensées va-t-elle remettre en cause nos modes de vie ? Pourquoi l’amitié est-elle à prendre autant au sérieux que l’amour ? La révolution de l’amour est féministe. Elle est même fondamentale pour la révolution féministe. Les rapports de domination ont dessiné un monde politique, une sphère économique et nos relations sociales. Ils ont également compromis nos relations les plus intimes qui soient, les liaisons amoureuses. C’est pourquoi la révolution féministe, la révolution qui nous permettra d’atteindre une société égalitaire, ne pourra advenir sans une révolution de l’intime. Je m’explique.

Je suis une romantique, je l’ai dit. Une « amoureuse de l’amour ». Les femmes sont – très généralement – des romantiques. Et la raison est politique. Cette adoration est une manière de se garantir un peu de pouvoir. Là où le système actuel donne un pouvoir sociétal, économique et politique aux hommes dans la sphère publique, l’intime fait moins l’objet de luttes.

Dans l’univers genré de Mars et Vénus, les hommes veulent du pouvoir et les femmes veulent un attachement émotionnel et une connexion. Sur cette planète, personne n’a vraiment l’opportunité de connaître l’amour puisque c’est le pouvoir et non l’amour qui est à l’ordre du jour. Le privilège du pouvoir est au cœur de la pensée patriarcale. Les filles et les garçons, les femmes et les hommes à qui on a appris à penser de cette façon croient presque toujours que l’amour n’est pas important, ou si c’est le cas, il n’est jamais aussi important que d’être puissant, dominant, en contrôle, en haut – avoir raison. Les femmes qui donnent une adoration et des soins apparemment désintéressés aux hommes de leur vie semblent être obsédées par « l’amour », mais en réalité, leurs actions sont souvent un moyen secret de détenir le pouvoir (bell hooks, Visions of Love).

L’intellectuelle afro-féministe américaine bell hooks semble vouloir ressusciter les mots de Simone de Beauvoir. Dans Le Deuxième Sexe, Simone de Beauvoir décrit, pour la première fois, que l’absence d’équilibre entre le droit et les pratiques sociales a toujours induit que les femmes n’étaient jamais complètement libres. Ainsi, à Rome, les femmes régnaient en maîtresses à l’intérieur de leurs foyers mais n’avaient pas de position sociale (elles étaient considérées comme mineures, des enfants donc). Pendant la Renaissance, les femmes mariées avaient leur place tandis que les célibataires n’avaient « aucun droit ». La sphère privée, émotionnelle, faisait si peu l’objet d’intérêt par les dominants qu’elle fut laissée à titre de maigre lot de consolation. « Par cet ingénieux système la grande masse des femmes est étroitement tenue en lisière : il faut des circonstances exceptionnelles pour que, entre ces deux séries de contraintes, ou abstraites ou concrètes, une personnalité féminine réussisse à s’affirmer. »

(...)

Et cela se poursuit avec notre vision de l’amour. Elle est le fruit d’un conditionnement patriarcal. Nos attentes aussi. Et… les attentes des femmes sont assez basses. Les miennes en premier. Il suffit qu’un homme me regarde pour me sentir exister, il suffit qu’un homme m’adresse la parole pour que je me croie importante, il suffit… non tout cela, c’est fini, c’était avant”.

[party-gilmore]

I'm literally on tenter hooks for this Misha Q&A like

I love him, so even if it's totally normal I'm gonna love this Q&A

But also

Oh ho *ho* am I hoping for some shade to be thrown.

[problematicwelshman]

I am tenter hooks waiting for this info. Is there anything you CAN tell us?

I don’t have permission to disclose the DMs and I hate that I don’t tbh because I’m all about transparency here, but the DMs aren’t some kind of damning evidence against Michael at this point. From what I saw, he’s not saying anything that could be construed as negative. He’s being supportive and encouraging with her extracurricular activities and offering her suggestions of films to watch. It’s all seemingly very innocent on a surface level, but the way she exposes it herself isn’t. I’m also scratching my head about why he would reach out to her to begin with. He has to be the one to initiate a DM, so there are pitfalls and red flags no matter which way you look at this. 

[skinks]

i have a whole ass essay due tmw but i just saw that u dropped ch 15 so😐 guess we taking that late grade lads

god fjsnfjdnhdkdbd I’m so late in replying to this but god what was the outcome. My hooks... tentered. u still in school anon? I can’t be responsible for this

[ceescedasticity]

Vocab hint of the day

It's "on tenterhooks", not "tender hooks".

(I had to look up what a "tenter" is. Some sort of frame for stretching or drying cloth apparently.)

Since I would guess approximately 0% of readers will be envisioning the hooks of a tenter either way, the expression wouldn't really lose anything if the spelling changed -- but for now, at least, it's tenterhooks. "Tender hooks" sounds weird anyway, doesn't it?

[borhap-queen-slutt]

Now I’m here...pt.1

(Brian May X Reader)

Authors note: This is my first reader-insert/fic so let me know what you think.

Warnings: Alcohol, harassment, slight angst

Word count: 1,464

Summery: You go to a pub with your best friend. You meet meet Brian and hit it off. But the thing is, you don’t know WHO Brian May/Queen is. But you’re bound to find out.

~

It was late fall, 1974. You were at a pub in London. The room was dark and filled with cigarette smoke. This wasn’t usually your scene but your best friend and roommate convinced you to go out with her, and many other people you probably wouldn’t consider friends. You hated going to pubs because they made you feel sick. Especially the one down the street, on the corner. But here you were.

The alcohol was great, but you hated the horrendous men that always pushed themselves on you. Your best friend didn’t mind the attention though, you couldn’t figure out why she always took her chances on those shit faced animals. But you knew one thing...You didn’t want to be their prey.

You turned to your best friend, already wanting to leave “What drink should I start with?” You said with a huff. You liked to drink but you weren’t an expert like you knew she was.

“Try a Tequila Sunrise, the orange juice is spectacular” she said... already tipsy.

You could tell you were going to be taking care of her for the rest of the night. You love your best friend but she went overboard on almost everything.

The only thing you loved about going out was that you were surrounded by music. Everywhere you turned there was a radio or a record on. You listened to so many different genres but you almost always shied away from the popular stuff. You always wanted to be different from everyone else. Unique.

You downed your first drink which was absolutely delicious and you immediately started to feel something. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t get too drunk…. You distanced yourself from the group and sat up at the bar for your second drink. When you started slowly sipping, an older, balding man stumbled towards you. He propped himself on the bar. Almost cornering you.

“What a beautiful, young thing.” He said with a cough. His breath smelled like whiskey and you shivered.

“Thank you.” You squeaked, turning away. Hoping he would just move on. But he didn’t.

“Why is it that a sweet girl like you is alone?” He says brushing his hand down your arm.

“I came with my friends.” You said yanking your arm away, looking over to the booth you left, not long ago. You wish you hadn’t left the safety of the booth, but you couldn’t stand most of the people… In this moment you wished you would have dealt with it.

“It looks like they’re having fun without you. Come with me outside, why don’t ya?” He says getting terribly close.

“No thank you.” Standing up and ready to dart towards the table, to your group. He grabs tightly to your wrist before you can take a step.

“Come outside with me” he growls at you.

You’re terrified. Heart racing, you want to scream out. Frozen, you look passed the greasy old troll.. Your eyes lock with a man sitting at a table, with what looks like his best friends. Oddly enough there are many girls swarming their table. You find it almost odd in your moment of dilemma. He has an unforgettable head of wild, curly, dark brown hair. He looks like an angel in this moment. His eyebrows push together as he looks at you with worry. He stands, tall and lanky. Without a word he starts towards you, his friends watching him in confusion. When you’re certain he’s coming to the rescue, you feel like you can breathe for the first time in the last 30 seconds. Those 30 seconds feeling more like an hour.

Once he reaches you he slaps the old man on the shoulder, harder than he meant to. “I think that’s enough.” He said sternly. An angel, he really was. With a hard pull he separates the wrinkly hand that felt like lava from your wrist.

“Piss off” the old man said to the younger. You took a step back. Still scared shitless.

“Obviously she’s had enough. I think you should leave.” He said trying to stay calm.

The old man stomped away to your relief. You turned back towards the bar and grabbed your drink tightly. Not planning to drink anymore of the fruity yet bitter solution in the cup.

“Are you okay, love?” The young man said to you in a soft voice, but still loud enough to hear over the music. You looked up at his worried face.. you were staring at this point and you only realized it when he let out a tiny cough to break you out of your trance.

“I’ll be alright. Thank you for that, really. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come over. I’m sorry.” You said with a sigh.

“It’s okay. Now I’m here......It’s Brian by the way.” He reaches his hand out for you to shake it. You gladly put your hand in his, mostly for reassurance after feel helpless.

“Would you mind if I took this seat?” He asked looking back at the table he had previously sat, and pointed to a stool at the bar. You obliged. Nodded at him and hopped back on to your stool where you’d sat before.

Feeling almost embarrassed.. You didn’t like to depend on others to handle your messes, you knew you were a strong woman, but you were thankful. Thankful for the man named Brian that sat beside you.

You looked over to the man with perfect cheekbones. “I’m y/n, if you were wondering.” You said slightly stuttering, awkwardly. He gave you a smile. You looked over to the radio that was behind the bar just as a song ended. Suddenly all you heard out of the speakers were snaps of many fingers, than a clear but strong voice started spitting poetry. “Let them eat cake, she says. Just like Marie Antoinette.” By the time you hear that line, you were hooked. You looked around and many people were singing along. The bar tenter turned up the volume “She’s A Killer Queen” rang out.

You look over at Brian who was now staring at you with wide eyes. His cheeks were bright red but you had no idea why.

“I like this song. Do you know who the artist is?” You said loud enough to hear over the music.

Brian let out a chuckle and looked away.

“I have no idea.” He said while taking a sip out of his drink.

You sat at the bar with Brian for at least two hours, but it only felt like a few minutes. The chemistry was undeniable. You surprised yourself with letting this happen, but he didn’t seem like the others. He wasn’t overly flirty and he never made an obnoxious move. You found yourself enjoying his company.

He listened to you talk almost the whole time. Asking the most interesting questions, hanging on to every word of your answers. He never said much about himself though. You found it odd, but you didn’t want to pry.

You looked over to your best friend flopping around, extremely drunk. He followed your gaze.. “Are those your friends?” He asked in a light tone.

“Do you see the one using her jacket has a lasso? That’s my best friend.” You said with a snorting laugh. He joined in and starting giggling.

“You seem like very different people.” He said, making eye contact with you. His eyes were a mesmerizing green.

“We are. In some way. But I don’t know what I would do without her” You laughed through your big smile. “As a matter of fact, I probably need to take her back to the flat. I wouldn’t want her to shed another layer of clothing” you said with a cringe.

“Before you leave, let me give you my number.” He said. Grabbing a napkin and a rather nice pen out of this coat pocket, he scribbled some numbers and maybe some words. “It was very nice meeting you. You’re different, in the best way of course. Not like every other girl here. This was nice.” He said with a shy smirk. This sent butterflies through your stomach because you felt the same way about him.

“It was lovely meeting you too. I hope to see you again.” You spoke honestly, surprising yourself once more. You gave him a smile, grabbed the number, and stood up to walk over to your highly intoxicated friend. You looked down at the napkin and read

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Brian May ~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~+44 20 5555 8472~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~Call anytime during~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~the day. I work at night.~~~~~~~

Once you collected your friend and were walking out of the door, you looked back. Finding the table near the through the smoke to take one last look at Brian. You hoped it wouldn’t actually be your last.