Created in the 1930s by an anonymous author (supposedly Cantankerus Nott), the directory listed the pure-blood families in Great Britain.

(Source: catherinedemedici)

(Source: samkind)

quadzombie:

I really hate not being able to think of my name in a future context because I’m going to get married and take my husband’s last name but I don’t know what that last name will be. And then I’ll have to get used to having a whole new last name (and who knows how long it’ll be before I stop writing my maiden name all the time) and my kids will have that last name and I really like my maiden name okay, and now my brother’s family will be the only ones to carry that on. :T It’s troublesome.

And I really have nothing against the practice because I want to take his name. I just have small everyday irritations that I think about.

MAKE HIM TAKE YOUR NAME INSTEAD. And then rule him with an iron fist since taking your spouse’s name is obviously a sign of emasculation.

But seriously though, I think about this too. Like, I’m kind of grumpy about the expectation that I have to change my name, but I do really like the symbolic idea of “we share a last name because we are family now.” Mr. and Mrs. X, and you share that last name with your kids. (If you want them obviously.) I’m all for him taking my last name instead, but I can’t really expect that of him if I’m not necessarily willing to do it myself. The only solution here is to find a marriageable man with the last name Dickinson, because that’s a name I won’t hesitate to take. ;)

(I struggle with a problem called “I like the concept of traditional things but I don’t like the traditions that actually exist.”)

black-quadrant:

surround yourself with people who

  • praise you because they mean it
  • don’t want anything but your company
  • do their best to understand you
  • you feel like you can confront if you need to
  • (know they can confront you lovingly in turn)
  • make you feel comfortable
  • stick with you through good and bad times
  • are positive influences on your everyday life

marypsue:

Kill the idea that naivety is an unforgivable flaw but cynicism is just wisdom, murder it, chop it up and serve it for dinner, I don’t care, just end this bullshit idea that it’s better to hate than to love and better to rot in miserable bitter resignation than to hope for the best.

audreyii-fic:

pocketaimee:

A quick sketch for a friend.

The sad thing is that Hawkeye doesn’t have anywhere else to stay.

Look around your college classroom, spot the virgins.

See, this seems like a game until you skip over the girl with a short skirt and hair in front of her eyes because you heard last summer that she slept with like nineteen guys. You can’t see her hands, but they’re under the table, pulling a rosary through her fingers as she tries to wash the sin off her. She’s only ever kissed three people in her whole life and they’re all girls. She turned down the wrong guy and he told everyone she’s “a whore.” The label “slut” stuck to the bottom of her shoe and swallowed her up.

But that quiet girl who is always reading probably never touched someone else’s penis, you figure, because you don’t know that she goes home and strips down and pulls on tight black leather, you don’t know she’s got a set of whips that could make any set of knees quiver, you don’t know because she’s proud of what she does but she’s not stupid enough to let anyone know about it. She’s sexy, just not here, not where people judge.

See, the truth is: you have no idea who has lost their virginity, because it doesn’t change you. It doesn’t give you some kind of glow or superpower or stamp on your forehead. You know the feeling of waking up on your birthday and thinking “I don’t feel any older whatsoever”? That’s what maybe they’re all so afraid of you finding out: sex doesn’t change you. Sex doesn’t make you an animal, sex doesn’t suddenly make your relationship a million times more stable or intimate or romantic - it can’t fix what’s broken, although it can make the pain go away for a bit. Sex doesn’t really occur with eighty tea lights and a thick white rug. Sex is ugly and loud and frequently awkward, sex is excellent and breathtaking and when you wake up the next morning, you’re the exact same person. There’s not some magical connection with the person in bed beside you. Believe it or not, pregnancy isn’t some kind of punishment - but practice safe sex, get tested, don’t spread your germs around. They want to tell you, “Sex can ruin you” and I’ve heard that a lot as a little girl, that some boy would join me under my sheets and then dump me four days after, used, unhappy.

But I figured out that I’m not a fucking toy. Letting someone have sex with me is not letting them “use” me, because I’m not an object. My father said the issue lay in the fact “Men are insecure and need to know that they’re the best you ever had,” but I think that’s a steaming crock of absolute-wrong and if I didn’t tell the people I’m with how many others I’d slept beside, there would be literally no way for them to know my number, because I don’t rust, I don’t wear out, I don’t get bruised. I’m not a wilting fruit, I don’t go rotten.

But here’s the thing: some people connect sex and emotion. I don’t personally because I am probably secretly an ice storm in disguise, but I still respect my partner’s desires. If they’re the type to want love and sex to coincide, I let them. I don’t make fun, I don’t pull one-night-stands or friends-with-benefits, because it’s not their “reputation” I’m afraid for: it’s their heart I’m defending.

Here’s the thing: Instead of worrying about people’s “purity” and how it defines them as a person, worry instead about how you can protect other people’s emotions.

Because here’s the thing: look around your room and spot the virgins. Look harder. You can’t tell. Sex doesn’t alter people, it doesn’t make them act in a certain way nor dress in a certain manner. Sex and personality have nothing to do with each other. There’s a reason that virginity doesn’t show on someone’s face: because having sex doesn’t cause you to change.

"I lost my virginity to a boy I didn’t even love…" /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

charleekelly:

why are you all so mad that young girls are expressing themselves through writing poetry and comparing themselves to storms? god help us girls are doing the same thing critically acclaimed old white men have been doing for years

ted:

Adrianne Haslet-Davis dances again for the first time since the Boston terrorist attack last year. 

When the bombs went off at the Boston Marathon finish line, Adrianne Haslet-Davis lost the lower half of her left leg in the explosion. She’s a ballroom dance teacher, and she assumed she would never dance again. With most prosthetics, she wouldn’t.

But Hugh Herr, of the MIT Media Lab, wanted to find a way to help her. He created a bionic limb specifically for dancers, studying the way they move and adapting the limb to fit their motion. (He explains how he did it here.)

At TED2014, Adrianne danced for the first time since the attack, wearing the bionic limb that Hugh created for her.  

Hugh says, “It was 3.5 seconds between the bomb blasts in the Boston terrorist attack. In 3.5 seconds, the criminals and cowards took Adrianne off the dance floor. In 200 days, we put her back. We will not be intimidated, brought down, diminished, conquered or stopped by acts of violence.”

Amen to that, Hugh. 

Watch the full talk and performance here »