#that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet;

[silverskye13]

The difference between Helsknight only calling him Wels and Tanguish only calling him Welsknight shows so much about their characters or maybe I’m just reading too far into it

You are not reading too far into it, that was intentional!

Helsknight believes in the power and deference that comes from names. He uses titles often [Hand, Red King] and only shortens things into nicknames when he's specifically asked [EB]. He will not call Wels by his full name, Welsknight, because that would imply he thinks Welsknight is a true knight, chivalry and tenets and all, which he doesn't. Its for the same reason he gets offended [and deeply hurt, in Tanguish's case] when people call him Hels.

Tanguish on the other hand is informal in the same way a normal person would be informal. He uses titles and formalities when the occasion calls for it [though he has no idea when an occasion would call for that kind of thing], and he likes assigning nicknames as much as Tango does. When he first started calling Helsknight "Hels", before he got yelled at about it, it was because they were becoming familiar with each other, the same way he calls Tango Tango instead of Tangotek all the time. He will call Welsknight by his full name because its a name, and they aren't friends. You wouldn't give a stranger you barely know, or someone you don't like, a familiar nickname. [He also probably thinks Welsknight would take offense to being nicknamed the same way Helsknight does, and he's right about that.]

[geo-rosey]

Reading Romeo and Juliet in class:

Juiiet: Romeo, doff thy name, And, for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.

*Everyone trying desperately to understand what she's saying*

Me, in the back: awww, they're so Jegulus coded

[lured-into-wonderland]

"I've never seen a creature quite like him," the stable boy murmured to his friend, peeking through the crack in the stall door. Two pairs of eyes, wide with curiosity, watched as the snow-white kitten strutted out of the shadows, his fur as pristine as the fresh snow that had fallen outside the palace walls. The kitten's eyes, piercingly gold, swept over the two humans before focusing on the warm bundle of hay in the corner. He approached with a regal grace that belied his youthfulness.

"What a strange little fellow," the other boy whispered back, his voice carrying a hint of awe. "Look at his fur, so long and soft! And those eyes..."

The kitten looked up at the sound of his voice, and for a brief moment, the stable was silent except for the sound of their collective breaths. Then, with a yawn that stretched his tiny jaw wide, he pounced on a dust mote floating in the shaft of light that pierced the gloom.

The boys watched as the kitten curled up in the hay, his plume of a tail wrapping around him protectively. He began to purr, the sound low and rumbling, like a distant storm.

The door to the stable creaked open, and a figure clad in royal blue stepped in. Her golden hair was pulled back into a neat braid, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. It was the young princess, Nunnally, who had heard whispers of the peculiar new arrival. She scanned the stalls, searching for the source of the commotion.

"It is there my princess," one of them exclaimed, spotting the kitten. She knelt down and offered a gentle hand. The kitten regarded her with a look that could only be described as skepticism before deigning to allow her touch.

The bond between the two was instant, a silent understanding passing between the future ruler and the unlikely creature who would become her closest confidant. Regulus, the snow-white kitten, had entered the world of the palace, and with him, a whirlwind of mischief and mystery that would soon make him a legend in his own right.

She shouldn’t have been in the stables. She knew that better than a n y o n e. And yet, she was a more frequent guest there than anyone would ever imagine. The young princess didn't care about the scolding nor about the punishment for her too-often-to-tolerate escapades. Nunnally knew there was a reason that she was so attracted to where-the-princess-should-not-have-been-seen.

And that day she just needed to be there. The whispers of the p e c u l i a r arrival spread like the hurricane between the maids. Even her ladies-in –waiting (unlike usually) seemed to be interested in that white-fur creature. They told it was the most beautiful kitten; and many wanted to claim him for them. Though Nunnally felt it was HIM that she was waiting for all the time.

Her steps were light and quick when she run towards the stables. No, she wasn’t worried that the creature might not have been there. If it was meant to be with her (and the lonely girl strongly believed in that), it would be there. Waiting for her. Looking for her. Accepting only her.

The stable boys did recognize the princess. She knew them pretty well, too. It wasn’t rare that she was sharing little secrets with them. And so they knew w h y she had come. Guiding her instantly towards the white animal, Nunnally’s heart started to ponder as if she was expecting to meet a dear (but lost) friend. Though when she gently approached the kitten, he seemed to r e f u s e her. Not to recognize her? Her heart stopped for a brief moment. Though the princess did nothing to enforce her will (her wishes and desires) onto the animal. She was well aware she shouldn’t. Instead, she waited and her patience was rewarded. The touch HAPPENED creating the instant bond between them.

And soon the kitten was in her tight embrace; his white fur and her blond locks almost intertwined together. Their eyes so similar and so different. The moment she entered her chambers, the kitten found his place on her bed, and she was lying next to him: first telling him the stories, and then reading to him, and then finally sleeping by his side. That was how they found them in their first day. Two creatures sharing the bed; sharing the space, sharing their rest.

And although they intended to separate the princess and the kitten, there was nothing they could have done. The princess was stubborn, and even her father – the king – could see that only a b r u t a l force could divide his daughter and the white-fur kitten.

---

So, there thein union was reluctantly accepted. Admired even. Feared by some. As some claimed it wasn’t a simple kitten, but a god turned into a kitten. A god that fell in love with the princess. Other whispered it was a demon that possessed the princess to steal her land and her crown. Others believed it was good story. An enchanted prince that is waiting for the princess’s kiss to regain his true form.

But what was the truth? No-one knew. Not even the princess. The story was still waiting for its end. Happy or unhappy one.

The princess and the kitten? They didn’t care about the whispers. About the rumours. About what was being told about them. They knew what they were, or what they wanted to be.

Every night, when the castle was silent, and most of its inhabitants were in deep slumber, the kitten and the princess were living their dream. Free of their physical bodies, a white-haired boy and a blond-haired girl, they run, and danced, and played. Two young adults being there for themselves. Discovering the notions of friendship, of love, of devotion. Two souls that were destined to be together. That would always find themselves. This life or another. This time or another. This universe of another.

FOREVER BOUND.

A god? A demon? A prince?

What are the names after all, Nunnally and Regulus. A princess and a kitten. Eternal lovers. And world’s eternal curse.

Would the curse become real again? Would the kitten become a human? Or was this story fated to have another end?

---

It’s not important for the kitten and for the princess now. As they sit in the garden gazebo enjoying the sun, the food, the book, themselves? What are they talking about? It’s their secret. They wouldn’t share.

They are not aware of the past and of the future. It’s only “now” that’s important. Now…let now last forever.

@fallesto

[sparksinthenight]

Me: Look around. Why is this allowed??? Liberals: We don’t have to fundamentally change the system we can regulate our way out of this. Me: Little girl gone, got a gun from gangsta. Run, little girl, run little girl. Bang. Ha.

[starkjoy]

interviewer: team green or team black?

fabien: o gwayne, gwayne, wherefore art thou gwayne? deny thy sister and refuse thy name. or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and i’ll no longer be a cole. tis but thy name that is my enemy: thou art thyself, though not a hightower. what’s hightower? it is nor hand nor foot, nor arm nor face nor any other part belonging to a man. o be some other name. what’s in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; gwayne would, were he not gwayne call’d, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. gwayne, doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.

interviewer: okay

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

That's Not My Name

din djarin x reader

warnings: mild spoiler for season 3 finale, I suppose.

word count: 623

summary: “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” -William Shakespeare

.

‘Din Grogu.’

You let the title roll around your head as you walked beside the Mandalorian and his now adopted son. With everything settled here on Mandalore, it was time for the three of you to leave. You weren’t quite sure where the next stop would be. You were too busy having a mental crisis.

‘Din Grogu.’ 

You glanced over at them to see Grogu babbling happily, a million miles per hour, and the Mandalorian you had come to know and love walked tall with a sense of pride radiating from the silver beskar decorating his body. 

“Din?” You called out. He turned his head with a hum of acknowledgement. “Din, is ‘Din’ your family name?”

“Yes, why?” Your feet came to a screeching halt⏤ so sudden that it took Din a step or two before he realized you hadn’t continued on beside him. He came to a pause and turned around in confusion. Grogu’s babbles had stopped and your companion tilted his head at you in slight concern. “Everything okay?”

“Din is your family name.” You echoed. More a statement than a question. Still, Din nodded at you once more. “Djarin is your first name??” Again, another confused bob of his head. “Are you kidding me?”

“What’s the problem?” He shrugged.

“This entire time, I’ve been calling you by your family name instead of your first name,” Your eyes widened, “And you didn’t think to stop me??”

Din stepped closer, his voice slightly amused, “I am from Aq Vetina. The family name goes before⏤”

“Yeah, no, I get the concept of family names going first.” You shook your head. “But you didn’t tell me that! Maker, this entire time I thought⏤”

Din, or Djarin apparently, chuckled. “It isn’t a big deal. Most people who know my name just call me ‘Din’.”

“Have you told any of those people you’re from a world that uses their family name first?” You asked. Din paused then shook his head with a shrug. Your hand shot up to hold the side of your head in alarm. This entire time. You’d been partners with him for ages now. Maker, you met him a few months before Grogu came along and this entire kriffing time you hadn’t even been aware of his actual name. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re⏤”

“I should’ve asked you. Maker, I should have⏤”

“Cyar’ika,” Din reached out and set a hand on your shoulder in comfort, “It’s fine. I’m not bothered by it. There is no need to stress.”

“Arguably, there’s a little reason.” You pouted. “Do you… I can call you Djarin from now on, if you prefer?”

The Mandalorian, the person you trusted with your life, chuckled once more and tilted to lean his forehead against yours. The cool metal of the keldabe kiss mildly reassuring to you. He spoke once more with only amusement and admiration in his voice, “Din or Djarin, or Din Djarin, I don’t care what you call me, cyar’ika. As long as I get to hear it in your voice.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief and he pulled back and began to walk again. It took you a few seconds before you caught up with him. It was hard to mentally refer to him as just Din considering how long you had done so, but in all reality you were just happy he was still around for you to mess up his name. Watching Moff Gideon drag him away still haunted your dreams. You’d call him literally anything as long as it meant having him by your side for the foreseeable future.

“Alright, Din Djarin, any other deep, dark secrets you’re keeping from me?”

“No, but I’ll let you know if I think of one.”

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Taylor Swift is Derivative nonsense, not intellectually placed allusions. I'll die on this hill, and I have many more examples beyond just the one listed below.

Let’s talk about the difference between being derivative and utilizing allusion in text. :) 

I’ve seen a lot of defenses for Taylor Swift’s work that hinges on the theoretical concept of intertextuality. People don’t often know that they are arguing over the validity (or emotional impact) of intertextual cessions in Swift’s writing, but they are.

Intertextuality, if you don’t already know, is a set of determinable interwoven texts that all correspond on a particular thematic point. This encompasses, but is not limited to, the literary device of allusion.  

There are many examples of intertextual works, since it is intrinsically post-modern. Yet, I want to talk about how Taylor Swift attempts allusions that only ever fall into flat-facing derivative blandness. I want to talk about how, yes, Swift is in the spirit of the age; yet her work devolves into derivative insincerity simply because she is not an artistic writer.  

Now, for an egregiously bad allusion. (I think it’s worse because Romeo and Juliet is my favorite Shakespeare play). In “The Albatross” Swift writes, “A rose by any other name is a scandal” in which the obvious allusion is to Shakespeare's, “A Rose by any other name would smell as sweet” from the play Romeo and Juliet. The line in the play is often misquoted, so perhaps Swift is just ignorant, however the line means to draw attention to the fact that names are just words the that do not actually dictate the internal nature of someone.  

The full line, from Shakespeare, reads “O be some other name/ What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/ by any other name would smell as sweet;/ So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d” (Romeo and Juliet). Thus, Juliet is lamenting the full divisive way in which her family is at odds with Romeo’s family; upon deeper consideration too, Juliet is modulating how social pressures, often outside our control particularly in youth, can impact and modify the discourse between reality, doing what is proper in accordance with the majority, and intrinsic human desire to fulfill our own needs. So, the line is not only explaining how Romeo and Juliet cannot be together overtly due to familial dispute, but in the same words it explains the full breadth of social dissertation for the pursuit of individual need. Afterall, he would still be Romeo "were he not Romeo call'd." Juliet is admitting that she would still love him with or without the constraint of social obligation due the environment, or family, in which we are born; thus, we can see how individually human desire can be placed at odds with the demands of mainstream society.

This is a nuanced conversation when considering it through moral theory. For instance, we often talk about how people should not go against the mainstream for immoral pursuit of individual desire and that is reasonable; yet herein Shakespeare's work the thematic point is on the morality of love and desire to go against social convention. Shakespeare is saying, "Love is a greater moral good than that of social obligation to follow tradition and to hate who you are trained to hate based on parental teaching." It's a genius fucking line, in a genius fucking play. Now, we all know how the play ends, the lovers run off together, they have a brief day in the sun. However, social pressure and adult obligation catch up to them again and thus they die for it. They die for their courage to love and to go against the mainstream.  

Let’s return to Taylor Swift, the human embodiment of mainstream social pressure, as she writes that "a rose by any name is a scandal." As such, she is saying that all roses everywhere are just a scandal waiting to happen. If everything is a scandal, rather than speaking to any nuance grief to the pervasiveness' of social pressure to adhere to mainstream. Swift is simply throwing petulance to the world, by saying “Rose by any other name is a scandal” she limits what a rose could be, or become in using the verb “is” to fully solidify a rose as a scandal; which is a message that is diametrically opposed to the thematic point Shakespeare is making with his line. For Swift, there is no redemption, no nuance, and there is no subtext in which implicit messaging lay to tell people that going against the mainstream might just be the last thing you ever do but God is it worth it. To live with that brief day in the sun. And die for courage. Swift is just saying the opposite and stating that the mainstream is inevitable- there is no use in fighting it. A name is a name. It remains to tell the rose exactly what it is. Swift lacks imagination.

I would argue that Swift does make obvious attempts at allusion in her work, yet it is so poorly done because she does not actually see or use the thematic point of the source material from which she pulls her allusions. For allusions, to be done in an artistic impactful manner, we must keep to the thematic point of the source material. When the allusion is done correctly there is a “layering” effect in literature that redoubles the overarching themes of human experience in a way that calls us from the past, Shakespeare, to the present. Thus, is the theory of intertextuality in literary works.

(I made that bold because it's the main point of this, and I don't want anyone to miss it).

Taylor Swift’s work here simply does not measure up to anything artistic, thoughtful, or well-done.  It is simply derivative of Shakespeare, but I don't think it qualifies as a true allusion.

[fagaday]

Hey fagaday, what makes Paul McCartney a fag? 🧐

What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.

[pockyyasii]

currently thinking about the line from romeo and juliet “what's in a name? that which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.” and janie's actual name being rosalind

and orion not giving a shit about rosalind or janie because when he looses his memories he doesn't know rosalind's name and she is just someone whom he knew he loved and he didn't a name to know that 🥹

[antlerx-art]

Aziraphale and Crowley reminded Shakespeare of a certain couple

Aziraphale: O Crowley, Crowley! Wherefore art thou Crowley? Deny thy father and refuse thy name Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be an angel Crowley [aside]: Shall I hear more? or shall I speak at this? Aziraphale: ‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thy self, though not a demon. O be some other name! What’s a demon? It’s nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, Not any part belonging to a being. What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. So Crowley would, were he not Crowley called, Retrain that dear kindness which he owes, without that title. Crowley, doff thy name; and for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.

[tovesaiko]

what's in a name

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet

They’re eating dinner when Osha asks the question. She’s sitting on the stone steps in their cave, cradling a bowl of soup in her hands. She looks relaxed, one leg propped on the step, the other curled under her.

“I still can't believe I never heard of you back at the temple. You're not that old,” there's mischief in her eyes as she adds that last part. Surprised, Qimir drops his spoon into his soup.

He wonders if she minds, if she would prefer they were closer in age. Imagines how it would be if he knew her before. What it would be like to train together as padawans and share their first experiences. Imagines sneaking out of the Jedi temple with her to lie in a meadow, young and innocent. Kissing for the first time, surrounded by flowers and sunlight and life.

It makes him think about his time as Vernestra's padawan. The years he spent training under her were nothing like the vision he just conjured. He had a different name then, already half-forgotten and alien to him. It belonged to a different person – a person he hasn't been for a long time. Even if she heard of him, she wouldn't know it, she wouldn’t recognise that other name. And who's to say what lies Vernestra spun when she returned to Coruscant without her padawan? He knows her well enough to know she would never let the story of his fall to the dark side see the light of day. Would never let the world learn how she maimed him and left him half-dead for the local predators to finish the job for her. No, she would make sure to control the narrative. He has a feeling even he wouldn’t recognise the version of the story she presented to the Jedi.

Would he still be the boy he used to be if he knew Osha back then? Would having her by his side keep him in the light? He thinks it’s more likely it would make him fall sooner. Because try as he might, he can’t imagine having Osha in his life and not loving her with a burning passion. Having her in his life and meekly adhering to the ridiculously strict tenets of the Jedi code.

Qimir may not be the name given to him by his parents, but he only spent a few years with them, barely remembers life before he was taken by the Jedi anyway, so does it even matter? This is the name he chose for himself. As a cover at first, yes, but then – then it was the name Osha knew him by. Just like his bumbling alter ego, it holds fragments of his true self. Even if the name wasn't his originally, he wants to be Qimir. Osha's Qimir.

This is now also on ao3 along with my other fic!

what's in a name

walking away from all you know

By popular demand, and by 'popular demand' I mean literally one person, I'm sharing my writing for the first time in years😅 Please be gentle.

I've been turning the issue of Qimir's name in my head over and over again. Pondering the significance of name vs. identity, and whether his real name is actually important when he must have changed so much ever since he became the Stranger, like a magical orb. Last night I couldn't sleep until I got this out of my head and on paper (well, on a google doc but, you know). I have two notebook pages of bullet points of things I'd like to see explored in a continuation of Osha and Qimir's story and the name reveal, or lack thereof, is one of them. Who knows, maybe now that I got this one out I'll latch onto another and cook something up to be read by me and exactly one other person.

@septemberlikeastorm thanks for being an excellent hypeman and getting my rusty writing gears going again by inspiring me with your lovely fic. Everyone go read cascade ocean wave blues come on ao3, it's the best thing since sliced bread 👌

[gardenofafterthoughts]

28/10/23

"That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet."

- William Shakespeare; Romeo and Juliet

[reidsc0nverse]

A Rose by Any Other Name

Series Masterlist

It doesn't take long for the newest member of the BAU to feel at home within the team. In particular with the resident genius where she feels at most safe. Throughout her life she has felt as though she is only what she shows to those that see her. And what her past has brought her up to be.

That which we call a rose,

Though her experiences and growth through the most unkind and harsh struggles help her understand that what has happened to her does not define who she is.

By any other name would smell as sweet

It's just a matter of time.

---------------------༺⚘༻---------------------

Chapter One | Reader's first day and introduction to the team

Chapter Two | Reader accompanies the team for a case that requires some help in a club with Emily, and some magic.

Chapter Three | Reader and her dad spend some quality time together as they prepare a dinner for the team, in which she and Spencer get a little more time to the two of them.

Chapter Four | Spencer and Reader finally get on with their coffee date as well as her learning some important news.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

Today's prompt is: cold. (Apologies in advance for waving a cheery goodbye to the cold for a while, before it was brought back)

The Luckies Girl in the World (chapter six)

Summary: A visit to Sherlock's parents bestows Rosie with a pet name.

Six Years Old

I never found it weird that Papa called me Watson. It was his name for me, but some of my friends, teachers and apparently Sally Donovan, found it to be heartless and cold. 

They all failed to discern the amount of affection and warmth in his voice when he addressed me as such. There was nothing cold about it.

Papa also used endearments like my heart and my precious girl, but only in private, which made them feel even more special. I never heard him call Dad anything but John, though he had a dozen different ways of saying Dad’s name.

***

Papa gave me a new name a warm summer day when I was six. We were visiting his parents, which I adored, he not so much. That’s what he claimed, anyway, but I saw how fond he was of them. They didn’t have that strong bond I had with my parents, but it more than sufficed, and Dad made up for it by being his wonderful self. Natural, friendly, helping in the kitchen and doing some of the heavier gardening for my grandmother.

Papa and his father had one particular interest in common. Bees. My grandfather had several beehives, and the first thing Papa did when we arrived, was to pester his father about the creatures he found so endlessly fascinating. Papa’s father was a patient man and answered all his questions meticulously. 

Until then, I hadn’t been allowed near the hives, but this time, Pops, as I called him, had a surprise for me. My very own beekeeper suit, long gloves and a gigantic hat with a protective veil.

Papa was just as excited as me when I’d dressed myself, and the three of us walked into the garden to inspect the beehives. Not after Dad had taken endless pictures, though.

“Fascinating, aren’t they?” Papa murmured in my ear when Pops lifted out one of the frames where bees crawled around and buzzed.

I could only nod in agreement, because I couldn’t get my eyes off them. The hexagon pattern, the delicious honey they produced, their colour, how organised it all was.

At dinner that night, I told Dad all about my bee adventure, helped by Papa and Pops. When Granny served her famous honey cake with toasted almond flakes on top and vanilla ice cream for dessert, my day was complete.

“Is the honey from Pops’ bees?” I asked hopefully.

“Oh, yes, Rosie,” Granny answered. “Your Pops wouldn’t allow any other honey inside this house. Besides, it’s the best honey for miles.”

Pops squeezed her hand, and I sighed happily when I was granted a second slice of cake.

***

After that day, Papa started to call me by another name. Not that he discarded Watson altogether, but it was mostly limited to when he reprimanded me, so I guess it turned out to have a chillier effect on me in the end. 

When he first used the new name in Dad’s presence, I could see tears form in his eyes.

“Bee,” Dad whispered. “What a beautiful and fitting name.”

“Indeed. You like it, don’t you?” Papa asked me.

“I love it,” I stated. “I’ve never had a pet name before, have I, Dad?”

“Not as such, love,” Dad agreed. “Do you want me to come up with something too?”

“Only if you want to. You call me love and sweetheart all the time in addition to my name, so it’s fine,” I told him.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” Papa recited.

“You and your Shakespeare,” Dad teased.

“Well, it is a nice quote, though I think an originally Danish saying, also used in Norway as far as I know, describes what I’m thinking about even better,” Papa retorted.

“Can you translate it into English?” I asked expectantly.

“Of course, Bee,” Papa replied. “A dear child has many names.”

Also available on AO3

(@s in the replies)

[blu-soda]

That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;

[inarticulatechoes]

“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.”

— William Shakespeare