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Her father says her name harsh and angry and firm, divided into four syllables, O. PHE. LI. A, never shouting, and that is somehow worse. 

Her brother says her name quick, like it’s a slur, o phe lia, the syllables blending and blurring together, like he cannot wait to stop. 

The boy who once defined her whole world told her that Ophelia sounds like Ō filia, which means Oh, Daughter in Latin. 

Latin is a dead language, and she is no one’s daughter, now.

Okay, whoever wrote this, I wish I wrote it. Bravo, my friend <3

Forgive me if I don't state this as clearly as I might.

I'm watching pride and prejudice 1980, when lizzie visits pemberley. This is where it seems that she first truly realizes her feelings for darcy, as she later admits.

We see through the housekeeper that darcy is respected and respectable, his house is well run, his servants and tenants like and admire him.

This responsibility must be especially attractive to lizzie after the way she had grown up with her father - call it "daddy issues". Mr Bennet routinely shows he cannot handle his finances wisely, has little control over his household, and puts in little effort to manage anything in his or his family's life.

It is my supposition that it is not necessarily how grand the estate is, or even darcys marked improvement in gentlemanliness, that truly impacts lizzie. Rather, it is his abilities in contrast to her father, to be a responsible landlord, brother, friend, and potential husband, that first turns her feelings.

She realizes he is truly dependable, and it is that which makes him lovable in her eyes

Thoughts?

“His mind was indeed my library, and whenever it was opened to me I entered bliss.”

– Villette, Charlotte Brontë

pomegranate pngs ! credit not necessary for pngs! like or reblog to use, don't repost as your own please.

Fantaghirò (Lamberto Bava, 1991)

I love this quote. But at the same time - EXCUSE ME? I’m going half crazy with the fact that Charlotte Brontë DOES NOT think happiness is a potato, EVEN THOUGH she came to Belgium in 1842, where - SINCE THE LATE 17TH CENTURY - they were already making FRIES (aside from the whole France vs. Belgium as the inventors of fried potatoes dispute).

Ma’am? EXCUSE ME?

Maybe that’s why Lucy got sick of loneliness. A walk in the garden is a wonderful thing, but what would be a better balm on your achy heart??! Watching the bees buzzing around or EATING SOME TASTY DELICIOUS FRIED POTATOES?

Well. That’s the end of my crash out. Lunch?

“Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with manure. Happiness is a glory shining far down upon us out of heaven. She is a divine dew which the soul, on certain of its summer mornings, feels dropping upon it from the amaranth bloom and golden fruitage of Paradise.”

– Villette, Charlotte Brontë

“Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with manure. Happiness is a glory shining far down upon us out of heaven. She is a divine dew which the soul, on certain of its summer mornings, feels dropping upon it from the amaranth bloom and golden fruitage of Paradise.”

– Villette, Charlotte Brontë

Sorry, still not over Darcy critical-failing that proposal! Not that sorry, though. I have no idea why Pride and Prejudice hits so hard when most of Austen's other novels are like "They're fine! I like them! Anyway..." for me.

But, here's the thing. Darcy is being an asshole. Darcy isn't an asshole, generally, but he's really being one about his whole Regency Era situationship with Lizzie. Like, he rolls in on day one with this giant fucking chip on his shoulder, acts like he's too good for everyone, and why? Well, he's rich, and he's got lofty connections.

Except who's he rolling with right then? His spineless dustmop of a bestie and his bestie's godawful sisters. Bingley's the sort of guy who can be peer-pressured out of being in love!

Like, you know that thing where you have a friend, and they introduce you to another friend, and that friend is such a wet sock that you find yourself reevaluating your friend because they're hanging around with this guy? Like, okay, Darcy, do you have friends, or do you have toadies? Is this your bestie, or did you find a gentleman's companion that you didn't have to pay?

Later on we meet his aunt, who's the goddamned worst.

Like, we all hate Mr. Collins, right? This woman has Mr. Collins over twice a week for a quiet evening of performative dickriding. That's the kind of taste Darcy's family has. Voluntarily spending hours with Mr. Collins on a regular basis.

There's no talking about Mrs. Bennet's lack of decorum or matrimonial grasping or entitlement without talking about Lady Catherine flying in on her broom to scream at her nephew's fiancee, right? Especially considering that her basis for doing so is a cradle engagement that she seems to have never spoken to her nephew about as an adult and a fucking rumor that she assumes pertains to Lizzie.

She doesn't even talk to her fucking nephew before spending half a day in a carriage to make a blazing spectacle of herself in front of the entire Bennet household! He finds out she did that afterwards when she tries to make him break off the nonexistent engagement that she's announced to half the fucking kingdom by that point.

I mean, unexpected point to Mrs. B, who notably did not even walk down the road to Netherfield to act disappointed at anyone.

Also hard to get on too high a horse after Georgiana's near-elopement with the country's biggest asshole! Like, oh, the Bennet sisters are embarrassing? The Bennets lack propriety?

Buddy, you hired a sex trafficker to look after your sister and then your sister almost fucked the one-man-crime-wave son of your late property-manager. And you didn't even manage to hush it all up properly! Sure, he's keeping your sister's name out of his mouth, but he's running you down like a dog in every other respect to the whole county!

Like, "Oh, look at me, I'm Fitzwilliam Darcy! I'm not going to lower myself to correcting any of The Plebes who now think I deliberately misadministered a will to fuck over The Help out of cheapness and spite, especially when all it would take is one conversation with That Fucker's commanding officer, but god forbid I ever have to go out in public with a Bennet! I might die of shame and secondhand cringe!"

So he's got all of that going on, and then he busts in on Lizzie with a proposal that's got huge "I don't consent to being attracted to you" energy and runs her entire family into the ground. This is after Lizzie's spent approximately three centuries being negged by his mannerless nightmare of an aunt, so that's at least one extra level of "Really, bruh?" in there.

And then he fucking claps back at her rejection! Instead of going "Oh. Huh. Whoops. Guess I'll just have to go marry one of the other ten thousand women lined up waiting to marry me!" he's like "What the fuuuuck did I ever do to you, you fucking menace?". At which point she checks him so hard he spends the next three months bluescreening and looking up how to be polite to people you haven't already known for five years.

So like I said, he is being an asshole here. He knows how to act right, he just hasn't bothered to do so once since posting up in Netherfield because idk, he's on vacation or some shit.

Critically! However upsetting Lizzie finds The Proposal Incident (half-hour crying jag, spends the rest of the day hiding in her room), she is at no point worried about Darcy's subsequent behavior.

This is while she still thinks he genuinely did Wickham dirty and before she's had a chance to get character references from the 500 people working at Pemberley. This is the guy about whom her dad later says "Kidding-not kidding I can hardly say no to this rich fuck, can I?" when asked for his blessing. This is after Mr. Collins literally said "I've heard no means yes these days" to her fucking face and then her mother tried to make her marry him anyway.

She preached a full on sermon about the man's shortcomings to his face immediately after saying she wouldn't bounce on his dick if it was the last one on earth and after the adrenaline crash wasn't like, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck my entire life, he's going to burn down the vicarage and frame my father for tax fraud."

Everything that she's seen with her own eyes about this snobby bastard tells her he's not going to go crying to his aunt and get her cousin's patronage revoked. He's not going to go out of his way to fuck her or her family over. He's pissed, and he was definitely playing the ass with that proposal, but he's not going to lash out over it.

So this is Lizzie seeing Darcy at Peak Asshole, with extra assholery that he didn't even do but he couldn't be bothered to tell anyone he didn't do, and Lizzie's still like "omg you're such a fucking prick, how do you even get out of bed in the morning" instead of "Well, RIP to my prospects, there's no way that man doesn't have the lot of us consigned to a convent by parliamentary decree now."

"I like to see flowers growing, but when they are gathered, they cease to please. I look on them as things rootless and perishable; their likeness to life makes me sad. I never offer flowers to those I love." Villette by Charlotte Brontë

Can’t believe Jane Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice in the 2000s

And in 2015 Emily Brontë released literary clsssic Wuthering Heights

Thank God someone paved the way for them…

i like working at plant store. sometimes you ring up someone and there's a slug on their plant and so you're like "Oh haha you've got a friend there let me get that for you" and you put the slug on your hand for safekeeping but then its really busy and you dont have time to take the slug outside before the next customer in line so you just have a slug chilling on your hand for 15 minutes. really makes you feel at peace with nature. also it means sometimes i get to say my favorite line which is "would you like this free slug with your purchase"

I personally feel that Darcy’s “Not handsome enough to tempt me” line is grossly mischaracterized. People seem to read it as him calling Elizabeth too unattractive to be worthy of his interest, but I actually think the subtext was probably more like “no woman is hot enough to tempt me into dancing with a stranger - the thing I find the most awkward of all about meeting new people - nor is anyone hot enough to make me enjoy this party when I Do Not Want To Be Here”

Which, sure, definitely rude to say within earshot of the person you’re specifically talking about, but “she’s good looking but not hot enough to make me have fun at this party I hate” seems more like a kinda regrettable loser take within the moment and less like a personal attack against Lizzy

I love that Austen directly tells us first that it wouldn’t matter if Anne had never reunited with Wentworth, because that’s not the reality, and therefore the alternative isn’t even a possibility worth considering:

How she might have felt, had there been no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth enquiry; for there was a Captain Wentworth;

…and then that it wouldn’t matter whether he even returned her love or not, because she’d be in love with him forever:

and be the conclusion of the present suspense [of his feelings] good or bad, her affection would be his forever.

…and then that just as whether they had met again or not didn’t matter, neither would the possibility of their never being together (i.e. if Wentworth died or if Anne thought he married somebody else): she would still love him and only him, and no other man:

Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men, than their final separation.

And Wentworth, even back when he was trying to distance himself from Anne, believing them both to be indifferent to each other and believing himself to want nothing to do with her anymore, feels the same way about her though he doesn’t realize it:

He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman since whom he thought her equal.

Anne and Wentworth had nearly an entire decade to move on, and were basically encouraged to by every circumstance possible… but they didn’t! In fact, Wentworth (who had already been in love with Anne the entire time - “never inconstant”) says that meeting her again, seeing her again, after all this time, has actually made him fall in love with her even more:

I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.

It's thinking about Darcy desperately yearning running into Elizabeth at Pemberley hours.

Like, you fell in love with this woman, but rationally (pridefully) you though it wasn't something you should pursue. But you can't forget her, and then she's at Rosings... and the more you see her - with her wit, her eyes, the liveliness of her mind - the more she undoes every expectation of who you should marry that you'd ever had. You prolong your trip to see more of her, you start imagining what it will be like married to her and unwisely after only seeing her again for a week begin asking how she'd feel living far away from Longbourn, and even hint things like she'd be staying at Rosings next time she visits Kent.

It's too much. You're feeling too much.

She's due to visit for tea the night before you take leave, and an evening gives far more opportunity for privacy and conversation than sitting in Mrs Collins' drawing room for half an hour the next day.

But she doesn't come, she's feeling ill, and you won't see her. If you don't make an effort, you might never see her again. It's not like Bingley will be going back to Netherfield anytime soon, after all.

You bail on the evening and go check if she's ok.

It's late, but you have to see her.

She's not super friendly when answering your questions about whether she's feeling better, yet that's to be expected when someone has a headache. But she's there, sitting with you quietly, and then you're so agitated that you begin pacing.

It's inescapable. You love her too much.

You'll marry her, and deal with all the impropriety of her family's connections and behaviour. She's worth it.

Because of course she'll say yes. You've been so open that she must be expecting your addresses. It doesn't occur to you that you're wrong to assume she's wishing for it.

Then she rejects you.

And she doesn't only reject you: she shatters your entire perception of self. Not immediately - oh, she creates a large crack, but it takes some time for you to do justice to her words. But they linger, inescapably.

"Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

You're bitter, and angry, and hurt, and offended, and the sense of doubt isn't going away. But there is one thing you can do, that you have to do.

You write her a letter to explain yourself against the accusations she levied your way - some unjust, but others will eventually gnaw at you until you're forced to face them and stare directly at all the faults you didn't know you had.

You know it won't make her accept you.

The turn of her countenance you'll never forget, as she said that you could not have addressed her in any possible way that would induce her to accept you.

But you need to write the letter: to explain, to warn, and maybe - just maybe - make her think a little better of you.

If she even gives credit to anything you say.

She thinks so little of you she might dismiss your arguments and only hate you more for what you said of her family.

God, you basically insulted her family again in the letter. With an apology, yes, and as an explanation, but you knew at the time that those comments and what you divulged of Wickham would give her pain. But it's necessary. You still believe that, even as time goes on and you begin to wonder if all it achieved was making her hate you more.

The last time you saw her was as you handed her that letter.

She hadn't spoken.

You weren't yet master of your emotions enough to see her and be friendly, the best you could do was try be composed.

If only you'd been truly as calm and composed as you thought you were when you wrote that letter. You can see now that you wrote in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. There were some expressions you used, the opening of it, which alone would be enough to justify her hate. Though, despite your emotions, you never doubted for a moment in her goodness - never doubted that she won't spread around what you divulged of your sister.

She hates you, but all the reasons you love her are still there.

That's something that doesn't change as you slowly unravel the flaws her reproofs revealed to you and you try to become the person you always thought you were. So many behaviours, and the emotions that governed them, were not what they ought to be. Your principles were always good but you followed them in pride and conceit.

You were blind until she cut you to the quick. Opened your eyes to yourself and taught you such a hard lesson - but it was for the best. She properly humbled you and taught you how insufficient all your pretensions were to please a woman worthy of being pleased. Even if you never see her again you will be worthy of the title gentleman.

You will work to become the person you want to be.

Her rejection doesn't hurt so much as the knowledge that she was right and you failed yourself and so many others. Any anger or blame you felt for her words when refusing your hand are long since passed. If she had been able to overlook those flaws she wouldn't have been the woman you love.

The more you reflect and seek to rectify your behaviour the clearer it all becomes. In trying to understand yourself you realise that so many of these flaws have existed almost your whole life. And yet, despite how obvious it now seems, you had no idea.

Though your parents were good themselves they spoilt you - first as an only child, then as an only son - and you grew selfish and overbearing, caring only for your small family circle. Thinking meanly of the rest of the world, wanting to think meanly of their sense and worth compared to your own.

You owe the world so much better.

Your position, far from giving you leave to treat others as inconsequential, means you have a duty to think of others and ensure they are not wronged. Yes, you've done that broadly - especially on your estate, and always with servants and the poor - but what of in smaller ways, to those closer to your own rank? Have you directly treated them with civility and respect?

You know the answer now, but you're doing your best to fix it.

For almost four months, you ruminate on her words and turn yourself into a gentleman you can respect. Someone worthy of the respect you've so rarely had to actually earn. Someone who might've been worthy of her respect from the beginning.

You've never stopped loving her.

Almost four months, and you're not sure if you'll ever see her again.

You certainly weren't expecting to leave the stables after arriving at Pemberley and find her standing in front of your house.

Your eyes meet.

You freeze in place.

Four months of distance and then twenty yards away from each other.

She's blushing (so are you).

Your brain is too surprised to work.

She's here.

She's here and you're just standing there.

You have to go to her. Even if you didn't still love her, it's the polite and friendly thing to. (But you do still love her, and so her presence is a physical weight in your chest that you could scarce resist).

She had turned away briefly, but turns back when you approach.

You hardly know what you say, she hardly raises her eyes to meet yours, but you hear her voice, and she doesn't sound annoyed when she answers that her family is well.

Honestly, despite how discomposed you are by seeing her without time to prepare, your instinct is to stay by her. Even if it means speaking like a fool. You're pretty sure you ask her when she started travelling and how long she's been in Derbyshire at least thrice. But you start to recollect yourself, breathing a little more evenly, and run out of things to say. Remembering that she's here with friends and you've just come from the road, you take your leave.

Your thoughts stay with her though.

She was still just as lovely as ever. More civil to you than you have any claim to.

Your housekeeper says a gentleman and two ladies were taking a tour of the house, and have now gone with the gardener to see the accustomed part of the park. You know the place.

As your valet helps you change your thoughts solidify: you can meet them, and, through every civility in your power, show her that you aren't resentful of the past.

She's so close, and you can't lose this chance to perhaps obtain her forgiveness, lessen her ill opinion, by showing that her reproofs have been attended to.

And, maybe, you're just desperate for any excuse to see her.

By now, you've been in love with her for more than eight months, despite trying, really trying, to forget her both when you left Hertfordshire and Kent. It's pointless, either you'll recover in time or you'll spend the rest of your life in love with her. At this point you don't even want to fight it. Despite the pain of her not feeling the same way, she did you the greatest good anyone could, by showing you who you really were. You improved yourself because you should, without any expectation of seeing her again, but one thing that you can't alter about yourself is your love for her.

Right now, what matters is being near her and showing her you can be a real gentleman.

So, you follow her and her companions to the stream.

She speaks first this time. Putting herself forward to be friendly and polite. Proof, surely, that she doesn't hate you so much anymore? She's almost her usual smiling self, though she goes red and silent while admiring Pemberley's beauty.

You can understand why - you had determined to not ask whether she liked your home in case it sounded like you were wondering whether she regretted rejecting you and thus Pemberley. You know she didn't mean anything by her praise (and she'd known you were rich when she turned you down) but you understand her sudden embarrassment.

Although... when did she start caring that you might misunderstand her and think badly of her? She didn't care the last time you met.

But that's not important now. It's for you to ease the conversation and prove yourself. So you change the subject, and ask her to do the honour of introducing you to her friends.

Her surprise is obvious, and fair. Seeking the acquaintance of strangers, even respectable-looking ones, just wasn't something you used to do regardless of what the well-bred and civil action was.

And what does it say about you - with all your newfound respect and civility - that you're still surprised when the fashionable couple she's with turn out to be the very aunt and uncle you'd previously declared would be a disgraceful connection. You recognised you were wrong to be so dismissive, so rude, but the core assumption that the tradesman brother of Mrs Bennet and his wife must be noticeably vulgar had clearly remained. Yet here they were, everything elegant and well-bred.

How right Elizabeth had been about you.

But now you can show her that was the past, and your manners are improved and prejudices lessened.

You walk back with them, talking to the uncle, who has intelligence, taste, and sense. You like him a surprising amount. He points out trout in the water, and you're glad to invite him to fish here while they stay in the area. You have all the supplies he might need, and know the best spots. As you speak with him your attention is only half distracted by who walks behind you at a short distance.

Hopefully her uncle's happiness makes her happy also.

You have the chance to see, when the walking arrangements change and then she's the one walking beside you.

Honestly, you're not immediately sure what to say, but again, she speaks first.

Yes, she almost certainly doesn't hate you anymore.

Her explanation that she'd been assured of your absence before visiting sounds more like she doesn't want you to think her rude, than expressing disappointment that you are here.

Yes, whatever her past insults, she definitely cares that you don't think badly of her...

As though you ever could.

In mentioning why you returned a day early you mention who you're with, and too late saying Bingley's name reminds you that the last time you two spoke of him was when she (rightfully) blamed you for separating Bingley and her sister.

That silences you for a moment - but she doesn't respond with anger.

Composing yourself, you ask if your sister might be introduced to her. You've spoken of Elizabeth so highly to Georgiana, and so often, that your sister would love to meet her. You don't need to ask - your sister is the social superior, her wishing for the acquaintance is strictly enough for the introduction to be made - but you want to. You mean it, when you ask Elizabeth whether you're asking too much by facilitating the introduction. You want her to have the chance to say no.

But she says yes.

(Even sounding pleased about it, though surprised.)

Which is also a yes to seeing you again during her stay at Lambton. Renewing your acquaintance, despite everything.

The happiness, however irrational, this creates cannot be quelled.

You love her too dearly to not appreciate every fragile overture and sign that she must no longer think you so bad. The letter - your own improved civility - one or both has done away with her dislike.

Replaced it with... well, anything other than dislike is a place to begin.

This time the silence stretches as you walk; she, perhaps, just as lost in thought as yourself.

You could get used to walking around Pemberley with her.

A dangerous thought.

You scarce know what to say as you wait by the carriage for her aunt and uncle to catch up, after she declared herself not tired when you asked if she wanted to come into the house. But, again, she makes the effort to talk to you. You've never spoken of Matlock or Dovedale so persistently, but you want to keep talking to her - hearing her voice - receiving her smiles - for every moment that you can steal.

Four months apart and then the first day seeing her again your heart loves her more than ever before.

And she no longer hates you.

You would have them all come inside, take refreshment, stay, please stay a little longer, but they felt it was time to return to the inn. They're leaving, but you've already organised to bring your sister to see her the day after tomorrow, so it's only a short parting.

Not another four months.

You hand her aunt up into the carriage - and then Elizabeth.

Who is dearest and loveliest to you still, though you might never be able to say those words to her.

You're so aware of feeling her hand in yours, though gloved; the weight and warmth of it. The brief tightening of her fingers on yours as she takes the step up, leaving you bereft when she lets go.

You don't watch them drive away, though you feel her absence palpably as you slowly walk back to the house.

But it's only two days - two days before you'll see her again.

And they're staying for a little while.

All of it is more chances to show her the person you are now. Both the good qualities you never properly revealed before, and the newer ones deliberately acquired to remedy the errors she revealed. Show her you're a man she might admire.

Perhaps a man she might one day be able to love.

It's almost embarrassing, to admit how quickly that wish introduced itself after seeing Elizabeth again.

It probably took under half an hour after you saw her again.

"Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones." - Charlotte Bronte Jane Eyre (Chapter XXIX; paragraph 15)

“How often, while women and girls sit warm at snug firesides, their hearts and imaginations are doomed to divorce from the comfort surrounding their persons, forced out by night to wander through dark ways, to dare stress of weather, to contend with the snow-blast, to wait at lonely gates and stiles in wildest storms, watching and listening to see and hear the father, the son, the husband coming home.”

– Vilette, Charlotte Brontë

why are dudes in fanfic always getting hit with freight train orgasms. why not an orient express orgasm, classy and romantic. where are the shinkansen train orgasms? his orgasm hit him like the TGV atlantique breaking the passenger rail speed record. like the shanghai maglev, his orgasm was a feat of engineering but something of a commercial disappointment.

Walking My Penguin

i am walking my penguin walking my penguin for a few furlongs walking my penguin no madam that is not a euphemism not a euphemism for anything anything at all.. my penguin requires a little decent gentle exercise so taking my penguin for walkies is great and he is unable to lift weights you ask why well because my particular penguin has flippers you try lifting dumbbells with flippers not recommended.. besides that and perhaps because he has put on a little weight his portly gait means his back is bent out of shape somewhere down there his vintage blubber is stoically marinating.. when i walk my penguin in the cold winter weather he dons woolly neon booties with sucker-soled grips so he does not fall over onto the unforgiving icy concrete penguins feet are so unsuited to negotiate human concrete.. and please do not get me started on why pavements do not have under-heated penguin air-bags so where does all our council tax go terrible i know i know.. i am walking my penguin no madam that is not a euphemism not a euphemism for anything you have asked me that once already that makes no sense at all.. and he never lashes on the lamp posts of dogs he is exceedingly well-mannered he stays in his lane and when he takes a shine to a neighbour he drops an egg in their garden for them alpha-bloke penguins have an extraordinary skill set penguin misandrists really need to visit their shrink-vet.. no offence meant madam i am simply walking my penguin only for a few furlongs after all do you not also walk yours yes i should hope so.. and madam i hope you know you should never let your penguin out on its own common sense is not so common now gangster pedigree penguin-nappers are everywhere they even write stupid songs glorifying it all conceptual double-albums about penguins finding themselves are a rare and treasured find the swirly album art work is always immersive and sublime.. yes i know and alas it is not like the days of yore when you could let your penguin out to relax in a deckchair on strawberryfied-krill summer days in the secure knowledge your penguin would always always remain in completely rude health and super-safe apart from when your penguin suffers the irritating seasonal malady of mildly fatal heatstroke..

Source: Walking My Penguin

Yeah Mr. Darcy’s proposal was a complete turd and a half but you gotta understand. You got your life together. A good career, stable income, retirement plan, all that shit together. And you meet this girl. And she’s everything. Clever, outspoken, funny, calls you on your bullshit. Grade A cutie, right? And she doesn’t go out of her way to spend time with you but she’s nice, and sometimes you catch her looking your way in a way that makes you think you might have a shot.

But her family. Holy shit.

First off, it’s p much ALL women, and mostly UNMARRIED women, which at this time means of something happens to her dad then you’re financially responsible for like. Four grown ass adults, potentially forever

Because mom in law is DEFINITELY gonna need someone to take care of her when dad in law kicks it, and they have like. NO money. So already you’re accepting that if all goes well, you’re gonna be one random old bag’s retirement home. That’s expensive and exhausting, yeah? Imagine asking someone on a first date knowing that if they say yes and things go good her high-strung chihuahua mother is gonna move in with you. IMAGINE.

And girly’s other sisters. Well, one is a sweetheart, yeah, so she probably won’t be an issue, but that still leaves three more, and two of those ones are INSUFFERABLE. Never went to school, dumb as rocks, spend cash like it’s toilet paper

And while one of the two is young still and might grow out of it the OTHER one is actively torpedo’ing her entire family’s reputation by wandering off with random dudes and chasing ass. She’s never gonna work, she can’t build connections, she’s a fucking sinkhole, and she’s being led on by the same goddamn con man ass leeching tit who’s been bleeding you dry while telling anyone who’ll listen that your family is full of ratty thieving bastards.

And if he dumps her after a week- WHICH YOU KNOW HIS BITCH ASS IS GONNA- you’ve got a SECOND UNMARRIABLE GROWN ASS ADULT TO PROVIDE FOR. And you KNOW she’s gonna be a tantrum-throwing little shit about it, and it’s not like you can lock her in the basement or something, you’re gonna have to bring her fucking. Everywhere. And give her an allowance and shit while she contributes zero, because again, she NEVER GOT EDUCATED AND HAS NO MARKETABLE SKILLS. She’s not even good to TALK to. FUCK

And you’re looking at this girl’s father like “please for the love of fuck get your spawn under control, marry them off, get them working on their résumé, learning to sew or be nursemaids or manage staff or SOMETHING, yall got no money and one foot in the grave” and that old man just laughs like “haha yeah, what can you do. lol”

So you’re looking to the mom and finally it’s making sense how she got that twitch in her eye and as MUCH as she is you’re starting to realize she’s the SMART one, desperately throwing her armloads of girls at random men like they’re a bunch of fucking lifeboats bobbing around a sinking ship, like yes Jesus Christ sweetly that life boat IS old and ugly and kind of boring but for FUCKS SAKE PICK ONE

And you look back at this girl who is ALSO REFUSING THE LIFE BOATS BY THE WAY and god damn it she’s still the most radiant thing you’ve ever seen so fine, fuck it, Christ alive, you’ll do it. You’ll shoot your shot. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted in anybody abut it’s not even just about that anymore, it’s about being her best fucking shot at a future, and even if she doesn’t like you all that much she’s still gonna say yes and that might break your heart a bit knowing it’s about the money but who knows, maybe it will at least be civil, or companionable, and even if she doesn’t LOVE you at least you’ll know she’s well and cared for

And so you’ll do it. You’ll take on the neurotic stress mess mother in law, the absent father, the broke ass wingnut no brain no money no future airhead sisters, the bad mannered relatives and the embarrassing behaviour and the impending future of sharing your entire shit with a clown parade of freeloaders, you’ll risk it all and accept the absolute certainty of financial ruin and emotional exhaustion for the rest of your whole ass life and you’ll make your own family deal with it too, you’ll do it, you’ll fucking DO IT, you stupid lovesick motherfucker

And so you go to this chick like “look. Your whole family’s a shitshow. You’ve got fucking nothing and you’re gonna die on the street. But for some reason- and I don’t get it either- I’ve fallen in love with you, and I wish I didn’t, but I did, so I’m telling you that whether you like me or not, I’ll give you everything. I’ll give you everything even if it’s the dumbest shit I ever done. Fuck my stupid Baka ass, I’ll marry you.”

And she looks at you- having heard or considered absolutely none of your months-long internal debate and monologue- and goes “The fuck did you just say about my family, you son of a bitch?”

And the shock of that is enough to jolt you back into a reality where you are able to actually hear and process what just came out of your damn mouth And yeah

Yeah, I think I kinda get it

I've been thinking about the fact that some readers of Sense and Sensibility don't believe Willoughby truly loved Marianne, even though everyone in the book believes it and the narrator makes it clear how much he cared for her, at the end. And I think this reading of him takes away from one of the messages of the book, which is that love is not enough.

Willoughby loves Marianne, but that's not enough to stop him from hurting her, it's not enough to make him give up his cushy lifestyle and marry her, and it wouldn't have been enough to keep him happy with her long-term. Marianne loves Willoughby, but it wouldn't have been enough for her to be happy with him long-term either.

Edward loves Elinor, but that's not a good enough reason to break his promise to Lucy, because integrity and honor and responsibility are just as important to him. Brandon loves Marianne, but that's not reason enough to court her, because he knows her feelings lie elsewhere and she doesn't respect and esteem him yet.

Love is important to all these characters, and is a vital part in making the marriages that they ultimately end up in strong and happy, but it's not the only thing that makes them work.

Of course, Sense and Sensibility is hardly the only Austen novel to make the point that you need more than love or romance or passion to make a relationship work. But I think it's interesting how we get to see this play out in the villain of the novel. Willoughby does some truly horrific things, but his character shows that even really bad guys are capable of feeling love and guilt and remorse. But none of these feelings are ultimately strong enough to change him. Because love is not enough.

further insane Hamlet research updates: one 19th century scholar, Edward P. Vining was so distressed by Hamlet exhibiting "feminine" qualities that he concluded that Hamlet was actually a princess in disguise who has been raised as a boy by reasons of state and basically launches into this whole fanfic au interpretation (in which princess Hamlet is in love with Horatio).

and like the reasoning for this set up isn't great but I would totally read this YA novel

“He asked me, smiling, why I cared for his letter so very much. I thought, but did not say, that I prized it like the blood in my veins.”

– Villette, Charlotte Brontë

I think kafka’s diaries are the strongest evidence that journaling is not necessarily good for your mental health

i like to believe that ophelia’s madness gave her a kind of meta knowledge of the plot— that she saw the tragic ending coming, knew that hamlet’s indecision would be his hamartia, that she realised gertrude and claudius were both poisoned with corruption from the beginning and instead of the customary funeral goers laying flowers at a grave, it was Ophelia— mad, at death’s door, about to die in less than 2 scenes— who handed flowers to the king, queen and protagonist as if the dead girl was mourning the living

Yes Jane should have married Rochester:

1. Even at the beginning of the book, Jane talks about needing something to take care of. This is something fundamentally intrinsic to her. She believes human beings are literally wired to take care of others. By the end of the book, who do you think takes care of who?

2. During her initial engagement to Rochester, she actually fights back against him when he calls her “elfin” and ethereal. She wants to be seen as a woman, not a vision. It’s very telling that she actually marries him at the end when he changes his view and learns his lesson. It’s very telling she marries him when she is a woman of her own means and discovers her family. She only marries him when she herself realizes she is her own independent person. It is not a “girl no,” moment. It’s a marriage where she actually has the upper hand.

3. Girl doesn’t marry him immediately when she finds him. They talk first. They talk for a long time. They tease each other. I would argue this is where she truly falls in love with the man at this point. (Same thing with him)

4. I am tired of the narrative that true female empowerment is to be single. True empowerment differs from woman to woman, and as we established at point one, Jane’s character is literally someone who wants to take care of others. Furthermore, being in an equal partnership, being in love, is empowering and I’m tired of people saying it isn’t.

5. It’s not that she “should.” She wanted to. She likes him. They have fun conversations. The end.

I think the real appeal of Mr Darcy isn't that he's handsome, rich and has the whole "redeemable jerk" vibe to him.

I think the real appeal is that he sees the worst in Lizzy and still loves her. He thinks so little of her, feels genuine contempt and still comes out the other side wanting to be with her. It doesn't matter that what he perceives as "flaws" is basically classist bullshit, just the fact that he sees flaws in her and still wants her is enough.

Personally, I won't believe anyone who tells me I'm perfect. I know I'm not and even if I believe they think that of me, I will spend my time dreading the time they figure out the truth and possibly reject me.

But what if someone showed up and already thought ill of me? Even better, someone who believes about me the worst of the things I believe about myself? Someone who thinks I'm lazy and awkward and I talk too much and I spend too much money and I eat more than I should and I can't properly take care of myself? And what if that person also loved me and chose to be with me, because I am so kind, honest, intelligent, funny and artistic that they figure I'm worth their love?

THAT is where the appeal lies. And this aspect of it is perfectly encapsulated in that line from Pride & Prejudice's quasi-adaptation, Bridget Jones's Diary:

so, it's not that we like ill-mannered jerks. We just like the idea that someone would go to such lengths and overcome their own selves to date trashcans like us. What a compliment.

Me at 14 and me at 22 are having a bonding moment