#Victorian public transport

[nimthirielrinon]

This and Dumb Ways ato Die are the two best public service campaigns ever

change my mind

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

When travelling with Myki, remember to touch on, and touch off. Because no one likes a freeloader. Certainly not the trams. Certainly not the trains.

The Melbourne trains... they Hate.

Melbourne Gothic

“Now approaching Flagstaff station��. You thought the last station was Flagstaff, wasn’t it? Flagstaff station passes. “Now approaching Flagstaff station.”

You entered the laneways hours ago. You turn the corner, but there is only another laneway. In desperation you run into one of the restaurants, but there’s nothing in there. Only another laneway.

As you cross the West Gate, there’s a Pink Lake, but no one dares look at it. The lake doesn’t like that. Not one bit.

The Nylex clock flashes 99:99. Then it shows 99°. Then your car explodes, in slow motion. The trees, the buildings, the people, they burn slowly, agonizingly, horrendously, trapped in this moment.

Hidden somewhere deep in the Melbourne Laneways, is a café. The coffee here is beyond comparison. In this café, everyone is drinking the coffee, their lives are complete here, and no one ever notices that there is no exit in this café, because no one will ever want to leave, not when the vanilla slice is so divine.

At St Kilda Beach, you sit with your lover, enjoying your fish and chips. The seagulls hover on the wind nearby, begging for chips, and you laugh at their acrobatics and turn to your lover. But it’s not your lover. It’s a flock of seagulls, dressed in your lover’s clothes. And they are ravenous now.

There is a story, often repeated, of your friend who moved to the West of Melbourne. It’s often repeated, because while everyone tells the story, no one can ever remember the friend. It’s always told drunk, because no one ever remembers the story sober.

When travelling with Myki, remember to touch on, and touch off. Because no one likes a freeloader. Certainly not the trams. Certainly not the trains.

No one knows the secret of Crown Casino’s success. But I do. It will take your money, but that’s never enough. It’ll take your happiness, but that’s never enough. Gamble with your life, though? Crown always needs more life.

[artemisbarnowl]

If you hate Skyrail you're a moron. You've never been a Commuter. Carrum station is one of the most beautiful in the whole network. You have all these other concrete bunker ass stations in the ditch under the road, bentleigh, armadale, cheltenham, which are all bare minimum concrete walls, piping, the only colour coming from the aluminium wall panelling that stops you trying to boulder on the spray on concrete walls. You're open to the sky except where the intersecting road passes overhead. There's no phone reception coz you in a ditch. And THEN you ascend into the sky. You arrive at Carrum. Up in the sky, this station is bare minimum in that there are no walls, only a roof to shelter you from the rain and the sun and you look out over the houses to the bay. The few walls that hold up the roof have maps and try their best not to interrupt the view are a warm sandy colour. The sea always beautiful no matter the weather. Peace grows in your heart when you arrive at Carrum Station, jewel of the Frankston line.

[axvoter]

Blatantly Partisan Party Review XVI (Victoria 2022): Transport Matters Party

Prior review: VIC 2018

What I said before: “Transport Matters is not a party of public transport advocates, but an anti-Uber party that exists to air the grievances of the taxi industry.”

What I think this year: Hire-car operator Rod Barton co-founded Transport Matters in 2017 and managed to harvest preferences so astonishingly well that he won a seat in Eastern Metropolitan at the 2018 election off a meagre 0.62% of the vote. This came from the anti-democratic Group Ticket Voting system, siphoning preferences from people who voted 1 above the line for a dizzying array of minor parties. Almost all of these voters would not have distributed their references in the manner assigned to them by each party's group ticket had they been free to preference above the line in the manner of their choosing. A preference spiral like this is literally impossible when people control their preferences.

Honestly, as a member of the Legislative Council, Barton has not been too bad and his party possesses a reasonable spectrum of policies on transport and beyond. It is not a single-issue party any more, with non-transport policies generally being centre-left stuff. Barton, for instance, has been active in parliament on homelessness and wants to see a range of recommendations introduced to expand housing and support services. Health policies are mostly broad motherhood statements about more funding; policies for government transparency are similarly brief; workers’ rights goes little beyond regulating better conditions for gig economy workers (which would be great!). Gender equality policies are limited and strangely all about men. First Nations policies are supportive of Victoria’s current treaty process.

But let’s talk about transport, because this is the party’s ostensible reason for existence—and it also happens to be one of my professional areas of expertise. Frankly, Transport Matters is all over the place here. Regulating Uber and other rideshare apps remains their first policy and top priority. The policy on tolls is hyper-specific, it focuses principally on taxi drivers, and it lacks a big-picture approach to congestion charging. Transport Matters supports the Suburban Rail Loop, a project I also support (both because it will provide the cross-suburban PT capacity Melbourne badly needs and because it will stimulate new activity centres and less sprawling, more sustainable suburban densification in a manner no bus upgrade could). Their other policies for heavy rail contain supportive sentiments but nothing of substance.

Transport Matters want to expand the free tram zone, and I could write an entire book here but all I’m going to say is that this specific proposal is poorly conceived and draws on evidence from Estonia of a completely different policy (Transport Matters tries to justify a modest extension of the free tram zone’s boundary for all passengers by referring to findings from Tallinn making public transport free but only for residents). Worst, Transport Matters supports the complete fever dream that is “trackless trams”, specifically from Caulfield to Rowville. It is ridiculous to dress up a bendy bus so that it looks like a tram and to operate it on an over-spec’d busway that costs nearly as much as an actual tram but can’t come close to providing the capacity or energy efficiency of trams. It is very hard to consider anyone a credible thinker on transport if they fall for trackless tram nonsense.

My recommendation: Give Transport Matters a middling to decent preference. Remember to vote below the line on the large ballot for the Legislative Council so that your preference goes where you want it to go; all ballots with 5 or more preferences marked below the line are valid votes.

Website: https://www.transportmatters.org.au/

[starkey]

that "imagine the trenitalia" took me out... it's a wild and terrifying concept, i'm in

in the context of a Pangea-wide rail system trenitalia and avanti are cruel and capricious minor gods who feed upon our suffering 💔

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

It is a very good service much of the time.

Some info of some big stuff happening with the creation of a new tunnel that bypasses the City Loop and some new stations along it.

might i ask for your opinion on the victorian metro system?

( Victorian-Train-Network-Map-high-contrast-May-2023-v3.pdf (ptv.vic.gov.au) for better quality ) pretty good IMO as someone who. uses it. very fast travel times, lots of space, very low myki fees, ect, but could use some improvements, mostly regarding ways to get to places on different tracks without going all the way to melbourne central.

[ sorry if you don't want to hear of australian train systems ]

I don't know much about Australian Metros, but this looks like really good service and transit accessibility. Good Job Victoria

[fatehbaz]

What it meant to "do geology" in Hutton's time was to apply lessons of textual hermeneutics usually reserved for scripture [...] to the landscape. Geology was itself textual. Rocks were marks made by invisible processes that could be deciphered. Doing geology was a kind of reading, then, which existed in a dialectical relationship with writing. In The Theory of the Earth from 1788, Hutton wrote a new history of the earth as a [...] system [...]. Only a few kilometers away from Hutton’s unconformity [the geological site at Isle of Arran in Scotland that inspired his writing], [...] stands the remains of the Shell bitumen refinery [closed since 1986] as it sinks into the Atlantic Ocean. [...] As Hutton thought, being in a place is a hermeneutic practice. [...] [T]he Shell refinery at Ardrossan is a ruin of that machine, one whose great material derangements have defined the world since Hutton. [...]

The Shell Transport and Trading Company [now the well-known global oil company] was created in the Netherlands East Indies in 1897. The company’s first oil wells and refineries were in east Borneo [...]. The oil was taken by puncturing wells into subterranean deposits of a Bornean or Sumatran landscape, and then transported into an ever-expanding global network of oil depots at ports [...] at Singapore, then Chennai, and through the Suez Canal and into the Mediterranean. [...] The oil in these networks were Bornean and Sumatran landscapes on the move. Combustion engines burnt those landscapes. Machinery was lubricated by them. They illuminated the night as candlelight. [...] The Dutch East Indies was the new land of untapped promise in that multi-polar world of capitalist competition. British and Dutch colonial prospectors scoured the forests, rivers, and coasts of Borneo [...]. Marcus Samuel, the British founder of the Shell Transport and Trading Company, as his biographer [...] put it, was “mesmerized by oil, and by the vision of commanding oil all along the line from production to distribution, from the bowels of the earth to the laps of the Orient.” [...]

---

Shell emerged from a Victorian era fascination with shells.

In the 1830s, Marcus Samuel Sr. created a seashell import business in Houndsditch, London. The shells were used for decorating the covers of curio boxes. Sometimes, the boxes also contained miniature sculptures, also made from shells, of food and foliage, hybridizing oceanic and terrestrial life forms. Wealthy shell enthusiasts would sometimes apply shells to grottos attached to their houses. As British merchant vessels expanded into east Asia after the dissolution of the East India Company’s monopoly on trade in 1833, and the establishment of ports at Singapore and Hong Kong in 1824 and 1842, the import of exotic shells expanded.

Seashells from east Asia represented the oceanic expanse of British imperialism and a way to bring distant places near, not only the horizontal networks of the empire but also its oceanic depths.

---

The fashion for shells was also about telling new histories. The presence of shells, the pecten, or scallop, was a familiar bivalve icon in cultures on the northern edge of the Mediterranean. Aphrodite, for example, was said to have emerged from a scallop shell. Minerva was associated with scallops. Niches in public buildings and fountains in the Roman empire often contained scallop motifs. St. James, the patron saint of Spain, was represented by a scallop shell [...]. The pecten motif circulated throughout medieval European coats of arms, even in Britain. In 1898, when the Gallery of Palaeontology, Comparative Anatomy, and Anthropology was opened in Paris’s Museum of Natural History - only two years after the first test well was drilled in Borneo at the Black Spot - the building’s architect, Ferdinand Dutert, ornamented the entrance with pecten shell reliefs. In effect, Dutert designed the building so that one entered through scallop shells and into the galleries where George Cuvier’s vision of the evolution of life forms was displayed [...]. But it was also a symbol for the transition between an aquatic form of life and terrestrial animals. Perhaps it is apposite that the scallop is structured by a hinge which allows its two valves to rotate. [...] Pectens also thrive in the between space of shallow coastal waters that connects land with the depths of the ocean. [...] They flourish in architectural imagery, in the mind, and as the logo of one of the largest ever fossil fuel companies. [...]

---

In the 1890s, Marcus Samuel Jr. transitioned from his father’s business selling imported seashells to petroleum.

When he adopted the name Shell Transport and Trading Company in 1897, Samuel would likely have known that the natural history of bivalves was entwined with the natural history of fossil fuels. Bivalves underwent an impressive period of diversification in the Carboniferous period, a period that was first named by William Conybeare and William Phillips in 1822 to identify coal bearing strata. In other words, the same period in earth’s history that produced the Black Spot that Samuel’s engineers were seeking to extract from Dayak land was also the period that produced the pecten shells that he named his company after. Even the black fossilized leaves that miners regularly encountered in coal seams sometimes contained fossilized bivalve shells.

The Shell logo was a materialized cosmology, or [...] a cosmogram.

Cosmograms are objects that attempt to represent the order of the cosmos; they are snapshots of what is. The pecten’s effectiveness as a cosmogram was its pivot, to hinge, between spaces and times: it brought the deep history of the earth into the present; the Black Spot with Mediterranean imaginaries of the bivalve; the subterranean space of liquid oil with the surface. The history of the earth was made legible as an energetic, even a pyrotechnical force. The pecten represented fire, illumination, and certainly, power. [...] If coal required tunnelling, smashing, and breaking the ground, petroleum was piped liquid that streamed through a drilled hole. [...] In 1899, Samuel presented a paper to the Society of Arts in which he outlined his vision of “liquid fuel.” [...] Ardrossan is a ruin of that fantasy of a free flowing fossil fuel world. [...] At Ardrossan, that liquid cosmology is disintegrating.

---

All text above by: Adam Bobbette. "Shells and Shell". e-flux Architecture (Accumulation series). November 2023. At: e-flux dot com slash architecture/accumulation/553455/shells-and-shell/ [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticisms purposes.]

[foreficfandom]

Alastor - Historical Trivia And Headcanons

Alastor was a mixed-race Creole man living in New Orleans, and was in his 30's/40's when he died in 1933. We don't know much else about him, but historical context can provide us with possible additional details:

The population of New Orleans in 1930 was 458,762, more than it is now. 27.2% of the people were black, 3.1% were foreign-born, and roughly half of America's bipoc population was unemployed thanks to the Great Depression. New Orleans' original Francophonication was still strong, and it was common to run into locals who only spoke French dialects (Cajun French, Louisiana Creole). The city has had a huge Chinatown, a small Little Italy, and multiple other districts known for their immigrant African/colonized French cultures.

The Jim Crow laws were heavily enforced, as was the 'One Drop' rule. If Alastor was a mixed race black man, he would not have been able to attend a white school, use the same public transport, and would have shopped at black-local stores and restaurants under threat of violence. If he was mixed with any other race, some Jim Crow laws didn't apply, but state or city laws might specify differently.

Just because Alastor wears a suit, it doesn't mean he was rich in life. Radio personalities often didn't earn a fortune. Unless he owned his own broadcast, he was paid by a private company for long shifts of hosting music, news, and radio plays. In 1930, 40% of households owned at least one radio, which means that a popular radio host would have been easily recognized.

If he was in his late 30's in 1933, he might have fought in WW1, so long as he was over the age of 21. Some cities gave veterans small benefits, or encouraged the community to give them jobs. This often did not include veterans of color.

New Orleans was famous for being one of the least Christian cities in America, thanks to its unique immigrant and slave population. Haitian-based faiths and practices (such as voudo), indigenous cultures, Asian Buddhism, and atheism were common. But Christianity was still the official, law-enforced religion. Schooling involved reading the Bible, laws were sworn to Jesus, etc.

Alastor's outfit in Hazbin Hotel isn't very accurate to real-life American men's fashions of the time. Back then, deviating from the norm with the smallest detail would have stuck out like a sore thumb - like his white-lined lapels. Men always wore a hat. They were allowed to go without a waistcoat, but not a jacket. Belts were becoming more popular than suspenders. The silhouette was bulkier than the slimmer, Italian cuts of our modern times, especially the pants. Hair was kept short, and oiled down in a side part. Americans preferred the clean shaven look. Ties were essential unless you were a blue-collar laborer. Colors were almost universally muted neutral tones for everyday wear. The most colorful textiles for men were sporting outfits, like a tennis jacket.

If Alastor was a middle-class single man, he likely would have lived in an inner-city apartment, in an ethnic neighborhood. He probably didn't own a car, and took public transit like the streetcars. If he owned a house, it would likely have been an inheritance, and even the more opulent houses of the time would have looked small and plain to our eyes.

Because of the Great Depression, unmarried men were becoming the norm, rather than the exception. Men of the community who were sought after but remained single were suspect to gossip, but less ire than you might think; in the '30s, American queer culture was going through a very sharp revival, escaping the rigid Victorian era and before the puritan 40's/50's. But as a mixed-race man, it may have been illegal for a white woman to marry him, as the Jim Crow laws forbade the marriage of white people and Black/Asian people.

A middle class city household would have had electricity, gas heating, indoor plumbing, but may not have had running taps or a gas stove. Even with decent means, Alastor might have been using a potbelly woodburning stove, a dry sink/washbasin, wooden bathtub, and did his own laundry instead of sending it to the neighborhood laundresses. He may or may not have bothered with an icebox. Fresh groceries needed to be cooked and eaten soon, as things like pasteurized milk or store refrigeration wasn't a thing.

If he had enough money, then he almost certainly hired maids or other servants. Whether the maid came over just once a week, or did the shopping and laundry every other day, hired help was much more common back then, especially if he had no wife.

The most popular musicians in 1933 were Bing Crosby, George Olsen, and Leo Reisman. As you might have noticed, it was trendy for the lead singer to be backed by an orchestra, not a 'band' of just four other people like today. The most popular radio shows were Dick Tracy, Sherlock Holmes, and Doc Savage. They were recordings the radio station would buy and then broadcast, or sometimes the actors were live on the air. The radio host was usually not the journalist - the production team was responsible for writing his script.

[honey-crypt]

NEED ELLIOTT SUCKING FARMER COCK N OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

a/n: the winner of my 69 followers contest sjfhdsjf - i expended on it cuz it was openended but i hope you enjoy cuz i sure did LMAO.... MINORS DNI PLEASEEEEEE

word count: 2.7k

summary: elliott thinks you're a rude ass who must've been raised by wolves with your swearing and lack of manners while you think he's a pretenious, self-absorbed piece of shit who's the reincarnation of narcissus himself. yet, after a fight ensues at the luau, you find yourself trapped between a rock and a hard place, both of which being your accidental boner.

warnings: hatefucking, enemies to friends with benefits maybe??, degradation, dom/sub dynamics. top!farmer, bottom!elliott, dacryphilia, farmer is amab but no gendered langauge, mild cum eating, semi-public sex (fucking in elliott's cabin during the luau), too many instances of bee writing the word cock in this fic, use of slut/pretty boy/dumb bitch/fucktoy, hair pulling, mild pain kink, mild dumbification???, facefucking

�� shut your mouth - elliott x farmer ★

You found Elliott to be somewhat pretentious. He annoyed you with his eloquent and over the top words, as if he was transported to the present from Victorian England. You hated how he held himself, always so high and might like everyone around him was less than. Oh, and his hair! His fucking hair! It was stupidly shiny and perfect, you just found it utterly repulsive. No one needed to be that obsessed with their appearance.

At least, the feeling of resentment was mutual. Elliott despised your crude language and sailor-like tendency to swear every other sentence. He hated the way how impatient you were, such as the time he witnessed your never-ending foot tapping while you both were stuck in line at Pierre's. And your smile? Ugh, it was too bright and big, almost like a wolf's grin before its next kill

Nonetheless, the two of you made an effort to avoid one another in public, only exchanging pleasantries in front of other townies or the unfortunate physical run-ins that would result in a sneer from you and a scoff from him. Yet, there were days that neither of you could avoid the other and today happened to be one of those days.

The Luau wasn't one of your favorite festivals, the communal soup was usually a hit or miss but Linus always cooked a delicious brisket. On the day of the festival, you entered the beach around noon after feeding your farm animals and made a beeline to the slow-roasting brisket, "Linus!" you greeted Pelican Town's local wild man, "Good to see you with the rest of town!"

"Ah, (Y/N)," he greeted you with a soft smile while rotating the brisket, "It's nice to see you, as well. The brisket will be done in just a minute, you can have first taste."

"Did you know that you're my favorite person in whole wide world?" you laughed, earning a chuckle from Linus. His timing was extremely accurate, as a minute or so passed before Linus extinguished the fire below the brisket, "All ready for eatin', enjoy."

You give him a side hug and held out your plate, "Thanks again, Linus! You're the best," you thanked the nature lover and pulled a large chunk of brisket off the roasted chicken. You passed by the assembly of condiments and poured enough BBQ sauce to drown your brisket in a sea of tangy brown liquid. With a relieved sigh, you dug into your brisket like you've been starved for years, So fucking good... you thought to yourself, BBQ sauce splattering on your face and clothes.

"Were you truly raised by wolves, Farmer?"

Not good anymore. Elliott stood before you with his arms crossed and brow furrowed. You set your brisket back on your plate and took a fistful of napkins, haphazardly wiping the sauce of your face and clothes. The uptight writer let out a huff, "That seems to answer my question," to which you glared daggers with him, "Are we really gonna do this? At the Luau, pretty boy?" the nickname rolled off your tongue with venom.

"Are you going to continue to insult everyone with your lack of manners and dining etiquette?" retorted Elliott with a sneer. You leapt to your feet, hands slamming against the table. Some festival attendees turned their heads towards you at the sound, but shortly dismissed it and returned to their prior activities.

"You know, you're a real asshole," you growled quietly, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the whole town. Elliott let out a laugh, a cocky but classy laugh, "And you lack the fundamentals of being a decent individual with your cursing and attitude."

Your blood turned icy at his words and before you could stop yourself, you slapped Elliott across the face. The echo of the slap vibrated across the beach and alerted the other residents of Pelican Town. Mayor Lewis excused himself from the governor and approached the two of you, "Oh, what a careless mistake!" he exclaimed to the town, "You must be more careful with your hands, (Y/N), haha!" the rest of town relaxed and resumed their festival enjoying. Mayor Lewis eyed you and Elliott with exasperation, "If you're going to throw hands, do it somewhere else."

"Gladly," you grumbled, picking up your brisket and a soda before exiting the beach. From the beach, you only made it to the small bridge that connected it to the town when you felt someone grab your wrist, "Hey!" you yacked your wrist free, "What the fuck?"

"Do you not have any control over your emotions?" the wrist grabber, Elliott, questioned. You huffed once more and placed your meal down on the bridge, "You wanna be slapped again?" you wringed out your hands, "How about I punch your face? Won't be pretty anymore, which would be a shame because it's the only thing you got going for you."

Elliott opened his mouth to fire back, but promptly shut it. You cackled, "Aw, did I leave Mr. Ernest Hemingway speechless?" It's a relief to hear you silent for once.

"You truly think I'm pretty?" What the actual fuck? You blinked, it was your turn to be speechless. However, that speechlessness only lasted for a moment when you answered, "Everyone in this Yoba damn town thinks so. Are you trying to fish for something?"

"No, no, I just-" the writer ran his hands through his hair and tugged on its locks, "Yoba, you're insufferable, (Y/N)," a snort escaped your nose, "Do you get pleasure from driving me insane?" he asked.

"The only pleasure I get from you is when you zip your lips," you hummed, "You talk and talk and talk but do you ever listen? Do you ever make an effort to listen to when others speak? Or are you truly the high and might piece of shit you present yourself as?"

A frown graced Elliott's lips, a deviance from his usual scowl towards you, "Do you really believe that? Do you really think I'm a bad person, (Y/N)?" he almost looked... heartbroken.

"I mean," you lowered your fighter stance, "I mean, the times I've seen you call Gus 'bartender' instead of his name?"

"It's a small joke between me and him," explained the writer, "I did it the first time I visited the saloon and he found it funny so on occassion, we exchange 'bartender' and 'sir' with one another."

"Okay," you sighed, "How about the fact that you only seem to talk about yourself? You're self-absorbed!" you spat out self-absorbed like a sword to his heart. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, "Oh... I'm sorry..." he sniffled. Your eyes widened at the sight of his tears and oddly enough, so did your cock.

"Don't fucking cry," you shook your head. Yet, that didn't stop the tears, as they rolled down his sharp cheeks and jaw. Fuck, you winced at the sensation of your dick against your boxers and jeans, "I said," you grabbed him by the cheeks and yacked him towards your face, your body pressed against his "Don't fucking cry."

More tears flowed down from Elliott's watery emerald eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck! you unintentionally fucked yourself over, as your boner made contact with his pelvis. Elliott's face morphed to a shade of tomato red, "D- Do- Did you just get a b- boner?" he stammered.

"Motherfucker," you freed his face from your falcon-like grasp and instead grabbed him by the hand. You scouted the festival zone for any onlookers and swiftly dragged Elliott to his cabin, "Open it," you commanded him. Without word, he inserted his key and unlocked the door, he then followed you into the cabin.

"Ugh, what a mess," you scoffed, as you examined the cabin's musty and cobweb infested state. Elliott wiped away his tears and asked you, "Why are we in my cabin?"

"Because," you pointed to your boner, "You're gonna fix the mess you made," which earned a dumbstruck look from the writer. Fuck, not him looking like the idiot he is! you felt your cock twitch at the sight, "So you gonna take care of it? Or am I gonna tell how much of a stupid crybaby you are?"

"I-" Elliott blinked back any remaining tears, "You're into people crying... what's stopping me from telling everyone that?" you rolled your eyes, "Won't you be a creep for telling everyone my kink, huh? For such a fancy schmancy writer like you claim to be, you sure are one hell of a dumbass."

More tears ensued, but you noticed something surprising; Elliott had a boner, too. You twisted your lips into a taunting smile, "You're into degradation, huh?"

Elliott quickly concealed his boner, "Wh- What, no, no, no I-" you cut him off with a finger against his lips, "I bet you jerked off every time we ran into one another, hm?"

"No," he answered, clamping down on his bottom lip.

"I know I'm an asshole and a freak, but you, Elliott?" in one swift motion, you had him pinned against the wall and your lips near his ear, "You're a dirty slut."

Elliott let out a groan and you felt his cock poke against yours, "Good boy," you chuckled and released your hold on him, "Now, either we leave now and risk public humiliation or we take care of our issues."

Elliott remained silent and gestured to his bed. You plopped down on it and sat still. The writer approached you and placed a surprisingly gentle hand on your cheek, "If we're going to do this," his forehead almost touched yours with how close he was, "Can you at least pretend to like me?"

"That can be arranged," you replied, replacing your smirk with a small smile, "I'll even throw in some kisses for you, how does that sound?"

Elliott nodded, "That's fine," he lowered his eyes to your lips, timid.

"Oh my Yoba, do I have to do everything?" you groaned and smushed your lips against Elliott's, kissing him feverishly. His moaning was muffled by the kissing, as you practically shoved your tongue down his throat. You kissed him like fire and ice, the cold indifference combined with the hot passion of the act itself.

"I gotta give it to you," you broke the kiss, much to Elliott's disappointment, "You taste good," the writer's cheeks flushed a deeper red, "I do?"

"Don't make me repeat myself," you spat. Elliott nodded dumbly, hands hovering above your thighs. You rose from the bed and pointed to your pants, "Take them off for me, pretty boy. I'm sure a dumb bitch like you is at least capable of that."

Elliott gulped and shifted towards your pelvis, knees on the ground and hands shaking while he unbelted and pulled down your pants. He stared at your cock, confined by your striped boxers. Annoyed by his delay, you snatched a fist full of Elliott's hair and tugged on it hard, "You know that I'm impatient."

Elliott's tears resumed at the sensation of his precious hair being pulled on so roughly, but he had to admit that the pain was a bit of a turn on. He pulled down your boxers, not wanting to make you more upset, and your cock sprung free from its prison, whacking Elliott in the face. Elliott recentered his focus and gawked at the sight of your exposed dick, his mouth watering.

"Yoba, are you really that desperate for my cock?" you teased, giving Elliott's hair another tug, "You're practically drooling for it like a bitch in heat," you playfully smacked your dick against Elliott's lips, "Open up, slut."

He opened his mouth, tongue out and eyes glossed over like the obedient man he was, "Good boy," you blew him a kiss and stuffed your cock inside, making him gag. A moan rattled through your vocal chords, "Shit, you got a great mouth," you cooed, "And Yoba, it's just a fucking blessing to see you- the next Ernest Hemingway, Pelican Town's beloved writer- in your right place, on your knees with a mouth full of filthy cock."

Elliott moaned shamelessly against your cock, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull from the vibrations. Soon, he began to suck it, his head slowly bobbing back and forth, as Elliott allowed more tears to escape his eyes. He felt your dick harden in his mouth when he started crying and resumed sucking.

Despite your hatred towards him, Elliott didn't really hate you back. In all honesty, he had a bit of crush on you. Sure, your cursing and impatience was a turn off, but the way you did the smallest acts of kindness like get Jas's jump rope out of a tree and relocating a spider to the outside from the saloon? Yoba, your soft side melted his heart.

Yet, here he was, mouth packed to the brim with his crush's cock and his own yearning for a release of its own. As Elliott slurped and gagged, he unzipped his pants and pulled his bottoms down enough to access his dick. He wrapped his hand around it and started stroking it, desperate for satisfaction.

"I bet you didn't think this would happen, huh?" you chuckled between moans, "I bet you're the kinda guy who only fucks after a nice candlelight dinner and sprinkles rose petals on your bed," Elliott tried to speak up, but his mind was too intoxicated from the lust and sensation of sloppy dick to say anything, "No need for that with me, though. I just want you as my personal fucktoy."

Elliott abruptly moaned, cum squirting from his cock and spraying the floor in white. A bit of cum got on your shoes and you removed Elliott's mouth from your cock, "You got cum on my fucking shoes!" you hissed to Elliott, "Clean it up."

Elliott reached to wipe it off with his shirt when you stopped him and held up your shoe to him, "With your mouth," his cock twitched at the command. With quivering lips, the writer stuck out his tongue and lapped the cum off your shoe, "I- I'm sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean to..."

"Oh, I know," you gave him a reassuring pat on the cheek, "But I can't get enough of how good of a listener you really are, you should do this more often.

Elliott pouted and you grinned, "We're not done yet, finish what you started," the writer nodded and continued giving you a blowjob. As he sucked, almost deepthroating you at this point, Elliott looked up at you with almost doe-like, innocent eyes. You covered your eyes with one hand and placed the other on the wall behind you to stabilize yourself, Don't be cute, stupid.

Your dick twitched in Elliott's mouth and your mind went blank, only the need to climax present. You grabbed the back of Elliott's head and thrusted into his mouth. Drool spilled from the writer's lips, as you fucked his face without care, his mind overwhelmed with thoughts, feelings, and sensations of you.

"Fuck!" you tried your best to remain quiet, as you shot your load down Elliott's throat. The writer let out a choked moan and swallowed your cum. Now flaccid, you removed your cock from his mouth and let out a satisfied sigh. Elliott collapsed on the ground and laid there, his face stained with tears and cum.

You dressed yourself and joined him on the floor, "That was actually fun," you stated, much to Elliott's surprise. You kissed him lightly on the lips, "You better clean yourself before you go back outside but," you wiped off some cum and tears from his face, "Maybe we can do this again."

Elliott raised his eyebrows and despite being fucked out of his mind, he couldn't help but ask you, "Again?" his heart fluttered at the possibility of a second... outing.

"Yeah," you paused, "Maybe you're not as bad as I thought you were," you left Elliott with those final words before exiting the cabin, leaving a semi-nude Elliott drooling alone.

[earthbovndmisfit]

Hi, I'd like to ask you something. When Speedwagon warms up Zeppeli's hand, he mentions that he's traveled a lot, so he knows about the healing methods of the Eskimos. So here's the question. How did he do it, being far from a rich man? I have a guess that he could have just gotten a job as a cabin boy on a merchant ship and traveled the world that way. But I'd like to hear your guesses^^

Hi nonny!! AHH, yeah. Its honestly such an interesting question and topic, and yet it is also one I rarely ever see being discussed anywhere despite it being an important detail of Speedwagon's character overall.

As an addition there: He actually also mentions it during the confrontation between Jonathan and Dio in the mansion! It's an inner monologue of his as he lays on the ground, bleeding and with his arm and ribs already broken after Dio's attack that's just obliterated the cops in the room, but Speedwagon there mentions that he has travelled the world and seen many things, from exotic African animals, to strange Asian plants, and even deadly tornadoes in the Caribbean that can uproot large trees, also mentioning that he's never seen anything like what they are witnessing right now (Dio coming back from the dead and also surviving a shot straight to the head with absolutely no consequences, his super strength and supernatural abilities he's shown so far and etc).

Now, as for your question, personally, I've always had the headcanon that most of his travelling he did it as a stowaway. It was much easier to do at the time than it is nowadays due to most public means of transport (trains, boats/ships, etc) having way less safety measures and filters for passengers, so it was easy for him to sneak inside whenever he set out to do it. He's also rather sharply dressed despite him being a ganglord from the worst part of the hoodlums, so it wouldn't be too difficult for him to blend in at a simple glance. He's no stranger to stealing and committing different kinds of crimes and etc, so I think he wouldn't be opposed to getting some "free travelling" if he can. Especially when it's the sort of perfect crime: There's no real victim if they don't find out!

And even if he ever got caught, there's the fact that he seems to have a lot of charisma and also seems to have a way with words too to the point where he's been able to put even dangerous and murderous criminals on his side and having them loyally working for him (a trait he continues to show later on in life as well and that shows through his success as a businessman while also becoming one of the most influential men in the world). With all this in mind, its possible that he may have been able to talk his way out if his cover was ever blown up during one of his many travels, convincing the crew to let him stay and to pay for his ticket with work or something. Overall, I think he travelled as a stowaway for the most part, especially considering the amount of times and places he's travelled to.

However, I also agree with your idea. Speedwagon is an honest man at core, so I also have the headcanon that he may have had gotten a job or two that allowed him to travel around the world at some point, getting said jobs only with that sole goal in mind (and so these were like very brief, very occasional, jobs). Part of me thinks this could have taken place when he was younger and wanted to travel outside of England for the first time. There were virtually no laws in regards to child labour in Victorian England, so chances are he'd have been hired even as a child/teen too (like most cabin boys do, for example). I also think this could have taken place later, when he was an adult already, and was able to perform other and more physically demanding tasks that a child can't (like the merchant ship bit you mention, loading and unloading shipments and all that stuff, for example). Normally, those jobs would have meager payments and the people doing them were pretty much exploited, so maybe that's why he'd prefer to stow away in future journeys instead? Coincidentally, this could also add to Robert's distaste and loathing of rich people that we learn of by the time Jonathan and him meet, as Speebs would have been able to see the true colors of the upper classes first hand by then.

Outside of that, I like the idea of him having different (sometimes casual) boyfriends throughout his life before he met Jonathan. This could come into play at some points as this would open up a couple possibilities here in some scenarios, like:

-Spw catching the eye of the guy who caught him redhanded stowing away. Likely some random crew/staff member that was patrolling the deck or the cars (in the case of a ship or a train respectively)? Speedwagon managed to convince him to allow him to finish the trip without any issues and in exchange he'd take him out for dinner or something when they arrive to their destination. A casual date like a lot of gay men do tbh, but no more than that in most instances this ever occurred (partly bc this was mostly a payment of sorts, and partly due to the homophobia at the time that forced gay men to be discreet af), but also…

-There's the possibility of that guy and Speedwagon eventually becoming actual boyfriends after they get to know each other better. This would open a possibility for easier stowing away (or at least for getting cheaper tickets lol) whenever it is his bf will be part of the crew/staff of some trip. This guy and Speebs could also become simply good friends and he'd help him on board anyways.

Those are all the main ways I can think of right off the bat in regards to how he'd manage to travel the world so much even as a far from rich man back when travelling was even more expensive (as far as I know, at least) than it is nowadays.

[rose-and-thorn-fanfics]

“A Far Fall From The Heights Of Heaven” A Dio Brando x Self Insert Fanfic (PART 4)

Another month had passed. It was now the holiday season, and I was missing my sister Denise. Maybe, MAYBE even my mom. A little. Dio sat at the desk, writing with a fountain pen in the dark. I would've been concerned for his eyesight, but... well, vampires see even better in the dark. I peaked over his shoulder, attempting to read his handwriting. He stopped writing and handed me the paper, noting that I was struggling to read.

"To the family of my beloved Rose..." I read his words out loud, then paused.

"Too formal?" Dio asked earnestly.

I giggled. "Just the right amount. I mean you did kidnap me. They probably think I'm dead at this point. That in itself calls for some formality."

Dio chuckled, taking the paper back from me and signing it with his overly dramatic signature. "They'll be pleased to know you're alive. Your sister.... Denise. Does she live at a separate address? Should i make another copy?"

"No, unless her plans changed, her and her husband are staying at my mom's house in the guest bedroom for the first two years of their marriage while they shop for homes and get more secure jobs. One letter to my mom's house will do." I explained.

Lord Dio nodded, then stood up, slipping the letter in an envelope. He sealed it with a carnelian signet ring he often wore on his right index finger.

"Why are you writing to my family though? Is it just to let them know I'm ok? Or... about the baby?"

Dio blushed a bit, a rare sight, but becoming less rare since I'd told him he was going to be a father. "We are visiting them. I've made arrangements. Your family does celebrate the Yuletide season?"

My eyes must've lit up at the mention of visiting them because he leaned down and tilted my chin up, inspecting my expression with amusement. "They go all out for Christmas. My mom's a christian, so thats kind of her favorite holiday." I added. "My sister Denise is very much into the presents more than the religious meaning, so we should bring her something nice! And my grandparents come over and aunts and uncles...."

Dio frowned suddenly. "That's a lot of relatives you have. What a scene it must be."

I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. I knew he hadn't experienced that growing up, at least not with his blood-relatives. I was glad I could be spending this time of the year with him. Maybe my family could show him that kind of Yule spirit that he'd never had in his childhood.

"They'll love you." I assured him.

"They'd better." He said in a snarky tone, regaining his confident demeanor. "Or your mom wont be invited over to visit her grandchildren."

I laughed nervously, noticing that gleeful look in his eyes. I prayed that all my lucky stars would keep this visit from being a catastrophy.

...............................................................................................................

The flight to Los Angeles was actually quite relaxing. I wasn't far enough into my pregnancy that flying was a problem. Dio had a private jet because public transport isn't suitable for vampires, apparently. He didn't fly it. THANK GOD. He isn't the best with electronics, being from Victorian era England, and having spent so much time in a coffin under the sea. I had taught him how to take a selfie on his phone. He was a fast learner, but not "fly a private plane" kind of fast.

We landed several times before the break of dawn and stayed at expensive hotels through the days, to avoid sunlight.

Finally we landed in Los Angeles. An SUV with tinted windows showed up at the private landing place of Dio's jet.

"You have connections in Los Angeles?" I whispered.

Dio Brando grinned. "I have connections everywhere. Now, lets get to your parents before the Christmas Eve party starts."

I yawned and slept through most of the car ride. I woke up when the car pulled in front of my mom's house in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Los Angeles, far enough from the hustle of hollywood or the stench of downtown LA.

I was wearing a green velvet dress with lots of chips of crystals on the edge of the neckline. It was expensive (vivienne westwood), and went fabulously with Dio's gold leather 1980s style jacket and fitted shirt and pants. I knew my mom would not approve of either of our outfits. I didn't care.

We strolled up to the tall front door with the beautiful transom window above it. The whole house was decorated in lights. Dio rang the doorbell, then stood back, wrapping his arm around me (for reassurance? Who knows...)

Several moments passed, then my mom opened the door. She was a tall woman, brunette, with a severe expression on her square face that got more sever upon seeing Dio and I.

"I assume you're the one who found my daughter in Egypt?" She said skeptically.

Dio nodded. "Yes, Madam." He said in the least respectful tone possible.

"So you've come to return her? Well.... I guess that's fine. Come in." She said, pursing her lips and eyeing my dress with a look of distain. I understood, though. No one likes to their missing daughter showing up in a revealing designer dress to a conservative celebration of the birth of Jesus with a guy dressed like David Bowie on his glass spider tour ready to perform.

As we walked in, Dio muttered words only audible to me. "I'm not returning anything."

I smiled, knowing this would come up later at the dinner table. I felt the eyes of all my relatives on me. My aunts, uncles, grandparents, and sister. They looked like they'd seen a ghost. I wasn't sure if I should say something. I ended up just waving meekly, and introduced Dio. "This is my husband, Dio. Dio, this is Aunt Jenna, Uncle Juan, My grandma, my grandpa, Denise, and her husband Todd."

"YOUR HUSBAND?!!!" Denise blurted out.

Dio took a seat, ignoring the shock of everyone and motioning for me to sit in his lap. I felt overwhelmed by all the attention, so I took him up on that offer, sitting on his lap and feeling a bit better now that his arms were around me. "You didn't mention the marriage in the letter, did you?" I whispered in his ear.

Dio shook his head. "I wanted to share the happy news in person. Letters are too impersonal."

I sighed. I should've expected that from Lord Dio. He loved a personal touch. Whether seeking revenge or announcing his bride, that seemed like a theme for him.

"Married, huh?" My mom scoffed. "You actually married my youngest daughter? Well, I suppose there was bound to be one man... unique enough to appreciate her." She made it very clear that "unique" was a replacement for a less gentle word. Yup. Thats my mom. She manages to be both protective over me and yet cant understand what anyone would possibly see in me for marriage. My eye began twitching with irritation and anxiety.

"She's not hard to appreciate, if you have enough brain cells... that is." Dio retorted. "Only an idiot would be blind to my Rose's beauty."

My sister snickered. My mom inhaled sharply and crossed her arms, clearly offended but not vocal enough to come up with a reply.

My uncle Todd spoke up. "Well, what's your job? Do you think you can afford to support our Rose?"

I started panicking. Money? Not a problem. Dio's occupation? BIG FUCKING PROBLEM. Being a cult leader doesn't really check the boxes for families like mine. I wracked my brain for alternative or vague enough answers that sounded legitimate. But Dio was faster.

"I'm the CEO of an organization that is highly classified in its nature. While I can't tell you the details of my job, I can say that I easily can afford to support Rose financially." Lord Dio said cooly.

"And you're from Egypt?" Aunt Jenna asked, raising a drawn-on brow.

"England, actually. London to be exact." Dio Brando said. "Is there any wine at this party?"

Denise rushed to the kitchen and came back with some expensive french wine and two glasses. She seemed the most receptive to Dio's presence. "Here you go!" She said, handing the one glass to Dio and the other to--Oh. Me.

"Uh, actually I don't drink." I said carefully.

"Huh." Denise said, slowly pulling the glass away. After a deafening few minutes of silence, Dio had finished his wine, and I was getting tired of being the center of attention.

Then Denise spoke. "So when's the due date?" 'And thats our cue' I thought, muscles tightening with stress. "Yeah.... uh, I was going to tell you guys at present opening time, but..."

My mom, catching on to the subject turned a shade of ashen grey that always was the precursor to her passing out.

"...I'm having a baby. It'll be in late fall, according to the doctors (thats the due date). Dio is the father, and we are both really excited to be parents!" I said, mustering enthusiasm in hopes it would be reciprocated. My mom passed out, but after everyone made sure she was alright I got lots of congratulations from the rest of my family.

I beamed, glad that at least this baby would be welcomed into my chaotic family. I had dreaded the thought of having to explain to my children how their grandparents, aunts, and uncles didn't want anything to do with them. This was a relief.

The rest of the night was filled with festivities. We sang carols (some of the older British ones Dio was excited to find familiar, and we feasted on delicious cranberry bread, apple cider, and roasted mushrooms by candlelight. Everyone seemed to fall in place, being supportive of our relationship (Except my mom who was resting in the master bedroom). I gave Denise a beautiful pair of designer sandals from Egypt, and everyone agrees they were definitely her style. I got lots of presents, and I loved watching Dio's expression as he saw my excitement when playing (and winning with his help) the traditional Yule games. After the games I fell asleep on the couch, cuddled in a blanket with my head in Dio's lap. I would remember this night forever.

TYSM FOR READING!!!!!

TUMBLR FANFIC TAG-LIST!

@sflame15-blog

@rottent33th

@armyangxls

@darkangel4405

@promiseokza

@6lostgirl6

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@queen-dk

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@chaos-4baby

[ladyloveandjustice]

Summer 2023 Anime Overview: Undead Murder Farce and My Happy Marriage

Undead Murder Farce

Premise: Our story takes place in Victorian times/the Meji Era. Tsugaru is a half-oni (demon) and half human as a result of a mysterious man doing horrible experimentation on him. He’s approached by Aya Rindo, an immortal woman who has been reduced to a head (transported in a birdcage by her combat-saavy maid Shizuku) because the same man beheaded her and stole her body. They agree to team up to find the man and hopefully get Aya’s body back. As they look for the man, they travel Europe and to solve mysteries related to monsters and inhumans.

Undead Murder Farce was definitely my show of the summer season. It’s a fun mystery series starring three asshole weirdo protagonists, it’s bursting with monsters and demons and bizarre people, full of references to Victorian literature and rakugo and all kinds of nerdy stuff, it’s got stylish, slick direction from Mamoru Hatekayama (you know him from Kaguya: Love is War, and Rakugo Shinju) and it’s really gay.

The trio of Aya, Tsugaru, and Shizuku all have really have a snarky comfortable friend dynamic and their banter as they solve vampire murder mysteries, try to outsmart Arsene Lupin and a gang of Victorian literary monsters, and investigate a werewolf village and it makes for an entertaining watch. Aya will never stop making stupid jokes about how she’s just a head in a cage, and we love her for it.

The “let’s stuff in every Victorian public domain character we can” arc is where the show really starts to shine (though unlike some others, I do still really like the vampire murder mystery arc a lot—I just love the idea of a vampire murder mystery, and we really get a good feel for the cast. It’s definitely the weakest arc of the series, though). UDM gets to whip out all its literary nerd credentials. The case involves: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Arsene Lupin, The Phantom of the Opera, Carmilla, Frankenstein’s Monster, Aleister Crowley, Phileas Fogg and two surprise characters.

And yes, they remember that Carmilla is gay, which automatically puts in above 99.9% adaptations of the character. They do make her older and WAY more of a sexpot than the novel version, which, eh,  but she’s 100% the ultra-campy Blueprint Problematic Lesbian Vampire she deserves to be. Like in the novel, she exclusively feeds on and seduces women and she gets into a deeply sapphic rivalry with Shizuku, who she tries to subdue and toy with using her vampire powers. (As you can expect from the character, there is the assault stuff that comes with that territory, though they don’t go too far with it, she kisses Shizuku's neck and messes up her shirt a bit).

But also, we find out Shizuku is used to making love with someone who has “centuries” on Carmilla and is “far more experienced ”, which can only be Aya. This is further confirmed when Shizuku shows jealousy over Tsugaru and Aya’s transactional kiss in the next arc and Tsugaru has to reassure her. And then Shizuku just CONTINUES to stumble into sapphic situations. She gets surrounded by naked ladies and bonds with them like twice in the last arc. It’s great. Everyone thought it might be be Aya/Tsugaru at the beginning, but turns out UDM is For the Gays and it straightbaited you. Amazing.

It's not just Carmilla that UDM shows off its nerd (and gay) credentials with—there’s the interesting choice to make the Phantom of Persian descent, which is clever as a reference to the Phantom’s time in Persia in the original novel AND adds an extra layer to the “unfairly treated as an outcast” element of the character. (Lupin and the Phantom also team up in the story and give off such strong gay energy (Lupin especially) that a lot of people ship them). And like in the novel, Frankenstein’s Monster is smart and even functions as the more level-headed one in the villain gang.

All of that stuff is catnip to me, but the best part of UDM is following it’s convoluted mysteries and seeing Aya strut her stuff figuring the them out while everyone gets in cool fights. It’s very good at what it does, and it’s a fun romp with some interesting themes about being on the margins of society and what makes an outcast simmering underneath. I had a great time with it, and I’m aching to see more of these scrappy misfits and their adventures. If you’re here for a campy but intelligent mystery series about lovable weirdos with a side order of gay, absolutely check this one out!

My Happy Marriage

Premise: Miyo was born without supernatural talents despite her father's expectations, and after her mother passes away, her father and stepfamily treat her abusively and use her as a servant. Miyo's family sticks her with an arranged marriage to Kiyoka Kudou, a man with a reputation for being cold and cruel. However, she quickly finds he’s not what he seems, and she slowly begins to gain confidence in herself.

My Happy Marriage is a straightforward Cinderella story, but one that actually focuses on the psychological effects of being abused and the slow recovery and healing journey of its protagonist. Even if she's not with her abusive family anymore, Miyo still has completely shit self esteem and even just running into her Evil Stepsister ™ in the street sends her reeling back to where she started, consumed by fear and sadness. The story is about her finding a place where she’s loved and supported, and slowly gaining confidence, and her and her husband learning to communicate. She’s still shy, domestic, and very devoted to being proper for her husband throughout, and sometimes needs help, but her learning to let herself be loved and learning to find her own strength and power is the focus of the story. It shows how many obstacles you have to bravely face just to move forward after trauma. And in the end, Miyo finds her own way to save the day. I think that’s really valuable.

Though, like in the original Cinderella story, there is the issue of the pure, domestic woman being contrasted with evil, conniving, social climbing women (though at least there’s no “and they’re also ugly” thing going, and they have her dad be shitty too). It wasn’t bothering me too much--even the ‘training to be a proper wife’ stuff Miyo decides to do since it wasn't out of place in the Meiji era setting-- until Miyo met her sister-in-law. Sis is a divorced woman and a little more “modern” and forward than Miyo and I was excited at first, because hey, a woman in this story who doesn’t fit either the ‘demure’ or ‘evil’ archetypes. But then it turned out her tragic backstory was that she’s a shitty cook and therefore failed to be a proper woman for her husband’s family and her in-laws drove her to divorce, which she 100% blames herself and her lack of domestic skil and 'unwillingness to compromise" with her mean in-laws for. She’s not challenged on this attitude at all. I can easily see a future plotline where she reunites with her ex-husband and he reveals he didn’t mind the cooking or something, but as it stands, it’s pretty disheartening and I don't see why it was a thing.

Still, Miyo’s arc is cathartic and well done, and the animation absolutely beautiful throughout. It’s nice seeing a story focusing on recovery that focuses on the small triumphs that come with learning to see your own value after being told you’re worthless. The supernatural element is a fun touch. It’s already been renewed for a second season and I’m definitely here for the rest.

[myrskytuuli]

Well. I have now read the entirety of The Beetle. An exercise in incredulity if nothing else. Would I recommend this book to anyone. Yes, of course. As an example of victorian popular literature it is a stellar example of how to gather all the popular tropes into a trenchcoat and sell it as a book, a veritable treasure chest for literary analysis from the colonial, to gender to class anxieties.

As a good piece of literature. Absolutely not. From the way the plot never seems to kick in, to the way the villains motives are never actually explained, to the way the characters have barely any agency in their own story, The Beetle somehow manages to fall on its face on every conceivable way as both mystery, horror and action story. The Beetle truly is a masterclass in how to take a genre and then not utilise the aspects that fans of that genre would enjoy. We have a detective who doesn’t do any detecting. We have a monster who is killed off-screen in a public transportation accident. We have a group of “heroes” who fail to save anyone or do anything meaningful for the entirity of the novel. We are even teased a love triangle that doesn’t affect the plot, go anywhere, or impact the characters in anyway. If there is a story buried underneath all the “look what’s happening now” I failed to see it. The Michael Bay movie of victorian novels, the Beetle feels like watching a trailer for the newest marvel movie. There is a beetle! There is a damsel in distress! There’s a foreign cult! There are heroes! Is there a plot, or themes, or any emotional hooks? Go fuck yourself!

The Beetle doesn’t bring anything new to the table, but it does use the familar tropes in an exemplary unimaginative and unnuanced way. Egyptian oriantelism is rampant in victorian literarture and there are writers who have done much more interesting things with it. Even Stoker’s frankly not great The Jewel of the Seven Stars brings much more interesting version of the “ancient egyptian dead woman hypnotising british people”, while Machens Great God Pan manages to handle the “evil woman orgies hosted by shape-shifting half-human” with much more terror by not overusing the shock value.

The Beetle has a certain...dare I say Harry Potter-esque approach to being inherently mean-spirited and leaning on caricatures in its descriptions of caharcters, simplistic in its approach to evil, and fully confident that the reader will root for the heroes because they are “the heroes”.

In conclusion, am I glad that tumblr convinced me to read the Beetle? Absolutely. I am always in process of expanding my Gothic lit knowledge and for better or worse, the Beetle was the novel that outsold Dracula for a time, and therefore valuable for learning more about victorian era sensational lit. If I would  actually ever get a professorship in an university, I would absolutely make a course about popular trends in victorian literature and then assign The Beetle as one of the non-negotiable essay topics. Why?

Because it would be INCREDIBLY funny and I think everyone in higher education should suffer a little bit more.

[tussie-mussie-trouble]

I was so excited for a second thinking oh! could it be? someone else who GETS IT? and then i realize its Amtrak official.

though I *do* feel great sorrows at modern trains. They're very...well they're modern. I crave the beauty of what they once were. it's like shaving a tiger because for some reason someone wanted a smooth tiger, it lost its character! its beauty! now it's just kind of sad and unsettling! the trains are NAKED. : ( I just want to ride a train and feel like a victorian detective with too much money and a case to crack. the victorians were right, we did need more curtains, we needed more softness, and chairs are better with a little style. the victorians were RIGHT. now were they questionable in a thousand bilion other ways? of course, but what society does not gaze upon their predecessors without disgust? we too shall be shameful in the eyes of those who come after us, do the trains too, gaze with disdain on their extravagant ancestors? do they know they are naked tigers?

How can you not love the train? Do you hate the environment? Is it efficiency you hate? Connection with humanity? History? aesthetics? Women? Cheap prices? Machinery? The Arts?, I just want to know, what is it that you hate about trains so much

[nando161mando]

Pro Palestine activists protest at the Deputy Premier, Ben Carrol's, office in the Victorian government's parliamentary and treasury office building in Treasury Place.

While MP Natalie Hutchins was hosting a weapons expo in Collins St., activists took the protest to Deputy Premier, Ben Carroll's, office building to demand that the Victorian government cancel its Memorandum of Understanding with the Israeli Ministry of Defence.

They also demanded that the VIC government cancel all contracts with Israeli weapons company and war profiteers, Elbit Systems. Ben Carroll recently returned from a junket trip to Israel where he further cemented the Victorian government's complicity in Israel's genocidal war against the people of the occupied territories of Palestine.

The Victorian government is courting weapons company investment when it should be investing in Victorian manufacturing for climate solutions and public transport, not in tooling up for the war machine of death and destruction.