#but i am bad at the menfolk

[dyrewrites]

Why is it that reading fantastic prose motivates me and makes me want to dive back into writing...but the opposite is true for art?

[littlebittywildflower]

There are still days I actually put on my make up and take the time to be cute

[bomberqueen17]

letters

So in 1944 my grandpa got tuberculosis. It was bad enough that they sent him to a sanitarium up in the Adirondacks for a rest cure, which was what was recommended at the time. He'd been married to my grandmother for just a little while; they had a son, my uncle, and she was pregnant with my dad.

While he was there he wrote letters daily. He wrote a lot of letters, I think, to his parents and sister and friends. But the ones he sent to his wife, my grandma, she kept.

I don't know the chronology of it all, but after Grandma died, probably my dad found the packet of letters, as he was the one who went through her effects-- might have been his little sister, my aunt. Anyway the packet got circulated around, and then came back to my dad, who carefully organized all of the letters into a binder with individual plastic archival sleeves. Someone asked after them recently, and Mom found them and pulled them out. I was over there today, feeding her cat while she's on vacation, and so I leafed through them.

Grandpa's handwriting is similar, a bit, to my late father's, so I was able to read it reasonably easily. He started strong, the first letter he recounts how he fared in the rainstorm he'd apparently left home in, and then asks how Grandma fared.

How are you, my Baby? Did your schooner of sleep bear you safely thru the storm? If it didn't then you won't be reading this sorry excuse for a letter.

In that same letter he goes on to say,

Zounds! How can I create in this infernal bedlam? All the patients are up (as far as possible) and braying, the phone is ringing, Ma is delivering the Gettysburg Address + Pa is making more noise with a piece of wrapping paper than I could make with a hammer and a piece of steele [sic].

It rapidly escalates from there, and in a later letter he explains that the rest cure was so boring he had literally nothing to do, nothing to write home about, and so in an effort to keep from dwelling on how much he hated it there, he would write these flowery, possibly-repetitive love letters, because he simply had nothing else to talk about.

Your accounts of the marital woes of the [illegible, probably neighbors] are really hair-raising, but I don't think that the happiness of our marriage is due entirely to good fortune. As I have always said, we were made for each other a long, long time ago and our hearts refused to love anyone until the right one came along.

Looking at the postmarks, I realized they dated from right around the time of my father's birth, so I found the one that was sent the day after Dad was born, and it did not disappoint.

My beloved Words cannot express just how I feel this morning; I am all mixed up. You are so wonderful that sometimes I wonder what I ever did to deserve you. You are the one who is increasing our fortunes, for truly our children are the treasures that make us rich. You are so brave, so cool that I hold you in undying amazement. I am sure of one thing, My Darling; I know your sons will love you, not just because you are their mother, but for your own precious self, for the truly great woman you are. For the ordeal you have gone thru to bring these precious lives into being, rest assured of the eternal devotion of your menfolk. Last night all I could think of was you. I heard the night train coming into the station and my heart said "Run, run and catch the train before it is too late. Run to your loved ones and to hell with the results. Run, let nothing keep you from their sides." But my head said, "No, don't undo all that has been done. They also serve who stand and wait. Wait, and by so doing, prove your love to be more than the reckless love of youth, prove it to be the wise, guiding love that lives on long after passion has spent itself and thus spent, dies." And so I waited and the train left without me + my heart hated me for it.

Oh boy I cried, I sure did. (I had to look it up; "They also serve who only stand and wait" is from John Milton's Sonnet XIX.)

He always uses beloved or darling or somesuch as the salutation, but he often refers to her as Red within the text of the letters, because she had red hair. He occasionally made saucy references to their sex life, elsewhere in the letters. But mostly it's absolutely banger shit like this:

My thoughts and deeds, my smiles and tears, my happiness, my loneliness, my joy, my sorrow, my every breath, yea, even the final beat of my loving heart are poor blossoms placed on my altar of adoration, raised in humble gratitude to you.

Her name was Margaret, and I never knew her to have any nicknames, she just went by her name. Except to him, apparently. But as for him-- his government name was John, as was my father's, but my father never had to have a nickname, because there was never a day in his life Grandpa went by John. His name was Buddy, everyone called him Buddy, and he signed his letters as Buddy.

He died in January of 1978 of complications related to the damage to his lungs from the tuberculosis (not directly, but it was related). Grandma was standing in the hallway of the hospital, watching him sleep, waiting for him to wake up so he could meet my older sister, his third grandchild. He never did meet her.

She died in 2002 of congestive heart failure; I'd spent much of the preceding week with her and she'd spoken mostly of him.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Because I am equally obsessed with cod and a video games call coral island, I have meshed the two together so often but imagine a very loyal protective guard captain of the menfolk kingdom ghost who distrusts humans and human soap who got out if the military and takes over the family farm as a fresh start and falls in love with ghost. Anyway I hope you have an amazing day!

Aww this is a cute idea :)

---

Soap had always had an affinity for the ocean. A couple kilometers down the road from the farm is a vast expanse of rocky cliff-shores. He used to spend his days as a boy playing, and swimming down at the rock flats with his siblings.

He fell out of touch with that side of himself not too long after joining the military. There is a severe lack of beach days in the army.

So I'm thinking about soap not quite fresh off of honorable discharge due to his demolition days having put a permanent ringing in his right ear, and a bad explosion wrecked his knee bad enough that he's got a permanent limp and sometimes it'll go weak and drop him. He's deep in depression without the direction and rigidity of military life. Sure he's working, his da sets him to work in the fields, but it's all just numb.

One night he finds himself walking out the front door, down a distantly familiar path that leads all the way to the rock flats. He almost doesn't realize until salt water is splashing over his bare toes and soaking into his trousers.

And for once he actually feels something. He feels real. It feels like home. He should have come here sooner. He doesn't know why he hadn't.

Something catches at the corner of his gaze.

There sitting in the edge of the rock is a man. Sitting dangerously close to the water for the time of night it is. The tides get... playful when the moon comes out.

He moves closer to warn the man of the danger, but as he approaches he sees that its not a man. Or- it is (maybe) but he's not a human. He knocks a pebble with his shoe and it skitters across the rock.

The man- the mer, he sees now- whips around, some kind of viscous hooked weapon in hand. The man's large frame coupled with the bleach white skull obscuring it's face, and the wicked sharp teeth it bares at him, the man makes an imposing sight. Soap freezes, holding his hands up in Surrender.

A better look at the man reveals details a quick glance didn't reveal to him before. The three notches in the underside of the dorsal fin, oddly enough it looked red and almost fresh. Fresh scrapes along the length of his scaly tail that soap could see. What looked to be old scars, and fresh cuts on his chest and arms.

---

Another attack on the kingdom from the shadows, had left the kingdom wary, and Ghost on edge. He was working himself too hard, ghost knew, and soon Price was gonna send Gaz after him to settle. But for now he had a job to do. For now he focused on protecting his kingdom. And fight now that meant patrolling the area, making it known that they were as strong as ever, that should the Shadows from the south, or the Kretch from the east decide to attack, they were ready.

The Kretch had been fairly quiet as of recently, but he'd found another scouting group of shadows on his rounds of the land. Taking them out was a workout, they bashed him into the rocks, opening fresh wounds, and scraping up his tail, but nothing he couldn't handle. It was the dog they let loose on him that had been the problem. Bullsharks. Viscous creatures, even in the best of times it was smart to avoid them. But especially so if it was the Shadows' dogs, they keep them starved, makes them angry

He's strong, but he knows his limits. And he'd struggle with one on a good day. Injured and overworked, he has no chance. His saving grace? Bullsharks are fast, but he's always been faster. So he swims.

Away from the kingdom. Away from the people he swore to protect. He swims to land, dreadful, dry land. The only thing besides death that'll deter these beast is land. So up he goes onto the rocks. He'll have to wait it out.

I'll be continuing this later today. Let me know if you want a tag.

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

Jonathan's little reminiscence at the beginning of May 16th is so funny like

"I determined not to return to-night to the gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars."

1) Jonathan what??? Like truly, what a random daydream to just have ready to go like ok Mr. Sentimental Daydreamer.

2) no I'm harping on this a little more it's not like it's a Bad thing to think but it's so oddly specific? Like he was ostensibly exploring to find means to escape the castle, and he gets fully distracted concocting an elaborate fantasy of feminine life, like man transfem!Jonathan Harker fans are so well fed by May 15/16th which is great but also Jonathan can you focus you are fighting for survival

3) May 15 being all sentimental makes sense bc it's pre-attack but um. When he writes the above passage he has in fact had another brush with death, and seen a child get eaten. Like. He starts off with his "God preserve my sanity for to this I am reduced" which is good and normal and yet he's STILL like "they need to know that I was thinking of sweet ladies being sad for their menfolk away at remorseless wars before I bring out the vampires"

[miiishra]

I am going to piggyback a bit on this post here because I am BOTHERED. It is the particular radfem type of purity culture that makes me see fucking red. (*Please note that when I say "women" in this post, I am also including queer women, trans women, afab, etc... hell, some of these points can probably apply to the menfolk too).

To summarize the post I linked, it's basically questioning why women are into dark erotica and dark romance (It's a great post! Give it a read!). That purity culture insists that "problematic" fiction (including fan fiction) needs to be censored because women* are Into That and will seek out that kind of problematic reality to indulge in, and, according to radfeminism, that will harm women.

Do you know what that kind of thinking boils down to?

Women are stupid.

Women are empty-headed humanoids whose entire existence is shaped by whatever is planted in her pretty little head. She doesn't actually know what she wants. If she reads the wrong books and gets the wrong ideas, she'll do the wrong things.

We've all heard that before, haven't we?

It just boils down to the belief that women are unable to think for ourselves. That our delicate sensibilities shouldn't be exposed to "bad things" because then we could be harmed irl. It's so goddamn infantilizing.

I have two kids. Of course, I don't want to expose them to things inappropriate for their age that could harm their development because they are children.

Women are not children. Like, what the fuck, that should be a given and yet all of this discourse keeps popping up and here we fucking are.

Grown-ass women are well aware of what healthy and unhealthy relationships look like. What a woman wants, what she enjoys, what she risks indulging in regardless if it will harm her or not is, quite frankly, no one else's fucking business.

[archduchessofnowhere]

[Isabella of Parma] was a talented observer of others, and she made it her overriding ambition from early on to win over every member of the imperial family. We know just how assiduously and intelligently she practiced this art from the roughly two hundred letters to Archduchess Maria Christina that have come down to us.

These letters betray an almost obsessive concern with gaining the undivided love and attention of Maria Christina, the same age as Isabella and the object of her consuming passion. She had already started writing to her future sister-in-law before they met, doing all she could to create a climate of friendly intimacy. She called her ma soeur fidèle, my faithful sister, and declared her tender admiration for the empress and her love of Germany. Following her arrival in Vienna, the correspondence gradually intensified into ever more effusive expressions of attachment and devotion. The stream of letters did not abate even when the two women were seeing each other almost every day at court. Letters were considered the “mirror of the soul”; they provided an outlet for what could not be said in the strictly ceremonialized everyday life of the court. “My adorable sister,” Isabella writes repeatedly, “my goddess! my heart! my angel! Venus! I am mad with love for you; I love you to distraction; I worship you!” She then speaks of her lover’s “devilish” character, her cruelty and disloyalty. Much remains incomprehensible to later readers, as when Isabella refers to shared experiences and secrets (“yesterday’s adventure”), makes ironic allusions, or uses cover names. Time and again she declares herself deeply wounded, “soaked in tears,” because Maria Christina has paid her insufficient attention, and demands proofs of her love; she then begs her to forgive her jealousy. She tries to arrange secret rendezvous for the two of them, refers to their joint “marriage” and a mysterious “wedding present,” calls herself Maria’s amant, lover, or mari, husband, and refers to the two of them—alluding to operas they had attended—as Orpheus and Eurydice, Zerbin and Laurette, or Linon and Lisette. She airs the greatest intimacies without any sense of shame, drastically showing today’s readers just how low the threshold of embarrassment was in such matters. At any rate, what is invoked in these letters is far more than Platonic infatuation: “I cover you all over with my kisses,” she exclaims, “I kiss everything you let me kiss,” or even—in German in the original rather than the usual French—“I kiss your archangelic ass.” Maria Christina’s reactions have not survived, but they appear to have been more reserved, since Isabella calls her a saint and writes: “Despite your saintliness, I kiss you with all my soul, so that they may be said to be pious kisses, for what comes from the soul is purely spiritual and not of this earth, although I love all that is down-to-earth.” On the rare occasions when Isabella mentions her husband, then it is as an unwelcome intrusion, the “rival” of her beloved. Among the essays composed by Isabella there is a short, sarcastic “Treatise on Men”: the most useless creatures in all the world, good for nothing other than selfishness, more irrational than animals, elevated by God above women only so that male flaws would cause female virtues to shine all the more brightly. If girls had not been persuaded that they were useless, they would cope very well without their menfolk. The devil had a hand in play when men were created, women had no choice but to make the best of a bad lot.

Stollberg-Rilinger, Barbara (2020). Maria Theresa: The Habsburg Empress in her Time (translation by Robert Savage)

[therainbowwillow]

Dracula Daily May 16th Thoughts:

SPOILER WARNING! This is my second read through.

-Sanity is a major theme for Jonathan’s character and in this book as a whole. It’s important to him that he’s sane in order to be taken seriously and the book affirms that this is a completely valid priority. Renfield, who is also hospitalized (well… institutionalized) and suffers from Dracula’s abuse (whether or not he sees it that way) is ignored. His opinion is less worthy of consideration that Jonathan’s, who does manage to maintain appearances and come across as fairly normal to his society. The Hamlet connection also makes sense, seeing as the play shares this central theme.

-It’s particularly awful that Jonathan fully recognizes that Dracula is the only person he can turn to for “safety” even though Dracula is the cause of this whole situation and is absolutely imprisoning him intentionally. Since Jonathan is an orphan and not in the upper class, I expect this isn’t the first time he’s dealt with this kind of abuse. It’s a familiar situation, someone taking advantage of a disadvantaged person who only has them to turn to and it’s sad to me that Jonathan is so keenly aware of his predicament.

-Ah, the misquoted Hamlet line. Jonathan quotes it as “My tablets! quick, my tablets! 'Tis meet that I put it down," etc.” which, regardless of Doylist context, makes sense for someone who doesn’t have the play in front of them. (The correct quote is “My tables- meet it is I set it down…” which I did apparently have memorized. Jeez, Jonathan, where’s a 2+ year long hyperfixation on Shakespeare’s Hamlet when you need it?)

-I love how much the connotation of the word sleepy has changed since 1897. Jonathan is clearly using it to mean just “tired” but the modern connotation of “sleepy” feels much… softer? Like a young child is sleepy, or I, lying in the sun, am sleepy, but not a guy in a prison-castle. That’s more like exhausted.

-I like how much time Jonathan spends describing the world beyond the castle. It seems like it’s a good way for him to hold on to hope but also says something about him that he’s still able to see beauty right now.

-“���whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars.” Future Mina, I’m sorry you have to read your husband’s prison-castle-induced men-writing-women moment. Jonathan, for future reference, the tits don’t need to be personified. Guess who forgot the gender-neutral term “breast” could be used in the plural? (Thank you, commenters!)

-imagine being the brides right now. This guy just fell asleep on your couch unannounced. Maybe don’t drink his blood and forcibly vampire-seduce him, but whispering about him seems like a reasonable response, yeah? Maybe you should stick with that.

-Do we ever get an explanation for this? “ I seemed somehow to know her face, and to know it in connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the moment how or where.” Has he seen her before in a book? In a dream?

-ah, the return of voluptuous

-This is a strong analogy for sexual assault and I appreciate that it never feels for a moment like it was Jonathan’s fault, regardless of how he describes feeling in the moment.

-I fucking hate Count Dracula. I hate him! His use of this “rescue” as an opportunity to claim Jonathan as “his own” is disgusting and abhorrent and I wish I could just get Jonathan an Uber straight back home!

-The brides are awful but I do also feel a little bit bad for them. They are also victims of Dracula’s overbearing control (a fact which does not and cannot justify their victimization of Jonathan, but is proof that he is abusive towards everyone, not just Jonathan.)

-Now we know why the locals are so “superstitious”… poor unnamed kid :(

-And there we are… he’s figured out the vampire thing in full!

[whoopsieintheuniverse]

chewing on furniture

I am thinking of TWO (2) non-anime fics and i want to know if anyone would be interested in reading them because currently I am LOSING IT

TW: sex, dr00g use, arranged marriage

OKay okay so i’ve been immersed in God of War Ragnorak and OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG the menfolk in that game LORDT. 

I want Thor. I want him bad. I like big men, however I love his relationship with his family and with his wife, however complicated it is, and I’d rather have that flourish in my mind than me climb him like a tree. (This is subject to change at any moment)

Freyr? I want to smoke a joint with him and fuck him at the same time. Stoner boyfriend and stoner girlfriend. I just think it’d be such a good time he’s a god of fertility and his shit looks gas in game ngl. I’m pretty sure I’m going to write it and post it on ao3 but do yall wanna see? I know I do just anime on this blog buttttttttttttttttttttttt.................

I also wanna try an arranged marriage fic with Heimdall where the reader ends up domming him. However, I know I am very bad at muti-chapter fics (cough*Illumi fic* cough) and that’s possibly gonna be a multi-chapter but if people want it...who am I to deny the people? 

[meggettes]

Bridgerton spoilers I am live-blogging below LEGIT SPOILERS

—Spoiler Break—

Episode 2 (blazed thru e1)

Eloise is a stand up comic that’s why she sucks so much lol at least now she’s found an audience maybe she might calm down (no im not thinking of my sister why would you say that)

Will Colin finally woo Penelope with writing? With his pen even??? 👀

i am feeling Francesca so hard the quiet observant pianist is so strong

Benedict is my FAVORITE would he third for the mondriches I could believe it

Was totally unprepared for Cressida character development but am surprisingly fully here for it

Also what the fuck even pen’s own mother believed she isn’t lovable that is so messed

Colin is the only one who is like of course you’re lovable (i know because it me, he doesn’t yet think to himself)

STAHPPPPPPPPPP “kiss me it’ll mean nothing just pls” IS NUTS AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

This is only episode 2!!!!!!!!! Way too early in this trope!!!!!! Unless…

Unless it’s a turned table!!!!!!! Aaahhhh!

Episode 3

THIS ROMANCE NOVEL ASS OPENING 💀💀💀

STOP ITS HIS DREAM I AM DECEASED

THE TURNS HAVE TABLED

he dreams in bodice-ripper 💀

Better than I could have anticipated he is so down bad what a puppydog babygirl

Oh my god who is danbury’s guest is it Sophie’s stepmother??? Is that how Sophie is going to bewitch Benny boy at the final ball of the season??? (I am Benedict centric in case you couldn’t tell) (so much so that I actually read his book) (they’re gonna change it a bunch but I can’t wait to see how that season goes. and then the Francesca and Gregory seasons)

Alone under the willow tree scandal-scandal-scandalous (if anyone saw)

They are so— I am so on board now the mutual pining I had no idea this was what we were in for thank god legit better than I expected

Wow literally what the fuck is wrong with people saying this fucked up shit to this girls face

if Ben wouldn’t third for them I would 🥵

GALLANT that’s the word! He is being very gallant! Not enough gallantry about I’m afraid

I am here for this Debling guy and our shiny Penny! The banter is superb :)

Also is he a Shakespearean actor is that why he knows what to do with his arms (nothing, properly)

Also I fucking love Eloise’s embroidered surcoats they are glorious

Is Cressida more likeable now because there’s a persistent sadness in her eyes instead of the meanness of previous szns

Is Colin really looking so different this season because his tailoring is different than everyone else’s? And they claim it to be “French”??

Speaking of tailoring, Penelope looks like a leading lady now instead of previous szns because her new wardrobe finally gets her waistline correct. It was much too high previously, making her look uncomfortable and juvenile. This proper underbust empire waistline is so gorgeous makes such a difference

Omg Cressida’s spark of interest in lord naturalist is so sweet!

camel thru eye of needle ✨Jesus Reference✨

ok Cressida and rugged bird man endgame

has anyone else noticed each of the Bridgertons has a prevailing one of the five senses? Daphne touch, Antony smell, (Benedict I would say is sight,) and Colin seems to be taste. Or maybe it’s just a mouth kissing thing. But I guess we shall see. Oh and Francesca sound.

HANNAH NEW HERE SHE IS AHHHHH

And as a potential interest for Benny okay!! Two faves sharing the screen let’s watch em cook

Francesca is so pretty wtf who is this actor she looks like belle from the animated beauty and the beast disney like fr right off the cel n her big baby browns

This balloon hullabaloo! Dashing strong menfolk! Let the swooning and fluttering commence

The innovations ball!

Oh? OH?? Violet suitor???????

Put this dress of Cressida’s on the Met Gala carpet!

OH DANBURY’S GUEST IS HER BROTHER IS VIOLET LOVE INTERESTEST

OH FRAN HAS A LOVE INTEREST I AM ALL ABOUT THIS

TILLY DO LESS (love her all about her)

Violet mom of all time aww she loves her kiddos

Stop he is not

Don’t

Please COLIN

oh thank god

THIS TENSION AHH

Debling is a great guy

randomly this cellist looks like Daniel Brühl kinda

Aw Violet sad for her boy

Ditzy sister preggers??

this episode y’alllllllll

Episode 4

Iike this red hair pale blue dresses combo on my girl Nicola is STUNNIN make those Irish eyes SPARKLE

This Francesca suitor is so WONDERFUL

they are CUTE

John Sterling!!!

CUTE!!!!!

her tweed over-jacket is taking me out of it a bit

BACK IN THEY ARE CUTE

Sitting in companionable silence!! Sparks flying among introverts!! Dare I say

Ok Mondrich, keep the club just don’t work in it! easy solutions

GIRL HE PROPOSED THE PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE AND YOU HAVE UR HEAD FULL OF COLIN THOUGHTS

AND HES DOUBLED DOWN WITH PROSTITUTES AND GOT HIS HEAD FULL OF PENELOPE THOUGHTS AAAAAHHHGG

sweet Fran is such a quiet lil cutie pie aww

oh shit Colin realtalk wow cook king the lads were not ready for it not on his level

Violet, mom among moms

Can there finally be a season with no broken proposals pls it upsets me how much that happens on this show like it’s a casual thing to do

widower slow burn with widow ready for it here for it golden bachelor

is this……. ship inklings bw Eloise n Cressida rn

Omg Danbury isn’t one bit a fan of her brother

OH MY GOD

Lord Kilmartin WROTE her SHEET MUSIC

She’s Not Drinking The Lemonade

Lol Colin gonna get a front row seat to Pen’s proposal ughhhhhhh tensionnnnnn

AHH MAY HE CUT IN

JK about the ship-inklings actually but that was a nice moment

Oh Debling is iq-eq smart and I like him he is a sharp cookie he can’t propose to her now he likes her too much to get in the way of all that

OH COLIN FUMBLED

Oh no his feelings are hurt :( no proposal

He’s a straight shooter girl he’s straight shooting you oops

pennnnnnnnnn

RUN WHITE BOY RUN

HATE when diagetic music is off key with the score it is a PEEVE

Frannie is so happy awwww

POLIN are they going to KISS in the CARRIAGE

ON HIS KNEES???????

TORTURE????????

momentary 💔 but immediate 💓

SMOOCH CITY

Carriage hookup!! Titanic who!! Steamy!!!!!

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

way to go girl speedrun from never been kissed to finger blasted in the back of the family limo

FOR GODS SAKE PENELOPE ARE YOU OR ARE YOU NOT

END OF FIRST HALF (!!!)

Epilogue

this part 2 teaser what drama what will he do when he finds outttt

[elisaenglish]

“She is free in her wildness, she is a wanderess, a drop of free water. She knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules or customs. ‘Time’ for her isn’t something to fight against. Her life flows clean, with passion, like fresh water.” 

-Roman Payne, The Wanderess-

There are really only two songs that do it for me when I’ve had a week like the one just gone. And I have promised to stop being so angry because it isn’t who I am—and I know, I know it’s been bad and the menfolk have been all “we need to protect you” and I've been like a rose with just the thorns, or a hand grenade, depending on the degree of my resistance.

But I can’t do that forever, and yesterday I birthed something that I hope will be quite special—and that is what matters. As do the songs referenced here, here and here—and love as I settle back into myself. In terms of the posts to come, I think it’s a case of we shall see. Though to be sure, retreat is not my nature.

[letrune]

This is a callout post for people in the 1920s Hungary, but if you see familiarities... Maybe that is a problem with how our world is. Lots of sarcasm and obscure references ahoy!

Radical leftists' leftism leaves the body the moment someone has to choose between Apathy McDon'tcare and Bloodax Arthur the Childflayer, and decide to go with McDon'tcare. You know, instead of bravely not voting, or, e horrible dictu, just blowing up a railway bridge and killing 104 innocents.

Also, anarchists crying that people want to have a food bank to help the people "but we are anarchists, every man for himself!", and then ignoring a massacre next town over, because they were too busy banning school ("teachers are a hierarchy! Ban all hierarchies!"), and hanging all the people they don't like from lampposts. This is why people started to believe the stereotype, the loudest of you guys did spent more time fighting and banning stuff than actually trying to better people, and advocated for compounds with no connection to the outside world.

Or very radical communists crying that women can vote now, because Marx wrote a letter way back in university about "women be shoppin, amirite boiz?" and "but them feeemaleeees are so emotional, unlike us menfolk AND IF YOU DISAGREE IMMA BEATCHU UP INNA PARKINGLOT!" or somesuch. Because we all know that people never change or how your ideas in university will remain with you, and ALL of Marx's words are Holy Writ...

Oh, also, fuck fascists. Wait, let me paraphrase the OG antifa, Karel Čapek: "fascism is a malliable, hazy, cowardly ideology, worshipping a leader or a great cause like a primitive tribal worshipped a deity and excusing his empathy to kill anyone from other tribes. Fascism will be a downfall of humanity if not stopped before it gets to power", 1925 or 1926? It was included in a post-book addition in my copy of War with the newts, where the editor talked about how Čapek had this odd understanding for the future and was right on the money.

You need to know this: the angry Austrian artilleryman was not even in politics yet.

Royalists and other anti-democratic groups... really? You have FINALLY got the chance to have elections and you want to toss it all away? Why? Because the poor can vote? Because peasants and serfs get a chance to be more equal? It is just the pining for the old days, isn't it, ignoring how much it sucked to anyone actually involved.

Also, Hungarian soviet, it was great of you to dissolve serfdom. Why did you left half the system in place anyways? Had you ran out of time, or was the infighting more important than liberation? Or because most of you were upper-middle class during the Great War, and then slipped into the middle class,, you haven't had to meet them and thus not heard them?

So, who am i not calling out from the 1920s? Well. I guess the pacifists and most feminists. They often worked together, they often pushed for greater liberation and empathy in society.

And then they were both called "liberals" and "woke" and "pussies" and so. Just in 1920s terms, because degrading language is more what the 1940s brought into politics and got so bad, that in the 2020s, Hungary started using the English terms "woke" and "gender ideology" (okay, we stole that one from the Russians who stole it from the 90s Vatican, but you know what I mean).

So yea. 1920s Hungary should suck an egg. It only costs 33.477 pengő! 258.265 by the time you finished reading this.

And anyone who repeats the same mistakes, I hope you find empathy, clarity and peace. You can be better than the 1920s Hungary was. You can change, unlike the past. I got hope for you.

[unsentimentaltranslator]

Oh, you’re supposed to stay passive, anxious and self-conscious. You’re just supposed to keep a smile on your face around the menfolk.

Take a look at social media culture, for example. Young women make posts where they self flagellate about inconsequential bullshit and the posts go viral and get loads of positive attention. Whereas when young women made a bunch of posts referring to relaxing in the bath as “self care”, they got slammed for being Lazy and now there’s a faction war about What Self Care Is between the young women who fawn by wearing makeup to look pretty for men and the young women who fawn by reassuring conservative boomers that they’re Responsible Adults who love bootstraps. (Yes, that is fawning. I am almost 40 and no decent person of our age wants to probe into your daily routine and give you a grade on it. You can ask for help but otherwise I just trust you to get on with it, as my older friends and colleagues did for me when I was in my 20s.)

Hell, look at feminism. If you call wearing makeup “empowering”, respond to the way men jerk off with one hand and point their finger with the other by simply saying “stop pointing; it’s fine!” and never addressing the way men treat women in the realm of sex, and are harder on women who are mad at their oppressors than you’ll ever be on a man who commits violence against women, everyone loves you. If you do an actual feminism, you get called an Evil Radfem/SWERF/TERF/misandrist and even the left circles the wagons to ostracise you.

So I am hard on people who participate in encouraging and rewarding passivity, anxiety and self-consciousness in women because as someone who has been through that myself, the more you feel that being passive, anxious and self-conscious makes you a Good Person and not being like that makes you a Bad Person, the harder it is to overcome it. The patriarchy wants us to spend our adulthood being afraid of putting a toe out of line and our liberation depends on us learning that this is brainwashing and deprogramming ourselves from it.

Lol one thing about female socialization I find crazy is like your entire childhood and adolescence you'll be discouraged from being an active agent in your own life and punished for stepping a toe out of line and then when you're an adult you get your ear talked off about how passive, anxious and self-conscious you are and how annoying it is.

[thalialunacy]

... I'm sixty seconds into TRF ('Sherlock' 3x3) and my brain is already leaping to these weird places, like

- Am I Very American, in the sense that our extremely narrow definition of masculinity tints my viewing of this?

- Because in no actual literal way do platonic dudes mourn friends this way in my experience (both IRL and pop culture).

- I've seen dudes at funerals and wakes and memorial services. (I'm 43, so.) And my circles of friends are on the Woke side, too, so they show more emotion than I would say is Normal American Man. But they STILL would not physically break down like John does repeatedly.

- Not to say my menfolk aren't sentimental or don't cry, but John's really and truly got the whole Wailing & Gnashing of Teeth thing going on, the English ex-soldier version at least, and that's just... not platonic in my reality.

- The only *almost* exception I can think of is service members. Goodness they get really emotional, which psychologically makes sense because of shared trauma.

- So, I guess? John's emoting could be labeled as a platonic shared trauma war buddies-esque reaction? Maybe?

- Or, hell, I could be projecting. The only thing I've ever reacted so strongly about is losing my cat(s) + bad breakups.

( - I would say The Fall counts as a bad breakup.)

- So on two levels (observational and personal) I just can't read Martin's performance as platonic.

- And yikes, now I'm a bit sad that my world (as in reality, not fandom) doesn't let straight men have such deep platonic connections.

- Oof.

[finniestoncrane]

There's Fire In Your Belly

Chapter 1

Percy Dolarhyde x Female!Reader, word count: 1.8k i cannot cope with how down bad i am for greasy bastards and cowboys any longer so here we are i guess. this was going to be a one-shot but i had a lot of feelings to get out...anyway, cheers to my lovely lil buds @sweetums0kitty and @e-moneyyy for encouraging this ;-; request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: language, misogyny, marking, ropes, guns, violence, voyeurism, forceful behaviour, spanking, bondage, posessiveness, mean cowboys with bad attitudes

Somewhat arid and lonesome, you had hoped the New Mexico territory would be a safe space for you. For so long all you had hoped for was to live normally, putting everything you had done, everyone you had been, behind you. No longer suffering from the outlaw status that dogged you, you were optimistic that the semi-isolated town of Absolution might be a safe place. And with enough distance between you and your past, it might never be able to catch up to you. A letter sent ahead to the inn, your luggage paid to be escorted by train and to be collected by the landlord, you chose to travel by horse. Stations were risky, there was always the possibility that you might be recognised from an old and faded wanted poster. There was no grey in this country. Everything was black and white, and in the eyes of the law you were once, and always would be, a criminal, no matter the circumstances that led you to that life.

But you were desperate to be normal now. You’d be calm, cause no problems. You’d strive to behave decently and work for a living. Some sense of stability, normalcy, no one to lead you astray who knew your proficient skills, all of which were devious and tended to lend themselves better to a life of robbery and violence. Pulling into the town, you hitched up outside of the general store, across the dirt crossroads from the inn where you waved at the man pulling your cases inside. Some provisions were needed for your journey to the outskirts of town, where you were set to start work on a ranch as one of the hands. Women’s work had never suited you, and no one had bothered when you said you were willing to work the women’s wage for the tougher work. Money was money, they were glad to pay you less, and you were glad to receive it.

Inside the store, the dust settled, glistening in the sun beams from the two windows at the front and back. Floorboards creaking under your step, you offered a polite and soft smile to the man behind the counter. He had looked you up and down, in your pants, shirt and boots, not befitting the ladylike ideals they instilled on women in a place like this. But your face had always been kind and welcoming, and that usually eased the gentle-senses of the menfolk. As you picked through the cans, tonics and medicines, you heard the ring of the bell at the front, not turning to check at first until you heard the voice call out.

“Well, hey there beautiful!”

You lifted your head from where you stared at the various tinned foods, but still kept your head and gaze forward. Not before you could feel his hot breath on your neck did you turn to the side slightly.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Sir!? Oh, I like you already.”

“I can’t say the same, if you’ll excuse me.”

He brought a hand up and rested it against your stomach, holding you back lightly from walking to the counter. The older man behind it began to speak.

“Now, Percy, ain’t no reason to-”

“I don’t remember askin’ you, old man.” He took a few slow and steady steps around to your front, looking down at you, his tall and slender frame somehow still imposing. As he spoke to you now, in such close quarters, you could smell the putrid, sweet stench of alcohol and years of grime on his breath. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“That doesn’t usually matter to your types.”

“So cold. It’s hardly befitting of a lady to speak to your superiors like that.”

“I don’t know who you are, mister, but no man who has walked in from the street is my superior.”

You attempted to side step and walk past him, but he met you, doing a short back and forth dance with you in the middle of the store, before he stepped forward and knocked you back, your body clattering softly against the shelves. He brought one hand up to lean on the shelf, close to your head. The other, he held in front of his face, inspecting his nails, the dirt underneath which was black and thick.

“I’m afraid I’m not just some man, darlin’. You’ll learn that soon enough. But why save yourself the embarrassment later” he leaned his face into yours, filthy fingers trailing up your forearm, “when you could just accept my interests now. It’ll be less humiliating for you when you come begging after me in the future.”

“Hmmm” you let out a contented sigh, smiling sweetly up at him, “if it ever happens, it will be safe to assume that I’ll have taken a kick to the head by some disturbed mule.”

“Can’t make you any dumber than you already are.” He laughed, hand grazing your arm and finding it’s way to your hip. The contact was too much. For all that you wanted to be decent. Pleasant, not a trouble in town, this was more than you could stand. With a quick, split-second movement, you brought your head back and quickly forward again, the perfect height to crack into the soft bump of his nose, which began to bleed profusely. Not as tough as he had been a minute ago, he let out a soft whimper and began stumbling to the door, blood trailing on the floor boards behind him. With a quick apology, and leaving more money than you had to, you paid for your goods and collecting them in your satchel, leaving the store and heading straight to the inn, not even making an effort to search the streets for this Percy character. Your bags were waiting in your room, key in your hand and assurance that a wagon had been hired to take you to your new job in the morning, despite the brief conflict there had been much worse days in your life.

A night’s sleep had done you the world of good. Barely thinking of your interaction with that man, who you knew you would likely never meet again, for more than five minutes after you had entered the odd luxury of four walls and a roof, a bath and a rest in a bed with a proper mattress had lightened your mood. Your luggage and provisions, as well as yourself, loaded into the wagon, you had set off on the entirely pleasant and mercifully short journey through fields and ranch boundaries to the ranch where you were to work and stay for the foreseeable future. Excited about the mundanity of it all, you were pleased to lay back on the wooden bed of the wagon and watch the clouds go by as you fast approached your new and normal future.

Your luggage was gathered at the other end by two fellow ranch hands, who showed you to the hand in charge and showed you your tent by the camp where the workers stayed. Some of them had wives, families, it was like a little community just on the edges of the main ranch buildings, across from the barn and a short walk from the main house. From where you were, you could see an older man standing on the porch, who began to walk over to you and the other hands. He was followed slowly behind by a younger looking figure. Upon reaching you, the older gentleman shook your hand, hesitating at first when he really took stock of how feminine your body was, obviously wondering if you would be able to keep up with the work you had agreed to take on. But your handshake was strong, and reassuring, and Colonel Woodrow Dolarhyde warmed to you quickly, thankfully. He gestured at the figure approaching at a sulking, glacial pace.

“And this is my son, he’ll show you around. I have business to attend to, if you’ll excuse me, miss.” He tipped his hat to you, before turning on his heel in the dirt and yelling after the other man. “Get a move on Percy!”

Your heart dropped. It couldn’t possibly have been the same one. There was no way on god’s green earth that fate could be this cruel to you. But as he approached closer, you could see the look of recognition in his face turn to sickening pleasure as he sneered at you. Not offering a handshake, he looked you up and down where you stood, gaze lingering on your frame.

“Looks like I am your superior after all, then.” He leaned in close, whispering into your ear. “And I am going to make you regret your actions in town, little lady.” He stepped back, laughing loudly and slapping your arm, smacking the back of another ranch hand who was standing off to your side.   “Now, ain’t you boys got work to do? Don’t be standing around here all day. Get to it you lazy asses!” He spat to the ground where they were standing.

The look of disappointment, of simmering rage, must have been plainly obvious on your face and you were making no effort to conceal it.

“You ok there, missy?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…what?”

You sighed

“Yes, sir. Mister Dolarhyde.”

“Mmm, sounds sweet.”

You turned to walk away from him and he gripped your arm, pulling you back around to face him, his fingers pressed into your skin as he held you in place, face close enough to yours that you could smell his breath again, just as overwhelmingly sickening as it had been the day before.

“I know you’re not as innocent as you play. I can see it in your eyes. There’s something just under the surface. No normal woman would dare pull what you did the other day. You’re a criminal, I can smell it on ya, and I don’t like the idea of a criminal on my property.”

The pressure of his fingers on your flesh, his dirty nails stabbing into you even through the flannel of your shirt, was enough to instil just a bit of fear in you. Not in reaction to Percy and his attempt at a brutish threat, but more at the build up inside of you that you struggled to suppress. The last thing you needed was to cause a fuss on the first day of your new life. Breathing in and out, slow and steady, you swallowed your words and smiled at Percy. It set him back, he narrowed his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he stared deep into your eyes as though he were trying to read your mind.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you, darlin’. First step out of line and I will see you shot myself. So, you best do exactly what I ask of you when I ask it.”

He brought his hand to your cheek, slapping it softly twice and pouting his lips out at you before letting go of your arm and allowing you to stumble back away from him before rushing to catch up with the other farmhands. As you walked away, you heard Percy whistling at you, but you were tempered enough not to give him any reaction at all.

[yallemagne]

the reincarnation plot from every bad dracula movie but make it queer

Preface:

Every time I go out for a walk I think about the goddamn reincarnation plot that movies use and I ask to myself “but what if it was Jonathan--” and then twenty years get taken off of my life as retribution. Basically most story ideas I have are “what if the bad thing happened to Jonathan”, and I refuse to reflect on what that entails. 

How most reincarnation plots go is that Dracula rifles through Jonathan’s bag and finds a picture of Mina and suddenly goes batshit as if he’s not seen a women in a thousand years (he totally has, he has three roommates). This happened in Nosferatu (don’t recall if it was bc she looked like his dead wife or he’s just an incel) and way too many other adaptations while having never actually happened in the book. 

But I can make the reincarnation plot gay AND stick more faithfully to the book. 

Okay lessgo--

When Jonathan finds the study:

Here I am, sitting at a little oak table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love letter, and writing in my diary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last. 

and

I determined not to return tonight to the gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars. 

Besides just screaming femme Jonathan, that’s perfect reincarnation fodder. You can play this as if he’s recalling his own memories of being Dracula’s forlorn wife worrying about him as he goes off to war. 

And then he meets the Weird Sisters, and he recognizes one of them:

The other was fair, as fair as can be, with great wavy masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face, and to know it in connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the moment how or where. 

Most people interpret the blonde vampire as being Dracula’s original wife and the two dark-haired vampires his daughters. Totally see that. Now, why does Jonathan recognize her? Blah, blah, she’s him, he’s her. 

The thing about most reincarnation plots though is that they always have the Sisters but they have no bearing on the plot. Hey Mina, your “hubby” has three women he keeps as pets, why don’t you ask WHO THEY ARE AND WHY HE DOES THAT TO THEM. But those would be rational questions. 

So anyway, how do dead vampire wife and living Jonathan wife exist at the same time? I mean, it could be that Dracula’s original wife wasn’t turned when she was alive. Perhaps the same deal with Satan he did to become immortal reanimated his wife’s corpse. But of course, her soul was gone. 

Whoopsies Dracula, you fucked up. 

"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me." The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him:—

"You yourself never loved; you never love!" On this the other women joined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang through the room that it almost made me faint to hear; it seemed like the pleasure of fiends. Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively, and said in a soft whisper:—

"Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so?"

I’m just gonna say, the blonde vampire’s response to Dracula staking his claim in Jonathan being “you’ve never loved”... foreshadowing. Even the corpse bride over here is like “bitch, I know you’re not gonna treat my soul right this time”. And I’m not the only one who has said Dracula looking at Jonathan and saying softly “Yes, I too can love” is pretty homosexual. 

Now you may think I’m veering towards Dracula/Jonathan, but Dracula is still an abuser, so no. 

With that said-- MINA!

She fetches Jonathan from the convent and they travel back to England, and Jonathan can’t help feeling severely out of place now. He spent so much time as a damsel in that castle, having past memories come to him in the form of nightmares, and then he spent his recovery surrounded by women who were sympathetic towards him and promise to keep the weird memory dreams secret. 

But now he’s in England, and he can hardly walk down the street without being a little genderqueer about it. 

And what is he supposed to think about his relationship with his gender when he’s not even sure these are his own feelings? Is he experiencing actual gender dysphoria towards being a man or are these just the thoughts of a long-dead woman? Doesn’t help if this is still set in Victorian England where if he were to confide these feelings in anyone, he could be institutionalized. 

Not to mention his relationship with Mina. Is he being deceptive towards her? He doesn’t know. He feels guilty for these newfound feelings. Does having a woman’s soul invalidate their relationship somehow? Does his previous relationship with Dracula invalidate it? Should he let her go so she can seek out a more worthy partner? The answer to all the questions are no of course, but this is a drama. 

I could go on and try to plot out an actual story on the spot, but the original intent of this was just to make a point that the reincarnation plot has more backing it if Jonathan is the reincarnated bride of Dracula instead. Which plenty of people have already said, but I'm giving my own talking points because I’ve been dying to okay.