#tw: prejudice

[ritterintahlia]

Am Freitag, 21. Juni zu Ende gelesen: Das Parfum von Patrick Süskind

Seit 2020 lese ich dieses Buch jeden Sommer; es ist mein Muss! Und gerade diese Ausgabe habe ich - nicht nur der Text (eine Parodie der Ära), sondern auch die Ausstattung ist dem 18. Jh. angemessen. Das Buch ist höchst lesenswert - aber man muss damit rechnen, dass es auch Elemente gibt, die nicht jedem gut tun, deshalb:

WARNING: murder, cannibalism mention, period-typical prejudice (1700s), violence

[swearphil]

Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy... || for @smblmn

[northlight14]

Look, I know the scene where Darcy is describing a truly accomplished woman is meant to be tense and stuff, but I can’t be the only one who thinks it’s hilarious that when Elizabeth told him off for it, he asked if she truly thinks so lowly of her own sex. That entire conversation is essentially

Darcy: for a woman to be accomplished, she has to live up to all these standards

Elizabeth: no one can live up to those standards

Darcy: wow, you don’t think women can be all those things? Sexist🙄

Elizabeth: bitch-

[mariocki]

RIP Christopher Benjamin (27.12.1934 - 15.1.2025)

"That was another reason, in a way, that I decided to give [stage acting] up, because I was getting a bit - a bit dicey with the lines. People sort of wrote down, quite often, the things I said... instead of the things I should have said. They were known as my bloopers: 'Benjamin bloopers'. Some of my inventions were very good, I must admit. My feeling was, if I dried, I had to say something - and so that something was something that amused the rest of the cast considerably, quite often."

[bethanydelleman]

what do you think would have been the most personally tragic (plausible) outcomes for each of the heroines?

Catherine Morland - She was somehow forced to ride in John Thorpe's gig for a third time.

Now I'll be serious. I refuse to imagine my dear Catherine in a tragedy.

Marianne Dashwood - Willoughby seduces her and she ends up pregnant and ruined. I've written this, twice. Also, she could have died from her fever

Elinor Dashwood - Edward marries Lucy Steele, she ends up resigning herself to a prudent but loveless marriage or never leaves home, occasionally hearing through her family that Edward is completely miserable

Elizabeth Bennet - marries someone she doesn't really respect and becomes a female version of her father

Jane Bennet - never gets over Bingley, eventually settles for a loveless marriage and it kills her inside

Fanny Price - Edmund marries Mary Crawford and Fanny watches in silent agony as she destroys Edmund's (weak) moral core and he becomes an entirely different person. William's ship is lost and Fanny never hears from him again

Emma Woodhouse - kind of cheating since it's in the book: Mr. Knightley does fall in love with Harriet Smith and stops coming to Hartfield as often, leaving Emma loveless and lonely

Anne Elliot - Captain Wentworth marries Louisa Musgrove out of duty, he also realizes his love for Anne but sees no way out. Anne remains within his sphere through her connection to the Musgrove family, she is aware that he loves her but there is nothing either of them can do about it. After a few years and two children, Wentworth confesses and Anne is forced to remove herself to the house of a distant family member. She eventually marries and Wentworth takes on more and more risks as a naval officer, leading to his ship being destroyed and his entire crew dying. He survives and feels so guilty that he eventually hangs himself, leaving his disillusioned wife and kids to fend for themselves (don't worry, Louisa has a great family and a good fortune).

Lady Susan - Sir James refuses to die and escapes all of her attempts like a clueless cartoon character who cannot be killed. Her daughter is also widely reported to be more beautiful than her.

[jomiddlemarch]

nobody can tell what I suffer

Elizabeth had her hand on the handle of the china coffee-pot when her aunt gently took hold of her wrist, the gesture as arresting as the expression in Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes.

“You should order tea instead, dear Elizabeth. And I’ve a receipt for ginger tea, a sort of tisane, which you may well prefer,” the older woman said softly, so that the gentlemen, engrossed in a discussion of trout-fishing, would not overhear. There was little risk, as Charles Bingley was as effusive about his lures as he was most anything that he found even slightly amusing. Jane had retreated to the nursery to see to her infant son, offering assurances that she trusted Elizabeth’s staff but she couldn’t enjoy the evening without looking in on the baby herself.

“You can tell so easily?” Elizabeth asked.

“A keen eye can see your color is not quite what it was, especially not after you smelled the coffee, though I should have thought the dressed crabs might be your undoing,” Mrs. Gardiner said.

“That’s a kind way of saying I’m green as an old cheese,” Elizabeth replied.

“For a good reason. The ginger will help, as several months.” 

“Six, I think,” Elizabeth said.

Posted (late again!) for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month Day 9, prompt: coffee and tea

[thegreeks]

A Fevered Return

Warnings: illness, fever

Synopsis: Mr. Darcy returns home to Pemberley to find his wife has taken sickly

The fog lingered in the cool morning air as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy rode his sturdy steed through the grand gates of Pemberley. The woodlands around him, vibrant with the deep hues of autumn, seemed to welcome him back with a warm embrace. Yet, an unwelcome tension was woven into the very fabric of the day.

Mr. Darcy had spent the last fortnight in London on business matters that had been pressing for some time. Though he had enjoyed the company of his sister, Georgiana, and the vibrant world of the city, his thoughts were perpetually preoccupied with one person: you, his beloved wife.

Darcy found himself straining to catch a glimpse of the familiar figures on the lawn, but he saw only a few servants going about their evening chores. As he dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting stable hand, he noticed something amiss.

The usual peaceful atmosphere was disturbed by a murmur of anxious whispers among the household staff, their glances flicking toward the upper windows. Darcy’s chest tightened as he approached the house, and his suspicions deepened when Mrs. Reynolds, his trusted housekeeper, met him at the door, her face drawn with worry.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” he greeted, trying to keep his voice steady, though unease was rising within him, “is all well at Pemberley?”

The older woman hesitated, her hands clasping and unclasping as she searched for the right words.

“Is my wife in? Where is she?” His voice was steadier than he felt, but inside, the worry clawed at him.

“Master Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds began hesitantly, “It is Mistress Darcy, sir. She was taken ill quite suddenly… I am afraid she has been confined to her chamber since."

Darcy’s blood ran cold, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. “And the doctor?” he demanded, his voice sharper than intended. He saw her wince slightly but couldn’t bring himself to apologize. The mere thought of you suffering was unbearable.

"We sent for the physician at first light, but he has not yet arrived. Her fever...it has worsened,” a tremor in her usually steady voice.

Without another moment’s delay, he rushed upstairs, the echo of his footsteps reverberating through the elegant corridors of Pemberley. He moved swiftly, his mind solely focused on reaching you.

When he entered your chamber, the sight that met him struck a blow deep within. He was met with the sight of you lying upon the bed, pale and frail beneath a thick layer of blankets, your hair fanned around you like a halo. Your usually rosy cheeks were flushed with fever, and your soft, closed eyelids showed no sign of the gentle awareness that always warmed his soul. He stopped just short of your bedside, his own heart shattering at the sight. The sight was more than he could bear.

The maid, who had been dutifully tending to you, dipped into a curtsy. “Master Darcy, sir.”

He waved her off with a brief nod. “Thank you. I will watch over her myself now.”

The maid slipped away, leaving Darcy alone with you in the quiet, the faint flicker of a candle illuminating a face that was all at once beloved and fragile. Without a thought, Darcy crossed to your side, pulling a chair closer as he knelt beside you.

His usually calm, controlled demeanor was then replaced by a fierce protectiveness he could barely contain. Gently, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your fevered brow. The sight of you—his dear, precious wife, the love of his life—lying helplessly ill stirred a deep sorrow within him.

“Dearest,” he murmured, barely recognizing his own voice. His thumb traced along the delicate line of your cheek, his touch featherlight for fear of disturbing you, heart lurching at how cold you felt against his skin.

He sat with you in a vigil of silence, his heart aching as he watched the slight rise and fall of your chest, praying it would steady and strengthen. He could recall every laugh, every quiet word you had ever shared with him, and the way your presence alone brought peace to his restless heart. The thought of losing you, of being without that comfort, was unfathomable.

As the hours passed, Darcy’s gaze never wavered from you, his fingers entwined gently with yours. He found himself murmuring softly, words of love and reassurances that you could not hear, yet he could not help but hope would reach you somehow. “You must fight this, my love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Pemberley is no home without you. I am no man without you.”

With every passing hour, his protectiveness only deepened. The responsibilities he bore for Pemberley, the Darcy lineage, and the family name had always been heavy, but tonight they were nothing compared to the weight of his love for you. If he could have taken your illness upon himself, he would have done so without hesitation.

As dawn broke, a soft light filled the room, casting a warm glow over your face. With it came a slight change—your breathing, still labored, grew a touch stronger. You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open, your expression softened with the gentleness he had fallen so deeply in love with.

The moment your gaze met his, a faint smile curved your lips as recognition dawned in your fever-brightened eyes, though nonetheless overshadowed by weariness. “Fitzwilliam,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper but unmistakably filled with affection. “You are home.”

Relief washed over him as Darcy swallowed hard, his heart nearly bursting at the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, my love,” he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips. “Rest. I am here.”

In an instant, it was replaced by an overwhelming need to protect you. He moved quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing your forehead to check for fever. He looked to Mrs. Reynolds, who hovered nearby, her face shadowed with concern. “Where is the doctor?” he called out, his voice strained, “has he not yet arrived?

Mrs. Reynolds shook her head, an apology in her expression. “He was delayed, sir, though I have sent word again. I expect he shall arrive soon.”

Darcy nodded tersely, suppressing his mounting frustration. To think that the well-being of his wife, her very life, might be vulnerable to the fickleness of fate was more than he could bear. Turning back to her, he leaned close, his thumb tracing soft circles over the back of her hand. “We must call once more. Is there anything at all you need?” he said, his voice low, as if speaking the words to her alone might fortify her. “I cannot—” His voice faltered. “I cannot imagine a world without you.”

You shook your head gently, stifling a cough that had begun to rise in your throat. “It’s but a fever,” you managed. “I will be well, in time." Your gaze softening despite the fever which clouded your eyes. “Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I am sorry to worry you so.”

Darcy’s heart broke at your courage. “No,” he retorted, his expression turning fierce with determination. “Do not speak of such things, I cannot allow you to suffer, my love. If the doctor is not here, we shall fetch the finest in Derbyshire. I cannot see you in this state.”

You looked at him, the strength of his presence overwhelming in the room. “Fitzwilliam, please. It is only the flu.”

“Only the flu?” The incredulity in his voice made your brow knit together. “You do not understand. I cannot bear to see you like this. You are everything to me.”

Your heart swelled at his passionate declaration. You reached for his hand with a newfound determination. “And you are my everything. But I promise, I shall recover. You have returned, and that is what I needed most.”

With a heavy sigh, Darcy surveyed your delicate form, every instinct screaming at him to do whatever it took to get you well again. “I cannot relinquish my worry. I must care for you.”

As if sensing his turmoil, you squeezed his hand with what little strength you had. “Then stay with me. Just stay.”

The sincerity in your plea made everything else fade away. Darcy nodded, his worries lingering but overridden by the need to be near you. “I shall not leave your side,” he vowed, a protective resolve building within him.

Through the night, he remained there, propped in that chair beside you, reading passages from his favorite novels to you, weaving stories of adventure and love that enveloped the room. He watched you closely, wiping your brow, and coaxing you to take sips of water, as the nurse had instructed, watching the gentle rise and fall of your breathing a rhythm that calmed him. He remained steady and resolute, each moment strengthening his resolve to guard your happiness, to cherish you, to protect you for as long as he drew breath.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, and the physician finally entered, his face lined with the haste of his journey. Darcy stood, his gaze steely as he turned to the man. “You are here to ensure her recovery,” he said quietly, his tone resolute. “Do whatever is necessary.”

The doctor nodded, moving to examine you as Darcy hovered nearby, his every muscle taut with tension. He watched, his heart in his throat, as the doctor murmured assurances, checked your pulse, and began the necessary ministrations. Time seemed to stretch unbearably, each passing second fraught with his own mounting dread.

“Mr. Darcy,” the doctor said at last, “have no cause for undue alarm. A nip of this fever you have contracted will take time, but with good care, I expect a swift recovery with rest and proper care.”

Though relieved, Darcy felt the weight of his fear only begin to lift. He knew he would not rest until he saw the color return to your cheeks, the light return to her eyes. “Thank you, Doctor,” he replied, his voice tempered, though the tension remained in his stance.

When the doctor had left, Darcy returned to your side, settling into a chair by the bed. He kept hold of your hand, kissing your knuckles softly. “You see? I will ensure you receive the best treatment, my love.”

You smiled faintly, your heart warmed by his fierce protectiveness. “You are a steadfast soul, Fitzwilliam.”

“Always for you,” he whispered, gazing into your eyes with an intensity that promised no matter the trial ahead, he would remain your unwavering partner, your shield against anything life might bring.

By evening, your fever began to break, and with it, Darcy allowed himself to exhale, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he watched the color slowly return to your cheeks. He felt an overwhelming gratitude fill his heart, knowing that you were strong, resilient, and, most importantly, still his.

As you drifted back into a peaceful slumber, he brushed a tender kiss upon your forehead. “Rest well, my love,” he whispered. “For as long as I am able, I shall be your strength.”

And so, in the heart of Pemberley, amidst the echoes of love and devotion, you began to recover, surrounded by the man who cherished you above all things—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, love would always light the way home.

[discount--dracula]

this little FREAK got their first two chapters on ao3

[sasakisniko]

No offense Jane, but that sounds like some hetero nonsense.

@wlwgif‘s pride week - day 2 - movie: Fire Island

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

Cassandra had not been cursed by Apollo.

Here, this is a version that hardly anyone knew: the common opinion was that Apollo, falling in love with her, offered her the gift of prophecy, and offended by her refusal, he cursed her never to be believed.

In reality, Cassandra was born with the gift of the foresight, as was her twin Helenus.

But while her brother, with a much weaker gift, was held in high esteem, she had to keep quiet. Because she was a woman, and women were never listened to.

Cassandra knew since she was five that no one would listen to her because she was missing a piece, and that they would blame a god to justify it.

Perhaps it was true that Apollo had cursed her, perhaps not. But if a person decided not to listen to someone just because of the genre, it wasn't the fault of a god, but of the human being that had chosen based on their prejudices.

[princesssarisa]

Since @bethanydelleman has been posting about blatantly wrong statements that have been made about Pride and Prejudice (by one specific author, but that author isn't the only one who does it), I thought I would share a minor one I once read.

I once came across an online discussion of Mrs. Bennet, which (rightly) criticized the tenancy of fanfic to portray her as having abused Elizabeth all her life.

Amid the accurate arguments that just because Elizabeth is Mrs. Bennet's least favorite daughter doesn't mean she abuses her, there was one inaccurate claim. Someone wrote that we shouldn't assume Elizabeth is really Mrs. Bennet's least favorite daughter, per se, because Mrs, Bennet "only says it in a tantrum" after Elizabeth rejects Mr. Collins' proposal.

Except that's not true.

It's not Mrs. Bennet herself who says calls Elizabeth her least favorite daughter; it's the omniscient narrator. And not during Mrs. Bennet's anger about the rejected proposal either. On the contrary, the narrator says it when Mrs. Bennet happily thinks Elizabeth is going to marry Mr. Collins, as an explanation of why she was less excited about that pending marriage than about Jane and Bingley's.

Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children; and though the man and the match were quite good enough for her, the worth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.

While it certainly doesn't make Mrs. Bennet an abusive mother, the fact that Elizabeth is her least favorite daughter is canon.

That passage above might also undermine the popular claim that Mrs. Bennet is only being practical and trying to secure her own future and her daughters'. If this were true, then wouldn't Elizabeth's apparent pending marriage to Mr. Collins be her greatest joy, since it would ensure that she could still live at Longbourne with them after Mr. Bennet dies? Yet her response is effectively just "Meh... that's nice... but Jane and Bingley!" She doesn't seem to care much about it until Elizabeth makes it clear that it won't happen. I'm very much a proponent of "Both Bennet parents are bad in different ways," and just because Mrs. Bennet has some valid concerns and is treated badly by her husband doesn't mean she deserves much defense.

[sharonisthebettercarter]

"i was a child."

"they were scared!"

sound familiar?

"i'm scared of you."

she was just the first domino.

fuck your fear. fuck your prejudice. fuck your abuse.

"--thank you for finally being honest with me."

[your-local-aaa-battery]

My heart is broken for Ryan Gainer. No one deserves to die simply for being black and autistic. We must fight for the rights of all autistics, because no one will do it for us.

It is so close to autism awareness month, and my heart hurts knowing just how many people face the same discrimination for simply having a disability and being a POC.

I urge everyone to share and reblog as many posts as they can. Get the internet’s attention! Because we need everyone if we are going to continue the fight for justice for Ryan Gainer.

Rest in Power, Ryan Gainer

[mijuki]

When you thought the first page of your sketchbook is perfect but then this happens…

[theladyinwhite13]

.

[fairytalelagoon]

Jane Austen March Movie Marathon // Films Watched