#lezzies my dears

[lesboevils]

being a lesbian is actually an incredibly freeing label.

#lezzies my dears #where are you #ofelia.txt

[dastardly-homo-writing]

(Queer) Pride and Prejudice || Chapter One

I am going to rewrite the entirety of Pride and Prejudice to be lesbian (and otherwise queer). Let's be real, we need a butch Darcy. Yes, I am a dyke, and yes, I am a literature major. Who else would write this fanfiction.

I know this may have been done before many times, but I have not personally been a reader of any of these, so any commonalities will be coincidental and all props go to those writers. Get ready, this is going to be a wild ride.

_________________________________

Chapter One: The Bennets Discuss a Hot New Bachelorette in Town

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a good fortune (and a costly, designer backpack), must be in want of a wife. 

However little known the feelings or views of such a woman may be on her first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that she is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. 

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?” 

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.  

“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Longfinger has just been here, and she told me all about it.”  

Mr. Bennet made no answer.  

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently. For a fleeting moment, her mind was overcome with memories of her butch fling as a youth vacationing in Paris. Indeed, Bella had been a responsive conversationalist. Mr. Bennet, on the other hand…

“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.” 

This was invitation enough. 

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Longfinger says that Netherfield is taken by a young woman of large fortune from the north of England; that she came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that she agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that she is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of her servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.” 

“What is her name?” 

“Bingley.” 

“Is she married or single?” 

“Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single woman of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”  

“How so? How can it affect them?” 

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of her marrying one of them.”  

“Is that her design in settling here?” 

“Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that she may fall in love with one of them, in which case they shall undoubtedly be married within the month, and therefore you must visit her as soon as she comes.” 

“I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Ms. Bingley may like you the best of the party if she’s of the Paulman disposition.” 

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.” 

“In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.” 

“But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Ms. Bingley when she comes into the neighbourhood.” 

“It is more than I engage for, I assure you.” 

“But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know, they visit no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit her if you do not.” 

“You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Ms. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure her of my hearty consent to her quickly marrying whichever she chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lezzie.” 

“I desire you will do no such thing. Lezzie is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia; only her nickname suggests any remote sense of humour. Though it’s a tad on the nose. But you are always giving her the preference.” 

“They have none of them much to recommend them,” replied he; “they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lezzie has something more of quickness than her sisters.” 

“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least.” 

“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.” 

“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young, strong women of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.” 

“It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.” 

“Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all.” 

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news. 

__________________________________

A/N: Stay tuned for Chapter Two, where we meet the aptly-named Lezzie.

Also going to cross-post on AO3 eventually!

#(Queer) Pride and Prejudice #pride and prejudice #jane austen #darcy #lesbian #queer #literature #fanfiction #i am going to rewrite the entirety of pride and prejudice but they're lesbians or otherwise queer #butch darcy #because i want darcy to be butch #sorry not sorry

[wuornosblog]

4-8-92

Dear Dawn, So WOW! 20 big bad years ago, since we’ve last seen one Another! Is this M. S. you’ve got, a disease that could cripple (or) kill you. My goodness, I wondered just what you’ve done, in all those years. Hope you’ve had fun. Mine had been a struggle. On the road untill 20. married 60 days, back on the road until 21, 25 went to prison for three years, 28 turned lezzy. First lover, ripped me off then left. And oh God was I in love with her. Then I looked for a replacement, found tyria. Still love her after 4½ years, and am fixin now to die, as soon as time will let me. Exciting life huh! Geez! . . . Man I studied phychology, Theology, Archeology, the nervous system, The Brain, algerba, Anatomy, read the Bible four times in its entirety, politics, and so much more. What errks me is these people think there written to a 9th grade dropout, who did nothin but drugs. And is worthless and needs to die, and before she does, lets get some bread off her, fame she has won. Myself I hadn’t that planned. The cops did that one. Just for there own crooked ass fabricated movie there working on. With no other than my ex lover. She’s lying through her ass that it wasn’t self defense. Cause she’s been promised by the cops hundreds of thousands of dollars, and no matter how much I loved her, and showed it to her. she’s willing to take me down, for the almity dollar. Ironically I still love her too. Thats because of all the memories of all the “Good times” we shared together . . . Well ol’ lost buddy. Sending more pictures of you of everyone if you can . . . If you could some day soon. Would you please take a couple color photo’s of my old house. It sits accross the Maddox’s . . . Please do. I’d like to see if my Mothers flowers are still around. And her trees she raised . . . Doesn’t 20 years seem as if it was yesterday? . . . 4-now Lee

#diary entry #aileen wuornos #DearDawn

[the-moon-loves-the-sea]

Ask game! Share 10 different favorite characters from 10 different pieces of media in no particular order. Then send this to 10 people (anon or not, your choice). Have fun!

Thank you dear!!

...How many characters from OFMD am I allowed? :D

Bill Potts, Doctor Who. Bill, my sunshine, my fashion icon, my best-of-humanity, my favorite lezzie. Long may she roam.

Sam Gamgee, LOTR. Bravest and tenderest and truest of hobbits, a friend and a lover, a man who understands the importance of good seasoning. I want to be him when I grow up.

Emma, Emma. :D I was named for her, I identify more and more with her year by year, I am endlessly enamored with her wholeheartedness, and I feel for her bullheaded bitchy bossy regrets. Humanest of humans, gayest of unselfaware gays.

Aziraphale, Good Omens. My guardian angel, my guide out of Heaven's good graces, my favorite book-hoarding autistic self-deluding epicure. The epitome of a lover, not a fighter.

Reepicheep, Narnia. The rare true idealist who still manages profound kindness, the most devoted of warriors, the clearest-headed leader of mice or men. He kept the hearts of his comrades to the end; and what an end.

The entire crew of the Revenge and their two captains, OFMD. I can't separate them. They're a delight (if a bit rough 'round the edges) individually, but all together they're magic. I'll steer by their lighthouse any day.

Hob Gadling (my newest adopted), Sandman. Give me a man who will look the Endless in the eye and defy the worst the world can throw at him and every offer of escape and ask for more life, and offer his love besides, as many times as it takes for it to be accepted!!

Jo March, Little Women. My dear girl, my first queer role model, my sister in hot-tempered often-restless good intentions. I am so thankful I had her through my growing up years--had her rough honesty as a star to light my way.

Bilbo Baggins, The Hobbit. I have a Smaug tattoo on my shoulder, surrounded by stars, to remind me of him; and when I see something broken in the world that breaks my heart I have his voice in my head saying "I will help you get it back, if I can."

Dr. Watson, Sherlock Holmes. Any story told in his kind, wry, curious, bighearted way becomes a story told by a friend, and I can’t imagine a truer companion for anyone than he is for Holmes. Wherever I find them, in any iteration, the warmth Watson brings to their world and the generous love with which he looks at Holmes (as sensitive, contradictory, prickly and odd a secret romantic as I am) makes me feel I’m at home.

#thank you for the ask!! #ask game #my loves

[lensiab]

any other lesbian clusters have token trans fag. my dear dear friend owen is the other one in a group of lezzies

[seclouth-wonders]

sys intro <3

hisoka!! i'm tge host and i'm frontstuck like 99% percent of the time. i'm an adult and go by he/ink/lock respect my pronouns or fucking perish !! uhhmm my faceclaim is demongutzz on twt <3. oh also!! i'm taken so..?? please don't flirt with me unless it's jokingly i might sob on tge spot

astro - good MORNING sysblog how are we feelinf. my name is astrology but don't call me that unless u're vega :]!! i'm also an adult and i use he/nyah prns :purr: uhhmm i'm an identity v fictive because life doesn't wabt me to be happy! i wont specify because i'm disconnected snd specification of who i am makes me uncomfortable, super sorry..;! also taken and not looking for anything else

Lezabel. I use they/it pronouns, I'm taken and not very open to anything else. I'm legal. Ask about me if you'd like to know more but don't be pissed if I don't feel like sharing.

Ouro!!! 17 years old, he/jester, uhhh!'!!!!!!! No source! I'm barely near frknt most of us aren't! Since Hisoka is host all yhe time. Single! I'm very single!! Plus I'm dyslexic 😘 Living the life! Everyone here but Lezzy is dyslexic actually ‼️ Uhh use tone tags around me!! Please!

Margaretha/Margie, either works! I use she/her <3 I'm 25, I'm an Identity V fictive, and there's not much to say after that? I'm a gatekeeper,, Uh! I spend more time with everyone else other than my subsys, it's. Weird. Please use tonetags around me and enjoy your stay <3

Ohh dear ,, uhh. My name is Liar !! Yeah. He/him unless we're close, then I'll spill my neos. There isn't much to say? I'm nineteen <3 And I'm taken! Not looking. I'm quite boring how do I talk about myself

#🔪 sunset slasher #🎹 beloathed #🖤 euphoria #🃏 joker! #🕊️ collectively us #🎠 Dancer #💋 unfortunate

[hellomynameisbisexual]

5 Ways That Bi Erasure Hurts More Than Just Bisexual People

December 2, 2014 by Milo Todd

This year, Bisexual Awareness Day/Celebrate Bisexuality Day was on September 23rd.

That same day, the National LGBTQ Task Force thought it’d be a good idea to post an article entitled “Bye Bye Bi, Hello Queer,” in which leadership programs director Evangeline Weiss said “she is ready ‘to say bye bye to the word bisexuality.’

She said it does not describe her sexual orientation, and she encouraged readers to cease using the word as well as she felt it reinforced a binary concept of gender.

Let me drive that home a little more. The National LGBTQ Task Force not only thought it would be a good idea to publish an article insulting, misrepresenting, and forsaking the bisexual letter in their own name, but did so on Celebrate Bisexuality Day.

Rude.

And a fantastic example of the constant, ongoing erasure bisexual people have to deal with. This one just happened to be incredibly blatant.

What happened as a result of that article? People got pissed.

People got so pissed that the Task Force not only removed the article from their website, but posted in its place this non-apology (it keeps being referred to as an apology, but I’m not so easily pleased): “Having listened to a wide array of feedback on the timing and content, we recognize that this blog offended people. For this we sincerely apologize. It has been removed.”

In other words, “Sorry you got pissed off. Hopefully you’ll shut up if we take it down.” Which, as far as I can tell, isn’t much of an apology for a blatant disregard of an entire community of people.

Misunderstanding of the bisexual community has been the crux of biphobia’s history and the ongoing battle to erase bisexuality from the LGBTQIA+ community.

It’s a scary time to be bi, especially when your lesbian, gay, pansexual, and queer siblings and allies are calling for your blood simply because they’ve fallen victim to the mainstream agenda without realizing it. (Say what?! Jump to #5.)

It’s time for a change.

It’s time for all of us to properly understand one another and to — hope of hopes — become allies for our incredibly similar endeavors. To help initiate that friendship, I ask you, dear reader, to go through the following three steps.

Step 1: Look below. If I’ve played my cards right, virtually every reader should find at least one category with which they identify.

Step 2: Approach your designated section(s) with an open mind, an unprejudiced heart, and a desire to further enhance your own community/ies. It’s difficult for people to learn new things and see different views if they automatically approach them with resistance, which is often the case with bisexual topics.

Step 3: See how bi erasure hurts you as a person and, while you’re at it, likely hurts the people you care about. Because it really is happening.

So here are five ways in which bi erasure is hurting people of layered identities.

1. Female-Identified People and Feminists

Bisexuality is one of the only non-monosexual* identities currently recognized in the English-speaking world. If bisexuality is kept underground, it suppresses our limited, precious resources for open discussion about non-monosexuality. This hurts female-identified people and feminists regardless of their sexual orientation.

To this day, female-identified people can’t get a fair shake. Pay is unequal, birth control access is limited, and objectification is a daily thing. Non-monosexual women in particular are often not taken seriously because they’re seen as sluts, greedy, or unable to make up their minds.

Also, the general fetishizing of women is particularly intensified in the bisexual realm by (straight-identified) men, turning the very act of women’s sexual freedom, empowerment, and self-expression into nothing more than something for male gazes. (This is most often seen through the relentless prompts for female-female-male threesomes and masculine catcalls in bars when two femme-appearing women make out.)

By participating in or casually allowing bi erasure to happen, we’re ignoring the specific plights and abuses of bisexual women, thereby contributing to the ongoing problem of female inequality, objectification, and silence.

As feminists, we can’t pick and choose which women to fight for. The complexities of womanhood — and all of its cultural suppressions — are an all-or-none deal.

*Note: Non-monosexuality usually refers to someone who is interested in more than one sex or gender. (In other words, somebody who isn’t gay, lesbian, or straight.) Another way to say “non-monosexuality” would be “polysexuality” to help keep it from sounding negative.

2. Male-Identified People and Male Liberationists*

Just like with female-identified people and feminists, bi erasure hurts male-identified people and male liberationists regardless of their sexual orientation.

Allow me to make this pretty basic: Men continue to be fed the message that being gay is bad. Being gay means you’re not really a man, which means you lose your dude membership and the bulk of your male privilege. And since gayness equals the slightest shred of attraction to or intimacy with another male, all manners of bromance must be squashed.

In short, many guys live in a state of silent terror in this regard.

Bi men are afraid of being banished from the world of lady-loving, gay men are worried about losing all of their connections to hetero land, and nothing is worse for a straight man than being called a fag.

Constant monitoring, constant filtering, constant stress: Is this really the kind of world we guys want to keep living in?

By being able to talk about bisexuality — remember: one of our only non-monosexual identities — male-identified people can begin to break free from the masculine ideal.

Bi talk helps bridge the gap between being a man (straight) and not being a man (gay) and realizing, hey, having some manner of attraction to or intimate interaction with another guy is totally okay, masculinity unscathed.

Gay men can begin to regain their identities as men, bi men can finally start coming out, and “fag” will lose its strength as an insult from one straight man to another.

*Note: Male liberationists are more or less seen as allies to feminists and vice versa. Both will argue that patriarchy is bad, but while feminists talk of how it’s bad for females, male liberationists talk of how it’s bad for males. Examples include the inability to romantically or sexually love another male, the emasculation of men of color, and the physical, verbal, and mental abuse that comes from society’s expectations to be stereotypically masculine.

3. People Who Identify as Trans Sexual, Trans Gender, Genderfluid, Genderqueer, or Gender Non-Conforming

This one’s pretty easy. Some people on the trans spectrum identify as bisexual. But then they’re told they can’t or that it’s an insult to their trans siblings because bisexuality is believed to be trans-exclusive.

The problem with bi erasure is it adds to the ongoing problem of cis people — LGQ or not — telling trans people what to think. Cis people have a bad habit of thinking they need to speak for people on the trans spectrum even when trans people are quite capable of speaking for themselves. This is even more frustrating when it comes from a community supposedly meant to support them.

Despite the personhood for which they’re continuing to fight, trans people can receive backlash from the lesbian, gay, and queer communities as their identities and bodies are turned into political battlegrounds.

Sometimes, they’re used without consent by some cis individuals so that points can be made for non-trans-specific agendas, and sometimes they’re ironically used in the attempts for cis identities to help better the trans worlds.

For instance, automatically dismissing bisexuality as trans-exclusive and guilting any person on the trans spectrum that wants to identity as bisexual, if I may make so fine a point.

As blogger Aud Traher writes, “If you want to support trans people like me, don’t erase me or speak over me or cause me harm out of self-righteous biphobia. Look into yourself and deal with that internalized biphobia and then help others get over theirs. Don’t advocate for the destruction of a community in the name of ‘saving’ it. And, especially, don’t do it in my name.”

4. People Who Identify as Gay, Lesbian, or — Yes — Straight

Quite simply, it makes gays and lesbians (and straight people) look bad, too.

Bisexual people get a bad rap for apparently upholding the gender binary by saying they love only (cis) men or (cis) women, but isn’t that pretty much exactly what gays, lesbians, and straight people are saying when they identify as gay, lesbian, or straight? That they’ll only love either (cis) men or (cis) women?

But where’s their rampant backlash from the rest of the community for upholding the gender binary? I’m just sayin’.

Even when these groups extend their definitions to include trans people and people on the gender non-conforming spectrum, it’s often still as long as those trans people exhibit some manner of gender representation that falls into the lover’s category of desire.

Now, I’m honestly not trying to rag on gays, lesbians, or even straight people. They have as much right to identify how they want as anybody else. And there’s nothing wrong with feeling primarily attracted to only, say, cis or trans men if your brain simply tells you that you only like guys. That’s fine. Go ahead and do that. I’m not saying you can’t.

What I am saying is you can’t be spewing bi hate or letting bi erasure slide because 1) it’s incredibly one-sided and unfair, and 2) in the end, it’s making you look bad, too.

What do you think will happen if bi erasure is a success? You’ll be next, dears.

*cue Jaws theme*

5. People Who Identify as Queer, Pansexual, or Another Fellow Non-Monosexual

In late October, Lizzy the Lezzy — who I quite enjoy, by the way — shared a photo on her Facebook timeline explaining sexuality in terms of guests at a BBQ.

This would be all well and good if it didn’t include a glaring misconception about bisexual people, especially when compared to pansexuals. While bisexual people were defined as getting both hot dogs and hamburgers, pansexuals were defined as getting hot dogs, hamburgers, “and a salad.” Oops. What year is this again?

I’m going to make something very plain to you, dear reader: Bisexual people don’t just love (cis) men or (cis) women. That’s not how the ballpark definition goes. The “bi” in “bisexual” does not indicate a binary. Well, okay, it does indicate a binary, but probably not the one you think.

Instead of “bi” meaning a love for only cis men or cis women or otherwise putting men and women at two opposite ends of a spectrum, “bi” means a love for identities bisexual people identify with themselves and identities that they don’t.

Or, as the popular Robyn Ochs definition goes: “I call myself bisexual because I acknowledge that I have in myself the potential to be attracted – romantically and/or sexually – to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree.”

Look at that very closely. That’s still a binary. That’s still “bi.” And there isn’t a thing wrong with it, no exclusion to be seen.

When compared with the general concepts of pansexuals and queers, our orientations suddenly sound pretty darn similar: We love everyone.

Bisexual people get a bad rap for apparently being transphobic. While we’ve already seen a little bit in #3 as to why we aren’t, I want to further drive the point home here. A large portion of the transphobic accusations toward us come from the queer and pansexual communities, which in turn seem to derive from some serious misinformation and misdirection by the mainstream.

For the record, queers and pansexuals are cool. I like them. But the fact of the matter is that the misconception of the “bi” in “bisexual” as meaning an attraction to only (cis) men or (cis) women — and therefore upholding the gender binary — was created and imposed upon bisexual people by the mainstream. You know, the people that want the gender binary to stick around.

And some queers and pansexuals ate the propaganda they were fed? That’s terrifying. It starts to show just how large and sneaky the mainstream’s gender binary monster truly is.

By defining and erasing bisexuality on the grounds that it upholds the gender binary, pansexuals and queers are not only reinforcing the binary they so sorely wish to dismantle, but they are losing important focus on where the problem actually resides: the mainstream’s insistence to force the gender binary on non-mainstream groups such as bisexual people.

Further, holding bisexual people responsible for the abuse they’ve suffered is simply wrong. All that’s doing is blaming the victim. But, by recognizing and respecting bisexual people as they truly are, bisexual people can not only help dismantle the gender binary and put a new definition on the concept of the spectrum, but finally be allowed to team up with pansexuals and queers to crush mainstream abuse on non-mainstream identities.

Doesn’t that sound nice? I think it sounds nice.

TL;DR

Dear non-bisexual identities, please stop shooting yourselves in the foot and then wondering why you’re missing toes.

We’re here for the same reasons you are: for the right to love whoever we want and for the right for others to do the same.

So let’s finally be friends. We’re never going to get anything done if we keep spending our time putting each other down.

#bisexuality #lgbtq community #bi #lgbtq #support bisexuality #bisexuality is valid #lgbtq pride #pride #bi pride #bi tumblr #bi erasure #bisexual love #bisexual male #bisexual education #bisexual youth #bisexual nation #lgbt+ community #bisexual community #lgbt education #respect bisexuality #support bisexual people

[dansedan]

digging through stuff to submit to a writing contest, so here are two original short stories written about a year apart which I’m still generally proud of!

That Which Flesh Is Heir To

Death

The word seemed funny, coming out of her dainty mouth. She seemed too small, her voice too high-pitched in attempted formality. Her German thick with effort. It was one of the major themes of religious art across Europe at the time, she said. She waved her thin arms around her with every word, a little too excitedly, as if using a conductor’s meter to elicit some response from our group. Fear of death was useful to the church: for the sake of convincing the uneducated masses to maintain faith, and to benefit from the guilt of nobles, since their main role then was still in warfare.

Our class was moving on, the teacher rounding up stragglers and signaling the entrance to the next hall. It was filled with statues and paintings and marble, floor to ceiling wrapped in colors much like this one. My feet refused to obey her order, standing instead unflinchingly in front of the statue. In front of her. I couldn’t bear to move my gaze from the figure’s eyes, blank and hollow, despairing. The world blurred around the single point of bitter fate ensconced in marble.

Do you want to see something interesting? I hadn’t expected her to address me. She had moved now- we were side by side- giving off warmth from the proximity of her bare shoulders to my arm. I forced myself to nod, and felt a movement, something stiff and hot against my ear- something plastic. I like to listen to it, sometimes, she was saying, so close to me. It reminds me of this statue. Her fingers brushed the shell of my ear. It was Mozart, and the soft wailing choral voices seemed to echo my emotions as her fingers wilted back into her hand and away from me.

We stood there for a moment, lost in the crowd of museumgoers. An island in their midst, and in that second all I could think was do not let this go. This feeling, this fire in the pit of your stomach, this hollow feeling in your chest that’s rising to your head do not let this go. The violins and chorus and the marble. The cherubs in the vaulted ceiling smiling down with knowing, cruel smiles. Her collarbone and silver band across her chest do not let them go. The chatter of the crowd- Italian and Spanish and Croatian or Dutch. Do not let them go. Not for one second of your life. Do not forget this.

And I felt her press into my side, and touch my shoulder gently. She was whispering into my chest it’s alright, let it out it’s alright I’ve done it too. It’s helped me too, I’ve done it too let it out. I’ve cried here too, I’ve done this too. I feel it too. And as she held me I was shaking. Please do not forget this. Do not let this go.

All that flesh makes willing

Our affair was brief- I was a tourist- but she was beautiful, and cold only in the literal sense common for women of her stature. A thin white thing, like the marble she’d been surrounded with at work. Chestnut hair draped across her shoulders, to the collarbone- I’d never till then comprehended why dress codes, in my country, called to cover the collarbone. I could (and often did) end up staring at her for hours, willing her to be my muse, to make me make something, but she was so pragmatic that she often ended all of these discussions by smiling (I could hear it in her voice, the smiling) and requesting some menial favor. “could you please buy cigarettes”, or  “pass me the salt-shaker”, or “isn’t it late now?”, anything. But she was beautiful, so I did it for her, anyhow.  And so it happened that by the end of the three months stay I’d agreed upon with my agent for the residence the only thing I’d made from her was a larger pile of laundry and a couple embarrassing purchases- underwear, linens, whatever. And even in the final moments, at the train station, she only smiled and said good-bye and told me not to drift off when I was travelling alone, that the front of the train was still dangerous. And she smiled small and nodded sternly as she walked away, foot over unbearable foot blending together in an undulating gesture. And I stood there, dumb and half-blind (the irony) with agony but not saying anything, and eventually I checked my watch and it said it was midnight when I’d almost missed my ticket and got stranded (sometimes I wish I’d allowed that, then. Walked back to her apartment and killed her with kisses, refused to leave. But I was too pragmatic and my rent was due a couple days and I never understood how visas worked) and I made it in by running and forsook her wisdom, sleeping straight to Britain with only a couple minutes of half-lucid awareness where I denied wet towels and assistance transferring train cars.

It was only several months later that I let myself remember her, thick on the tail of another woman as I usually was, reminiscing my journeys from that summer until I suddenly stumbled upon those moments where we’d pressed together, where her smallness met the empty vast of my own hollowed chest and we breathed light the night into the daybreak. And at this memory I at once ached, and softly sighed around my daily life for days again without reprieve, reprimanding myself for forgetting her so quickly, as one does when stirred from sleep when dreams handcrafted by your mind so soon escape you. When the London rain was blue and humid bog-warm I would pace around the city with my coat on wandering. As if I could find her this way somehow. After weeks then I resolved I’d make her- as I was still convinced she had been my muse then- and conscripted through some not insignificant haggling the help of a dear friend to trot to the museum one brief moment to peruse their own swathe of Roman marble as material.

“So you bedded some Italian and now you can’t get over it- what’s with the statues?”

“We met at the museum”

“’The Museum’,” she said mockingly. “You were in Italy, Eva, which bloody museum?”

“The statue-room at the Uffizi”

“there’s more than-“

“she’s the guide there- speaks ten languages. She’s so clever…” I wondered ‘round the room. Bright blue walls surrounded the bright stone figures, seeming almost like a classroom round. “She was beautiful, Hannah.”

She stood still by the entrance- we were alone, and it was all quite quiet, a weekday near the start of June drew little people here. For a few tentative steps, her boots clacked loudly on the tile.

“…how did you meet her anyway?”

“Well, she’s the tour guide.”

“Well most people don’t shag the tour guide, genius.”

We were standing, shoulder-shoulder facing Venus in the corner of the rounded hall. Rather striking, must be- pair of stone-hard lezzies facing just that goddess. Hannah’s fuzz-buzz haircut and her stiff-wool coverall next to my own shaggy hair and rounded shades indoors. My sight-cane stuck to my Martens, clacking with my tics and movements (base-floor-base-floor-base-floor-base-floor).

“Well there was this pair of wrestlers, and I suppose she pegged me just the type then, looking at them close.”

“ah. Gotta love the Romans.”  

“She’s so clever. Did you know she knew the story behind all the statues even, all about the burial sites and everything?”

“M’pretty sure they’re trained to do that”

“but she was clever. She’s really clever.”

“Jolly good then.”

I had to turn then- same comforting brown-orange smudge of longtime friendship as was usual- grab at her elbows till we were close enough to see the limits of her own round ruddy face.

“Hannah dear, I think I love her.”

“I think you’re spitting on me, Eva.” And she grabbed my shoulders playfully and pinched them tight within her plush palms. “and that you probably need to shag someone else and get back on your medicine.”

“you don’t get it, she was beautiful. She was-“ and here I very grandly gestured to the marble next to us, taking a risk and hoping we were still next to the Venus somehow since I’d lost my footing on how many steps inside I’d taken (and taking a risk that I’d maybe slap a piece of ancient history in the process). “prettier than this one, even.”

And Hannah was silent, because she knew better than to mention my blindness, and I dreaded to feel her being right about something I felt so strongly on.

“you don’t…her collarbone- she’s just. So pretty, so-” I hate my blubbering- this small pathetic schoolchild voice I make all suddenly- but soon her arm was back on my shoulder and she was moving close so I could see orange and grey in us fuzzing together, feel her strong arm on my back and nape. And she said “ alright, I believe you”  and “let’s just get you home now”  and we did, gone on the underground riding all the way together although she lived in Surrey and was supposedly only visiting for the day, and she sat in my apartment with the kettle on while I dragged a canvas out of the storage and started glopping color on it, thinking of the nearness of her face in the warm green summer nights of Florence then. Until I tired myself out at night and we just sat still staring at the wall with it, sharing cups of lukewarm grocery-bag tea with no sugar in and staring, staring, staring long and hard and in remembrance. And I wasn’t sure if that’s what she looked like because it had been so long and such a distance. And I felt then perhaps her smile sounded different to the painting, but Hannah spoke after a while of silence saying, “beautiful she is, then.” And that moment I felt fine and shut the door again on feelings- like at the train station back then- and melted into the naked brown of my friend’s shoulder, soft and dark and oaken-sure. And I willed me to forget myself.

#my writing

[angelhummel]

oh dear god, i cannot properly convey just how much i cringe at those those OTP hats, and the fact that santana gave a whole ass lil speech about it?? like jesus i know this is glee but why would you just personify 2015 tumblr and put it on a show

All their meta jokes about everyone’s relationships were especially cringe. Like Brittany telling Sam about some community of online lesbians who love her and Santana together and would get angry at seeing her with a boy. We don’t have time to unpack all of that lmao

And oh god, Kitty’s dumb ass “If you’re gonna go lezzy with a cheerleader, I think the world is kind of rooting for you and Quinn Fabray” like lmao shut up shut uppp I don’t want dumb meta jokes I just want decent relationship content please god

I could talk about some other heavy handed meta “jokes” in s6 but due to the eternal sunshine of my sue-less mind, I don’t remember it :)

#glee #lol glee #asks #answered #season 6 #my thoughts #Anonymous

[dastardly-homo-writing]

(Queer) Pride and Prejudice || Chapter Two

Thank you so much to anyone who read the first chapter! I’ll be attempting to get out as many chapters as possible before uni starts again.

Without further ado, let’s meet Lezzie.

__________________________

Chapter Two: Lezzie Makes A Brief Appearance

Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Ms. Bingley. He had always intended to visit her, though to the last always assuring his wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed her with:

“I hope Ms. Bingley will like it, Lezzie.”

Lezzie, though unfailingly partial to her father, was largely unmoved by the thought.

“We are not in a way to know what Ms. Bingley likes,” said her mother resentfully, “since we are not to visit.”

“But you forget, mamma,” said Lezzie, “that we shall meet her at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Longfinger promised to introduce her.”

“I do not believe Mrs. Longfinger will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her. Other than what I have just said.”

“No more have I,” said Mr. Bennet, side-eyeing Lezzie, lips twitching; “and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you.”

Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply, but, unable to contain herself, began scolding one of her daughters.

“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for Heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”

“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times them ill.”

“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty fretfully. “When is your next ball to be, Lezzie?”

“To-morrow fortnight.”

“Aye, so it is,” cried her mother, “and Mrs. Longfinger does not come back till the day before; so it will be impossible for her to introduce Ms. Bingley, for she will not know her herself.”

“Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce the handsome Ms. Bingley to her.”

“Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with her myself; how can you be so teasing?” Mrs. Bennet could not hide her pleasure at her husband’s compliment of the bachelorette’s appearance.

“I honour your circumspection. A fortnight’s acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a woman really is by the end of a fortnight. Certainly not with me as the judge. But if we do not venture somebody else will; and after all, Mrs. Longfinger and her daughters must stand their chance; and, therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself.”

The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, “Nonsense, nonsense!”

“What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?” cried he. “Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you there. What say you, Mary? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read great books and make extracts.”

Mary wished to say something sensible, but knew not how. Where her quill often succeeded, her tongue failed her.

“While Mary is adjusting her ideas,” he continued, not the least insultingly, “let us return to Ms. Bingley.”

“I am sick of Ms. Bingley,” cried his wife. “I am sorry to hear that; but why did not you tell me that before? If I had known as much this morning I certainly would not have called on her. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; that of Mrs. Bennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though, when the first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while. “How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to neglect such a promising acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning and never said a word about it till now.”

“Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose,” said Mr. Bennet; and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife. Resurfacing to his mind once again were the old letters of his beloved. Dirty scrawls on scraps of parchment. Unwomanly penmanship, snuck under candlelight in the middle of the servant’s headquarters. A man he would have had all the intentions of wedding, if not for the impossibility of it all. Alas, this other lifetime was now but a fond apparition. It did not do well to dwell on the past.

“What an excellent father you have, girls!” said Mrs. Bennet, when the door was shut. “I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me, either, for that matter. At our time of life it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but for your sakes, we would do anything. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Ms. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”

“Oh!” said Lydia stoutly, “I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I am the tallest.”

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon she would return Mr. Bennet’s visit, and determining when they should ask her to dinner. This topic was second only to the debate on whether or not Ms. Bingley would be the type of lesbian to have ethical dietary restrictions.

____________________________

I am cross-posting on AO3 (dastardly_homo_writing) :)

#(Queer) Pride and Prejudice #lesbian #queer #pride and prejudice #literature #fitzwilliam darcy

[biofunmy]

Elizabeth Gilbert’s ‘City of Girls’ Delivers a Love- and Booze-Filled Romp Through 1940s New York

CITY OF GIRLS By Elizabeth Gilbert

In advance copies of “City of Girls,” Elizabeth Gilbert provided a note to her readers, claiming she wanted her new novel to “go down like a champagne cocktail — light and bright, crisp and fun.” Gilbert’s had an adoring fan base ever since publishing “Eat, Pray, Love,” her 2006 memoir. But she must know that she’s written a more complicated and ambivalent book than the frothy concoction her note proposed as a feel-good alternative to such highbrow weepies as “Anna Karenina”: “Not even in fiction, it seems, is a woman allowed to seek out sexual pleasure without ending up under the wheels of a train.”

Fair enough. But how are we supposed to respond, then, when her narrator, in the throes of her first serious orgasm at the age of 20, “screamed as though I were being run over by a train”? Vivian Morris, who’s just flunked out of Vassar, probably doesn’t get her own allusion; Gilbert surely does. And the language in the rest of this scene hardly suggests a lighthearted joy ride: “I bit into his hand the way a wounded soldier bites on a bullet. And then … I more or less died.” Is she having fun yet?

Image

Elizabeth GilbertCreditTimothy Greenfield-Sanders

True, in the first half of “City of Girls” we get plenty of reckless lovemaking, boozing and nightclubbing, along with a broadly comic account of Vivian’s deflowering — “Hold tight, for now I shall penetrate you” — and some heavily researched nostalgia. In the summer of 1940, after her debacle at Vassar, Vivian moves to New York to live with her aunt, a predictably plucky lesbian who runs a down-at-the-heels theater troupe, and the Old New York signifiers come at us thick and fast. In company with the once-famous debutante Brenda Frazier, Vivian goes to 52nd Street to hear Louis Prima, and hangs out with her aunt’s showgirls at Toots Shor’s, El Morocco and the Stork Club. “We gave the jump to some playboys; we drank rank after rank of cocktails on other people’s dime; we had tumults of fun; and the next thing you knew we were trying to get home before the sun came up, feeling as if we were swimming upstream through bilgewater.” That metaphor provides a welcome splash of realism, as does Vivian’s failure to remember much about hearing Billie Holiday sing: “I had my period and I was in a sulky mood because a boy I liked had just left with another girl.”)

When Vivian’s aunt finally has a hit show — called “City of Girls” — Gilbert replicates notices in the styles of Brooks Atkinson, Heywood Broun and Walter Winchell, and an excerpt from a New Yorker profile of its star by Alexander Woollcott. Her evocation of the bygone theater world suggests such backstage movie classics as “Stage Door” and “42nd Street” — and perhaps the Crummles theater company in “Nicholas Nickleby” — and her bygone theater people talk just like bygone theater people: “Very much of little consequence has transpired since last we met, my dear. Let’s sit down for a drink and talk about none of it.” “But of course he’s a playboy, darling. What handsome man worth his salt is not?” In fact, one of them echoes the well-known advice — “The customers out there want to like you. Always remember that, kid” — that the old pro Bebe Daniels gives to the tremulous Ruby Keeler: “Remember that this audience didn’t come here tonight because they want to hate you. They came because they want to love you.”

The tumults of fun die down after Vivian misbehaves, in one bed, with a showgirl and the husband of a revered actress, and then has to absorb a wide tonal palette of verbal abuse: from the slang-slinging Winchell in person (“Getting tangled up with somebody’s bum husband and a hot-to-trot lezzie — that’s no way for a girl from a good family to live”), from the imperious actress herself (“You will never be a person of the slightest significance”) and from the man who drives her back home in disgrace to upstate New York (“dirty little whore”).

Image

This is the halfway point of the book, after which Vivian’s real life begins — and the narrative slackens. “The years passed,” she tells us. Later, “The years passed like they always do.” She goes back to New York, sets up as a maker of bridal gowns, lives platonically with her female business partner, finds the love of her life — a World War II veteran whose PTSD precludes any physical contact with her — and has no-strings sexual escapades with a variety of other men, notable only for the vagueness of the impressions they leave. One is “an absolute lamb”; another is “so dear and attractive.” The inevitable bad patches are equally vague. When “things got rougher and more dicey than I might have preferred … I rode it out like an experienced sailor in a bad squall. I don’t know how else to explain it.” O.K., fine: Vivian doesn’t claim to be a writer.

Although she is purportedly writing this apologia for her long life, in the present day, as an “ancient woman still tottering around New York City, absolutely refusing to abandon either her life or her real estate.” It’s addressed to someone named Angela, whom she hardly knows — the reader has no idea who she is — and who’s written to ask about Vivian’s relations with “my father.” Vivian doesn’t get around to identifying Angela’s father until Page 400, when a hitherto nameless minor character takes center stage, but Angela’s inquiry is more than just a contrived prompt. Vivian’s rambling recollections eventually reveal a hidden coherence: The novel turns out to be the self-portrait of a woman whose truest intimacy is with her own being. “There was a place within my imagination so fathomlessly deep that the light of the real world could never touch it. … Friendship could not reach it. … Awe and joy could not reach it. This hidden part of me could only be reached through sexual intercourse. And when a man went to that darkest, secret place within me, I felt as though I had landed in the very beginning of myself.” Mystical narcissism? Or radical honesty about the limits of human relationships.

Either way, this doesn’t sound much like a sparkling, high-spirited entertainment. Nor does Gilbert offer a conventionally satisfying resolution: Vivian’s arrival at a self-knowing self-sufficiency doesn’t have quite the oomph of a heroine throwing herself under a train. (Or, for that matter, of a heroine marrying Mr. Darcy.) By the conclusion, Vivian is doing all right — at her age, “tottering” comes with the territory — which forecloses the possibility of tragic grandeur. (King Lear was doing all right too, when he took early retirement. But that was just Act I.)

Paradoxically, this open-endedness, this refusal of received literary templates, is what makes “City of Girls” worth reading. It’s not a simple-minded polemic about sexual freedom and not an operatic downer; rather, it’s the story of a conflicted, solitary woman who’s made an independent life as best she can. If the usual narrative shapes don’t fit her experience — and they don’t fit most lives — neither she nor her creator seems to be worrying about it.

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#IFTTT #WordPress

[ladystylestores]

Ciao From Milan – WWD

https://pmcwwd.files.wordpress.com/2019/11/view-01-1.jpg?w=640&h=415&crop=1

As Milan gradually reemerges from months of lockdown and fear, as a sign of hope and rebirth WWD asked designers participating in the city’s first Digital Fashion Week for their memories of a location in the city that had special meaning in their personal journeys.

Miuccia Prada

“In everyone’s life, I believe there are moments and locations that have a fundamental role in developing one’s identity — and I mean the intellectual identity, which for me is the most important. The period that stimulated me the most comprised the years between the Sixties and the Seventies, and the location is Milan. Rather than a location, I would define it the historical and social context in which my thinking became independent, learning to use the tools that the city supplied both in its tradition and with its character: the attitude to act and think beyond hierarchies and pre-established orders. It’s not a dichotomy but a pairing that for me is an essential interpretation, also and especially for the future.”

Miuccia Prada 

Dean and Dan Caten of Dsquared2

Dear Friends, From the rooftop of Ceresio 7, looking at the stunning skyline of the city, we want to share our energy and good vibes with all of you. With love, Dean and Dan Caten

Dean and Dan Caten  Simone Lezzi/WWD

Alberta Ferretti

”A warm greeting from the terrace of Giacomo Arengario, a place I love not only for its beautiful view overlooking the Duomo but also because it narrates the life of a city that is always on the move and that today more than ever wants to return to dream!”

Alberta Ferretti  Simone Lezzi/WWD

Angela Missoni

”I love to stroll around Brera and stop by the stores selling modern antiques!”

Angela Missoni  Courtesy of Missoni.

Massimo Giorgetti of MSGM

Let’s go back to the museums, foundations and the cultural spots of our cities! A warm greeting from Ordet, my exhibition space. Massimo

Massimo Giorgetti  Simone Lezzi/WWD

Lorenzo Serafini of Philosophy di Lorenzo Serafini

I came in the place in Milan that makes me dream, where art, food and fashion converge in the most beautiful octagon of the world. Kisses from Cracco in Galleria, Lorenzo

Lorenzo Serafini  Simone Lezzi/WWD

Carolina Castiglioni of Plan C

“Pirelli HangarBicocca is the most avant-garde gallery in Milan — always a step ahead of the others. The exhibitions are always very captivating and exciting.”

Carolina Castiglioni  Simone Lezzi/WWD

Simone Rizzo and Loris Messina of Sunnei

Ciao, It’s Loris and Simone from Palazzina Sunnei! This is the new Milanese studio we and our team have just moved into after an atypical moment of long-distance working. It’s like a “comfort zone” for us: a multifunctional area where we have the proper space to work and where we feel at ease relaxing in the courtyard. Coming like a total white space, it has now been filled with the team’s passion and ideas but also with the artworks made by the worldwide community of creative talents that surrounds us.

Loris Messina and Simone Rizzo  Simone Lezzi/WWD

Dorian Tarantini of M1992

Ciao, I’m at a table of one of my favorite spots in Milan and rethinking of all the moments we spent together. Looking forward to seeing you again. Greetings from Bar Basso, Dorian

Dorian Tarantini  Simone Lezzi/WWD

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[dastardly-homo-writing]

(Queer) Pride and Prejudice || Chapter Six

note: from here on, the chapters will begin to have some more deviations from/additions to the original text :)

____________________

Chapter Six: Ms. Darcy May Not Be as Void of Emotion as We Thought

It was generally evident whenever they met, that Ms. Bingley did admire Jane and to Lezzie it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for her from the first, and was in a way to be very much in love; but she considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane united, with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of manner which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.

“It may perhaps be pleasant,” replied Charlotte, “to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing the subject of her affection; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a women had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but she may never do more than like her, if she does not help her on.”

“But Jane does help her on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for Ms. Bingley, she must be a simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too.”

“Remember, Lezzie, that Ms. Bingley does not know Jane’s disposition as you do.”

“But if a woman is partial to another, and does not endeavour to conceal it, she must find it out. Slow burn simply does us no good.”

“I should agree on the last part, but let us be realistic, dear Lezzie. In my experience, it simply cannot be helped when both parties are trapped in a question of uncertain reciprocity. Of this you should be well aware. But perhaps Ms. Bingley shall realize, if she sees enough of her. Ms. Bingley does seem the type of woman to take the lead once she is reassured in Jane’s interest. But, though the two meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and, as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command her attention. When she is secure of her, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”

“Your plan is a good one,” replied Lezzie, “where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined to get a rich partner, or any partner, I dare say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane’s feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard nor of its reasonableness. She has known her only a fortnight. She danced four dances with her at Meryton; she saw her one morning at her own house, and has since dined with her in company four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand Ms. Bingley’s character. All of these instances combined make up a total time that is less than that of a typical lesbian excursion.”

“It is not enough time only as you represent it. Had she merely dined with her, she might only have discovered whether she had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have also been spent together—and four evenings may do a great deal. Together that is an amount of time significant enough for them to have discussed painting, poetry, and their adoration for pet cats.”

“You fancy Ms. Bingley to be the sort of woman to have an appreciation for poetry!”

“Why, you must agree that her earnest temperament might suit it.”

“Perhaps so; if true, I imagine she should read only the happiest and dullest of poems. But, I should admit, all the better for her compatibility with my sister. In any case; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both prefer violets to roses; but with respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.”

“Well,” said Charlotte, “I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to her to-morrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying her character for a twelveweek. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”

“You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself.”

Occupied in observing Ms. Bingley’s attentions to her sister, Lezzie was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of her friend. Ms. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; they had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, they looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had they made it clear to themself and their friends that she hardly had a good feature in her face, than they began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though they had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, they was forced to acknowledge her figure to be pleasing; and in spite of their asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, they were caught by her easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware; to her they were only the person who made themself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.

Ms. Darcy began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing with her themself, attended to her conversation with others. Their doing so drew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas’s, where a large party were assembled.

“What does Ms. Darcy mean,” said she to Charlotte, “by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?”

“That is a question which Ms. Darcy only can answer.”

“But if they do it any more I shall certainly let them know that I see what they are about. They have a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of them.”

On their approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such a subject to him; which immediately provoking Lezzie to do it, she turned to them and said:

“Did you not think, Ms. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

“With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady such as yourself energetic.”

“And, pray tell, what sort of lady would that be?”

Ms. Darcy went to speak but then paused, catching Lezzie’s eyes with their own.

“It will be her turn soon to be teased,” said Miss Lucas, recapturing her good friend’s attention. “I am going to open the instrument, Lezzie, and you know what follows.”

“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!—always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.” On Miss Lucas’s persevering, however, she added, “Very well, if it must be so, it must.” And gravely glancing once more at Ms. Darcy, “There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with: ‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge’; and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”

Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. She aligned with more radical economic-political beliefs. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display.

Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. Lezzie, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.

Ms. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too much engrossed by their thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:

“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Ms. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”

“Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished social groupings of the world. Every heterosexual can dance.”

Sir William only smiled, taking no offence. “Your friend performs delightfully,” he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; “and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Ms. Darcy.”

“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.”

“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St. James’s?”

“Never, sir.”

“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”

“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”

“You have a house in town, I conclude?”

Ms. Darcy bowed.

“I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself—for I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”

He paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not disposed to make any; and Lezzie at that instant moving towards them, he was struck with the action of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to her:

“My dear Miss Lezzie, why are you not dancing? Ms. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he would have given it to Ms. Darcy who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William:

“Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”

Ms. Darcy, with grave propriety and newly straightened posture, requested to be allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain. Lezzie was determined; nor did Sir William at all shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.

“You excel so much in the dance, Miss Lezzie, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this fellow dislikes the amusement in general, they can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.”

“Ah, Ms. Darcy is all politeness,” said Lezzie, smiling.

“They are, indeed; but, considering the inducement, my dear Miss Lezzie, we cannot wonder at his complaisance—for who would object to such a partner?”

Lezzie looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured her with the raven-haired butch, and they were thinking of her with some complacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley:

“I can guess the subject of your reverie.”

“I should imagine not.”

“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”

“You conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty person can bestow.”

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on their face, and desired they would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. Ms. Darcy replied with great intrepidity:

“Miss Lezzie Bennet.”

“Miss Lezzie Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. “I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite?—and pray, when am I to wish you joy?”

“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady of your interests has an imagination most rapid. It jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.”

“Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter is absolutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law, indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you.”

They listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to entertain herself in this manner; and as their composure convinced her that all was safe, her wit flowed long.

#(queer) pride and prejudice #lesbian #pride and prejudice #queer #darcy #jane austen #literature #mr darcy #butch

[dastardly-homo-writing]

(Queer) Pride and Prejudice || Chapter Five

Chapter Five: The Lucases Board the Darcy Hate Train

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Fruitville, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the honour of knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty. The distinction had perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business, and to his residence in a small market town; and, in quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about a mile from Fruitville, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge, where he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For, though elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody. By nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his presentation at St. James’s had made him courteous.

Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was Lezzie’s intimate friend. But not in that way. Though Lezzie had admittedly been quite infatuated with her, as one often is with older women, for a full year in her adolescence.

That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.

“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet with civil self-command to Miss Lucas. “You were Ms. Bingley’s first choice.”

“Yes; but she seemed to like her second better.”

“Oh! you mean Jane, I suppose, because she danced with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if she admired her—indeed I rather believe she did—I heard something about it—but I hardly know what—something about Mr. Robinson.”

“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between her and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson’s asking her how she liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether she did not think there were a great many pretty women in the room, and which she thought the prettiest? and her answering immediately to the last question: ‘Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point.’ ”

“Upon my word! Well, that is very decided indeed—that does seem as if—but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know.”

“My overhearings were more to the purpose than yours, Lezzie,” said Charlotte. “Ms. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as their friend, are they?—poor, poor Lezzie!—to be only just tolerable.”

“I beg you would not put it into Lezzie’s head to be vexed by their ill-treatment, for they are such a disagreeable person, that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by them. Mrs. Longfinger told me last night that they sat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening their lips.”

Ah yes, their lips, thought Lezzie mindlessly.

“Are you quite sure, ma’am?—is not there a little mistake?” said Jane. “I certainly saw Ms. Darcy speaking to her.”

“Aye—because she asked them at last how they liked Netherfield, and they could not help answering her; but she said they seemed quite angry at being spoke to.”

“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that they never speaks much, unless among their intimate acquaintances. With them they are all of a sudden remarkably agreeable.”

“I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If they had been so very agreeable, they would have talked to Mrs. Longfinger. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that they are eat up with pride. And I am not referring to that of the homosexual nature.”

“But of course that is true of them as well,” Lezzie said, voice soft enough to be heard only by her elder sister. Jane held back her laughter. “One could tell even from a distance of a hundred feet,” Lezzie added, glancing over at Jane, who failed to compose her expression.

Jane tapped her shoulder lightly in warning. “Must you be so clever?” she whispered.

“I do not mind their not talking to Mrs. Longfinger,” said Miss Lucas, “but I wish they had danced with Lezzie.”

“Another time, Lezzie,” said her mother, “I would not dance with them, if I were you.”

“I believe, ma’am, I may safely promise you never to dance with them.”

“Their pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young person, with family, fortune, everything in their favour, should think highly of themselves. If I may so express it, they has a right to be proud.”

“That is very true,” replied Lezzie, “and I could easily forgive their pride, if they had not mortified mine.”

“Mortified? I believe you mean to say tempted,” Lydia laughed but stilled quickly at her mother’s expression.

“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. Though I adore the parades, make no mistake. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

“If I were as rich as Ms. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day.”

“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” said Mrs. Bennet; “and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly.”

The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.

#(queer) pride and prejudice #lesbian #pride and prejudice #queer #darcy #jane austen #literature #mr darcy