Mr Rochester is a great man with not a single great braincell
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i post for the girls who are poor, obscure, plain, and little
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Jane eyre was 19 while working for mr Rochester, she should have been experiencing crippling mental illness and a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs
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no, it’s gothic girl summer. while you down patrón shots, i’ll be repeatedly catching fevers while staring virginally out into the bogs as i pine for a man without any self-respect and unironically read “the monk” by matthew lewis.
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every squad has the...
poor orphaned elf-like artist
overconfident fashion-conscious french child
depressed traveling man whore (& his dog)
flesh-eating arsonist who lives in the attic
rude but sexy but celibate clergyman
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i would LOVE to lock heathcliff, darcy, and rochester in one room to see who would break down crying first
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my dealer: got some straight gas 🔥 this strain is called jane eyre 😳 you'll be zonked out of your gourd 💯
me: yeah whatever. i don't feel shit.
5 minutes later: dude i swear i heard a strange laugh in the hall
my buddy mr. briggs pacing: mr. rochester is lying to us
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Henry Tilney: “We’re in England! No one locks up people and behaves like that here!”
Edward Fairfax Rochester, freak extraordinaire: *throws the keys to the third floor out the window*
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lowkey have the urge to start writing reddit-style posts from the POV of like well-known literary characters...
like
"AITA for proposing to a woman even though we are of different social status?"
or like
"TIFU by almost marrying my boss who is actually already married to a crazy woman he keeps locked in the attic"
is this a thing? are we doing this yet?
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he’s a 10 but there’s creepy laughter coming from his attic and his bed just happens to catch on fire randomly
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