what are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? @superbusmeretrix - Tumblr Blog

𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔟𝔲𝔰𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔵’𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

you can find things that aren’t on this list by scrolling through my tags.

not all of my writing contains smut, but seeing as the vast majority of what i post is utter filth, my blog is strictly 18+.

#the secret history #henry winter #my god henry winter #tsh #donna tartt #francis abernathy #dark academia #richard papen #charles and camilla macaulay #bunny corcoran #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #secret history #the secret history work #superbusmeretrix 🕯️#superbusmeretrix

glittercupcakeunicornpuppy

gay person: i’m gay

society: ok

your strange vaguely bisexual friend you try to ignore: hey have you read the secret history yet

spirit-of-art

Daniel Maclise, Madeline after prayer, 1868

shisasan

𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟻, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟻 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

[ID: May 5. Nothing, dull slight headache. END ID]

eymurn

“i thought i’d weird you out” you weirded me in, twin

woodmeat

Not to be a one trick pony but oh my god I am way to high to understand the shit yall be saying under da posts

all women are girls at heart and that is so special to me

#shitposting on main #because mamma mia makes me so emotional #it’s literally girlhoodmaxxing

superbusmeretrix

henry winter is a lot of things, and a devout eyefucker is one of them. there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll sit across the room from you and stare daggers until you’re wriggling uncomfortably in your seat.

although for most, it’s some sort of foreplay- and henry often makes good on his silent promises- it’s almost as if henry believes it’s genuinely possible to make you squeal with just a gaze. the thing is, he’s not wrong.

the way his eyes rake up and down your figure is deliberate, letting you know that he’s mentally undressing you, then laying you down, and then completely wrecking you. it’s like telepathic sex: you can tell henry’s thinking it, and so that makes you think about it, too, and before you know it you’re both red in the face and sinking deeper into your seats to try and hide it.

tldr henry’s an eyefucking pervert and i love it

captainofthedilfbrigade

₊˚‧︵‿꒰୨ 𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦’𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ୧꒱‿︵‧˚₊

╰➤ WUTHERING HEIGHTS by EMILY BRONTË

.✦ ݁˖ first things first: this is a reread! i owe the brontë sisters my life and emily, being my namesake, has always been my favourite. did i reread it just because i got a kindle for my birthday? yes. did i choose it as my first kindle book because of my current obsession with the film? also yes. did i eat up every word of it for the hundredth time? of course i fucking did. who do you think i am

𝜗ৎ things i loved: i love how chaotic of a read this is for me. it really is just page on page of drama. at one point i considered pacing around my dining table the way the brontë sisters used to when they were brainstorming.

i also love that nelly just launched into a full on, no-holds-barred debrief with mr lockwood before he even really asked about it. she really needed to get it off her chest to someone sane. he said “i saw cathy-” and she was like “DON’T GET ME STARTED ON HER-”

the yearning is real in this book. i think it’s the best feature, and the fact that catherine and heathcliff’s mutual obsession goes beyond the grave is a testament to an (albeit unhealthy) eternally strong bond, and the beauty of that despite all the toxicity is something that emily brontë captured perfectly.

╭────────────────────╮

“Conscious that merely two yards of loose earth divided us, I thought to have her in my arms again.”

╰────────────────────╯

i love how much we find out in such a short space of time. the pacing of it can be confusing if you’re not locked in, but once you reach brontë-flow-state, it’s like watching a tiktok in 2x speed. very satisfying. easy to devour in a matter of minutes. my kind of book.

𝜗ৎ things that made me go 😬: we should really address the elephant in the room, the one criticism that everyone has with wuthering heights— the fucking names. what do you mean catherine earnshaw who became catherine linton but there’s another catherine linton became catherine heathcliff by marrying LINTON HEATHCLIFF but then became catherine earnshaw? and why did no one give heathcliff a second name?! is it his first name or his last name?! i had to have a family tree on standby constantly. very confusing.

either nelly is a very unreliable narrator, or everyone on those moors is fucking evil. i choose the latter. if i said i was a catherine earnshaw apologist i would be lying to you. i would fight her so hard. have a day off from being a bitch, cath, for fuck’s sake. her and heathcliff really are a match made in heaven. just a pair of fucking dicks. and it’s hereditary! narcissistic psychopathy clearly runs in the blood.

why is nobody capable of staying in one place? the back and forth between wuthering heights and thrushcross grange is very jarring. i feel like that’s one of the main issues with the flow of the novel— like i said, you really have to be dialled in. and then, randomly, isabella fucks off to london and pops out baby last name last name, who promptly gets returned to sender? can everyone just stand still for five minutes so i can get my bearings?!

❤︎ favourite character: without a shadow of a doubt, my favourite character is hareton earnshaw. he seems like objectively the least problematic of the family, even though he does marry his cousin. the fact that he wanted to read cathy’s books even though he struggled to read? my heart.

the way hareton is a reflection of heathcliff is also something very dear to me. the fact that he represents the cycle of abuse, and that heathcliff revenged his own upbringing by inflicting the same trauma onto hareton, is what makes hareton so complex. but this also serves as a way of demonstrating that heathcliff’s evil wasn’t all a result of his childhood trauma— hareton was resilient, and he eventually found a way to win over his own cathy, with kindness (eventually), and the labour of love that was learning to read. if i was in wuthering heights, and i ended up with hareton earnshaw, i’d be a happy woman.

╭────────────────────╮

“Yes, I hear him trying to spell and read to himself and the pretty blunders he makes!”

╰────────────────────╯

❤︎ favourite quote: because i will devour every word penned by a brontë sister, narrowing it down to just one favourite quote was hard. i knew that my favourite quotes in general were the ones that captured the true desperation and madness induced by all the yearning.

for this reason, i knew i had to find a quote from heathcliff. he’s the only one unhinged enough to actually voice his desperate, toxic yearning aloud, and whenever i was reading his dialogue, i had to actively remind myself that yes, it sounds romantic, but within the wider context, it’s crazy. honestly, though? as an obsessive yearner? some of his quotes are a little bit relatable.

╭────────────────────╮

“I have a single wish, and my whole being has yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly, that I’m convinced it will be reached— and soon— because it has devoured my existence. O God! It has been a long fight; I wish it were over!”

╰────────────────────╯

gut wrenching. a solid ten out of ten on the yearning scale. emily, my life is yours. you understand me on a spiritual level.

.✦ ݁˖ cancel-worthy opinion: as i said earlier, this reread was prompted by the fact that emerald fennell’s interpretation is living rent free in my mind. and i know that people who have read the book are vehemently rejecting the film because of how different it is, but quite frankly, i didn’t care one bit. anyone who hates on the film for that reason has no joy and whimsy in their life. emerald said ‘i’m going to make a movie of my wuthering heights fanfiction’ and i was front and centre in the cinema, drooling over my inaccurately-cast husband, jacob elordi.

also, anyone who expected a 1:1 adaptation of an emily brontë novel knowing that the whole soundtrack was done by charli xcx is a fucking idiot.

.✦ ݁˖ final unhinged rating: five out of five yearning cousins. heights have been wuthered, graves have been dug. naming my child with a surname as we speak.

superbusmeretrix

i now do book reviews on my side blog. unhinged ones, because you know what i’m like, read them please and thank you 🫀

intothenextcentury-blog

superbusmeretrix

where i post from

caffeinatedrottersblog

Im a simple girl, really. If he wears glasses, studies classics and is in love with greek? Sign me in. Smokes and has a weirdly intimidating calm aura? I'm wet. Has pale coarse skin, and he MIGHT be handsome had his features been less set, and has scar that runs in through his eye and Is over 6 feet carries an umbrella in hampden? Holy fuck yes!

sculpturedepoet

Henry didn’t mean to die.

It’s my favorite theory I’ve come up with (though I’m probably not the first) and was my initial thought after finishing the last chapter.

At the end of the book Donna Tartt specifically made it a point to mention the ‘two flat cracks’ that went off when Henry fired at himself due to the drawback of the gun. When reading this, i thought it was an interesting detail to add. It seemed, to me, important in some way. Following that detail, in the epilogue, she added that despite having two bullet wounds to the head, he survived for over twelve hours, which even amazed the doctors. Richard himself even theorizes that perhaps Henry didn’t want to die.

Now, if aimed correctly, you can survive a bullet wound to the head with (moderately) minimal brain damage. Henry being Henry, I believe he would know that. It would be surprising if he hadn’t consider this scenario to some extent.

Despite Henry possibly knowing this fact, we already know that he wasn’t too good with guns- or at least no longer participated, and did not like, using them after accidentally killing a duck at Francis’s country house while shooting targets (they put the gun away and he never went shooting again.)

To get straight to the theory, I believe Henry planned for this, or some similar scenario. He knew where to aim, but wasn’t very familiar with using a gun, and hadn’t realized the drawback would make the gun go off twice. Two flat cracks. That’s why he had such a strong will to survive even after the two self inflicted injuries. He planned on one bullet, aimed correctly to avoid hitting anything too vital, but when the second bullet hit, his body couldn’t handle that kind of injury.

I don’t know what, but I wonder if he told Camilla something about him surviving or to not worry because he’ll be fine- that he would live and come back to her. Maybe she’s still hoping that he’s right and his promise will come true, which is why she refused to marry Richard.

I’m not sure why he did shoot or what his plan was had he survived. He was extremely loyal, especially considering that no matter how you look at his death, he did it for them. Maybe Henry didn’t want Charles to get into trouble, which would put all of them at risk, and decided to frame the previous shots as them trying to prevent his (supposed-to-be failed) suicide attempt. Maybe he wanted to fake his death to get all of them off the hook and slip away with Camilla after he recovered. No matter what the reasons were, I’m almost certain that Henry didn’t mean to die.

earthlydevotions

— henry winter being needy.

henry would never admit that he is needy, but he gives small signs. signs that only someone who knows him well enough to notice the cracks in his impeccable posture and structured routines.

his gaze changes; it becomes softer, calmer, but at the same time so deep, as if he were waiting for his prayer to be answered. he watches you for longer; when you are sitting on the couch in front of him, when you are lying in bed ready to sleep, when you are getting ready. his gaze lingers, like a silent question you still can’t answer.

he always gravitates toward you without realizing it. he’s always a little closer; his legs brushing against yours when he reads beside you, him holding your hand longer or more tightly than necessary when you walk together, him holding you in bed in the morning like a silent request for you not to leave him alone.

but he shows more than he would like. he sighs more deeply when he’s beside you and, when you ask if he’s alright, he quickly says yes. but his clenched jaw and the shine in his eyes tell you otherwise. he appears suddenly when you least expect it; when you’re cooking, when you’re getting ready for bed. he’s always there, and it’s as if his body is begging for your touch, yet he doesn’t give in to that desire.

he hates goodbyes, so he insists that you spend the night at his house. when you’re about to leave, he always has a very well-crafted and convincing excuse for why you should stay the night. you always end up agreeing. and he always ends up holding you the entire night.

he becomes visibly calmer when you touch him first, even if it’s something small like your knees brushing together. henry carries tension in those moments; in his posture, his jaw, his thoughts, but when you gently stroke his hair, he sighs in relief as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and that’s when you realize.

you touch his face and his hair gently and he can’t help but melt under your touch. you pull him toward you and he lies on top of your body while you stroke his hair. you try to ask how his day was, but he’s so relaxed, so melted into you that he can’t form coherent sentences, only enjoy your warmth and your scent surrounding him with so much love.

nsfw;

henry is devoted to you and he always has time; nothing is done with haste or roughness, only with care and love. but in these moments he feels everything more deeply, as if he were intensely hungry for closeness.

his touches begin innocent and gentle, but you feel how warm his body is and how his hands start to grow firmer. he strokes your waist, but soon his hand squeezes it before returning to a slow caress. he pulls you onto his lap and wraps an arm around you, as if preventing you from leaving. you feel him hard beneath you while he kisses your shoulder and your neck.

his kisses become more intense and lingering; his mouth is warm, slow, and damp against yours as he kisses you as if it were the last thing he would ever do. your lips are his paradise and he would love to lose himself in them.

your scent drives him insane. he loves burying his face in your neck when you’re close to each other, when he hugs you from behind, when both of you are half-asleep in bed. he presses his face against your neck and inhales slowly; your perfume does inexplicable things to him.

he becomes messier in bed, something he never was before; his kisses are wetter, his body hotter and sweaty against yours, his thrusts irregular but deep, as if he were completely lost in that moment but unable to stop because all he wants is you.

he gives you pleasure so many times that by the end of the night you can’t think, only feel him. but he talks more, murmuring praises and explicit details of what he’ll do to you against your skin before kissing or biting it.

he loves when you ride him. seeing you on top is one of his greatest pleasures when he’s needy; you look so beautiful riding him. his hands can’t stay still; he squeezes your waist, your hips, your ass, your breasts. his hands will touch every part of your body he can reach because he needs all of you.

in the end, he’s very affectionate and gentle. asking if you’re alright, if he hurt you. he holds you and softly strokes your hair or your back until your breathing returns to normal. but when you least expect it, he’s ready for another round.