Wuthering Heights - Blog Posts
so do we see how this is ridiculous or....
â Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
"mutuals can ask for discord" mutuals can haunt me after they die. mutuals can paint my immortal youth in a cursed portrait. mutuals can build a 8ft tall creature in my college dorm. mutuals can watch me wake up as a monstrous vermin. mutuals can feed me soup after i commit murder. mutuals can help me kill uncle claudius. mutuals can go out with me and my girlfriend from across the bay. mutuals can hunt the beast with me. do better
why not cast jane eyre too. since nothing matters.
Wuthering Heights
(This is a brief inspiration I had after reading Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte and after listening to Kate Bush' song.)
Oh! It's him! He's here!
Oh! It's him! He's here!
Oh! It's him! He's here!
Oh! It's him! He's here........
and so, the voices whispered near my ear...
It was a windy day, clouds were blocking the Sun's light, protecting our eyes from its lethal rays. The Rain was soon to come and English people were strangely "happy" for it to come. Grey engulfed their senses, the vain shades of color appearing frequently and the cold burning the tip of their nose, forcing their instincts to shoot out at fluttering around to find anything to use as a cover. After all this daily mundane suffering, they still loved these landscapes and the punishment that came with them.
I was hiding in the little corner of his office, shaking wildly. Trembles came out of everywhere.
He had the temper of one of Zeus' child, Ares. My former lover, Ares (yes, exactly him), was also overflowed with fury and rage, not really understanding where it came from. A God who loved battle, blood, competiton and anger. He fought until the end of it all, just like his father, that's why Zeus never preferred him as a child.
With me, he was a strange monster. You must wonder why would I think in such a way about a former lover... Well, he was not a human, nor an alien, he was a God. I'm saying this because at the beginning I didn't know what he was. When he started courting me, I hadn't noticed the immense love he had for me, which was unacceptable to me; how could a man love a woman thusly? He hadn't known me, nor had he ever seen me previously, even by mistake. I'm sure of it. Hence, my intuition told me that he was not a good sign, coming to me and confessing such a profound love. "And who do you think you are, behaving to such a degree without any further motivation?"
The strangest part was that he didn't even manage to show me his family, that enormous family of his, that he was so eager to introduce me to. But, I saw his mother in my dreams. Hera. That woman. That Goddess- The mother in law I couldn't be able to have.
She was caressing my hair and cheeks while fondly looking at me as if she created me with her own hands. Perhaps, she did. We could never know.
Hera was speaking to me, in a language I understood at that moment but once I woke up, I couldn't seem to remember a thing.
What happened next made me freeze to death, literally. She moved her hand, with the intention to caress my belly. I had no idea what she was trying to do at that time. While doing so, she raised her head, looking at me and smiling once again, in such a fondly way that even in real life I felt the tears starting to shed from my eyes. That explains the wet eyes and pillow I had once I woke up.
I woke up. Ares was by my side, sleeping soundly. I was shaking. Trembles were fluttering their way up my body. Ares, still deep in his sleep, he raised his arm up, gripped my hip and moved me to the inside of his hairy chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, he scooted his head in my neck and sighed with a warm breath making me shudder under him.
I'm a cold little woman who needs heat coming out of her "husbands" body, words and eyes.
It was all a sign, to tell me that something was going on.
On 2 June, a Sunday, he left and never came back. Where to go, I don't know. But my soul and energy reeked of him still, my inner witch, that was hidden in the profounds of the universe, searched for him like a desperate bitch.
He left on my birthday.
And I loved him wholly, even if he was a monster.
He's here! We want his heat! Let him burn us!
He's here! We want his heat! Let him burn us!
He's here! We want his heat! Let him burn us!
He's here! We want his heat! Let him burn us!
and so, the voices started once again...
Mars was his name. The man that came in my house and bribed me under his own fate.
Now I tremble wholly and my body needs my "husbands" heat. Where will I find it?
He comes to me. Every step he takes, I feel even colder than before. My body freezing, but my soul doesn't seem to shut up.
He is now so close to me that he could hear my heart beating.
"Xena, my love..." he whispers so softly that even I am bewildered at how I managed to hear it.
That name. "No. Don't say that name." he can't. How did he? He should be dead now. No human or other specie can ever utter that name.
"Xena... it's me. Look at me, please." he softly utters my name again.
He isn't dead. Why? How?
Ares! Lover! Come here! We're so cold!
Ares! Lover! Come here! We're so cold!
Ares! Lover! Come here! We're so cold!
Ares! Lover! Come here! We're so cold!
I shake my head wildly. Why are they not shutting up? Why can you not understand that he left us? my voice echoes in my head silencing them. For now, because they started once again.
I look up. There he is. My Ares.
"Xena, it's me, Ares." he calls.
The voices were silent. His voice was exactly Ares' voice. But how-
"You aren't! Mars how? What are you- what are you trying to do?" my voice trembles from the cold I felt. He looked like my Ares and he was as tall as him. The unique height that only my husband had.
It can't be true.
"Xena... think about it. Why would someone be named Mars?" he questioned me, inviting me to think.
Mars. In Latin for the God of war, Ares. The one and only deity that had made such an imponent famous story throughout the archaic Rome.
While trembling from the cold, I raise my hands and caress my freezing cheeks; he managed to call me by my name without dying. He has the same features and physic as him. The name is exactly the same as his but in a different language.
So, it's truly him.
I remove my hands away from my face and I raise my head up, looking towards him. Tears come out of my eyes, flooding my entire sight.
"Ares?" I say in a meek voice, which I doubt he would hear if he'd have a normal hearing.
He just nods his head, "Xena. It's me, Ares. I've come home." he says whispering.
"Ares! It's you! You're here!" I call for him while tremendously shaking like a leaf.
He comes extremely close to me, grips me at the wrists and gets me up from my seated position, engulfing me in his arms.
His heat consumes me, making me feel whole again. My body and senses burn, finally having my lover back.
Fire eruptes from my sides, unleashing the beast I had been hiding for decades. My true self was with him now.
He's here! He's finally here!!!!!!!
He's here! He's finally here!!!!!!!
He's here! He's finally here!!!!!!!
He's here! He's finally here!!!!!!!
and so, the voices resided in the profounds of Goddess' Xena.
This was the extraordinary love story of Ares and Xena.
K.M.
If you see this youâre legally obligated to reblog and tag with the book youâre currently reading
sorry but i've been thinking about this forever
has tumblr heard about the upcoming wuthering heights adaptation where they cast a white man as Heathcliff (a heavily implied to be romani character)
Oh to be a heroine in a Jane Austen novel
Do I have to study? Yes. But will I be reading and annotating Wuthering Heights for the next 4 hours while listening to every version of Experience and Primavera by Ludovico Einaudi? 100%.
Weekend's for being a bookworm and doing re-readings, no arguments.
I like this, nice job PBS. To comment on their IG: https://instagram.com/p/BR9AalJj2w7/
Of course you can also comment to this post as well.
Mr.Heathcliff and Erik from Le FantĂŽme de lâOpĂ©ra are essentially the same person
Halfway through Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff is getting on my nerves, Catherine is getting on my nerves, Nelly is getting on my nerves, EVERY character is getting on my nerves. WHAT IS HAPPENING?
Ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely On the other side from you I pine a lot, I find the lot Falls through without you
-Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
Nelly Dean has an aura of being a normal person looking in on the chaos, but she's pretty self-deceptive about how malicious she was towards Catherine. 'Oh, she was just sort of proud, so I kind of liked to humble her' and then she describes very manipulative and dishonest stuff she did to torment Catherine... She's probably one of the less malicious people but because she's the narrator we see a lot of the bad stuff she does.
Not using the terms bad person or good person because those terms aren't real and cause mind/soul decay
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
I like Wuthering Heights because it basically says, "Yeah, you can have a soul mate. But he's basically the worst. That says a lot about you." Like all the other soul mate shit presents the idea that you have your perfect other half. Nuh uh. Your other half is gonna be exactly as rotten as you. And it's gonna piss you off. Seeing all your worst flaws up close and personal ain't so nice now, is it?
sorry im going half mad as a desi but like. the fact that heathcliff is Not Fucking White is very important to the story actually! he's treated as subhuman for having brown skin and its the main if not only reason he was immeidtaley abused by his stepfamily! hes DESCRIBED differently from the white characters too! what the fuck! he's so obviously like romani or indian or just. NOT WHITE YOU CANT JUST DO THAT. ITS 2024. THE RACISM HE SUFFERS IS NOT EVEN SUBTEXT
I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.âMy love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.
Emily Brontë, Wuthering heights
Illustration for Wuthering Heights by Felix Abel Klaer
