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forgaeven1 · 1 year

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* a discussion : nellie and luke's sensitivity — taken from fightsbck because... that's me lol :) but generally, this is the discussions of how i saw nell and luke's reactions are to the supernaturals and how much their "sensitivity", overlooked, in turn affected them.

to begin, first and foremost, yes. i do believe the twins have inherited olivia’s “sensitivity” along with their siblings upon birth. olivia has established having known this, or at least suspected, when she openly asked nellie for her opinion about the house upon moving in, and marvelled when all nellie responded was that it was “cold”. without further ado, let’s break down the exact abilities that have been showcased by the twins so far:

second discussion : establishment of abilities.

mediumship, the ability to observe and communicate with spirits. additionally, while the twins may not be able to differentiate it when they were much younger, i do believe that they both eventually grew to learn to naturally spot spirits amongst the livings. however, given how their sensitivity was treated and past experiences, they would either ignore it and pretend they haven’t seen it, or, they make a quick escape because spirits, mutually sensing their abilities to see them when no one else could, tend to flock around them.

precognition / second sight, the ability to perceive future and/or past events via extrasensory perception usually in the form of a vision. think: seer.

telepathy ( with high focus upon emotions-sharing ), ability to transmit or receive communication, in this case in forms of strong emotions whether physical or mental, via thoughts supernaturally. however, this ability seems to only be effected among the twins and not the rest of the crain family members.

temporary possession of body, * highly headcanon based, but i also believe the twins have a suspiciously sensitive vessel that may allow temporary ( or, in some dangerous cases, permanent ) possession by spirits. with their permission, the possession process is easier; without, the physical body may react negatively.

in my interpretation as well: the twins are powerful psychics with an equal amount of power distributed between them. however, whether they both have manifested them at the same level during the same time is a different discussion altogether.

second discussion : sensitivity in reflections of health.

in any case, luke and nell’s abilities as supernatural psychics depended wholly on their health - whether that being physical or mental, it doesn’t matter. the healthier they are, the less haunting they will receive. the longer their health deteriorates, the stronger the haunting can become and the faster it will to overwhelm them.

case-in-point: when nell’s health soars as soon as she fixes her sleeping pattern and falls in love with arthur, the less she’d see of the bent-neck lady. luke’s case on the other hand, can obviously be studied during the betrayal of joey, how he’d gotten physically assaulted in the streets and then later felt the cold and painful sensation at nellie’s departing that his ghost, the tall man in the hat, came to visit him again.

now a point can be brought up: when luke was effected by the drugs and thus, his physical health went down, why wasn’t he actively haunted then? well, to be honest, he took the drugs because he wanted the haunting to stop. taking drugs dampened his abilities effectively, but not enough - clearly - because eventually, the hauntings always came back. to add to that, luke and nellie shared a strong emotional telepathic communication: everything nellie felt, luke felt with her. and while it’s no excuse, since nellie went through the same thing, feeling her suffer and in pain can be too much for him when he’s struggling on top of handling his own haunting. another reason he’s taken to the drugs was because he wanted that temporary dullness to their connection. it’s shitty, of course, since nellie clearly depended on the connection, but it’s partly what led him to addiction.

third discussion : addressing ability of precognition.

i'm sure you're asking: bella, when the hell did they predict the future? well, to be fair, i don’t think they are able to. i think they can somewhat perceive them rather than outrightly predict them, though one may argue that this may just be something they picked up due to the sickly nature of the house not completely obeying to the rules of time. however, to further support my case, remember the scene where nellie had visions of luke poisoned on the ceiling? yes, that’s what i meant by them being able to perceive future / past events. ( past, can be attributed to the fact that nellie has been visited by ghosts of her own self throughout the span of her being alive, maybe ? ) of course, luke didn’t exhibit this ability. but again, remember: luke’s health, at this point, was progressing well while nellie’s was going through the opposite effect. the haunting was stronger on nellie and her "sensitivity meter" was going haywire. it’s like her abilities are pouring out without any filters, which isn’t all good since she’s had no proper practise nor firm understanding of it, because eventually the haunting overwhelmed her and, in spite of her last-minute realisation that she has been manipulated, she was brutally killed.

fourth discussion : why was it important to address their abilities?

so anyway, the summary for this is just that: their lives would be so much better had the family genuinely discussed or they were not gaslighted into thinking everything was simply a tragedy, or something completely than whatever they were seeing. i don’t think luke would be so easily dismissed from his “active imagination” and nellie’s cries for the bent-neck lady won’t simply be treated as a nightmare. in fact, proper discussions about how to handle - and possibly fight - the negative haunting’s influences could have been held, leading to their mental health not having to suffer so much. had their sensitivity been addressed by either parents, or at least were acknowledged far more properly, they would’ve understood why this was happening to them, or at least had known enough of their abilities to know that they aren’t “crazy” or what they’re seeing aren’t just “imaginary”. of course, i won’t deny that luke would still … be experimenting with drugs. choices of his life along the way may largely still lead him to be an addict, but at the very least, he would’ve been much, much sober sooner once he knew nellie was in danger. i believe like, if they had known about their abilities, “warnings” in forms of hauntings from the house would’ve led him to reach out to his family quicker because apart of him would figure that one — or more — of his family member are being actively targeted. nellie too, i think, would’ve had a better chance at possibly knowing she was in a trance and that arthur was just a figment of what the house wanted her to believe was real. thus, she could’ve had a chance at escaping much earlier than when she was fooled and realised she was already standing at the edge.

tl;dr luke and nellie crain are powerful psychics / mediums by blood. they just don’t know it. if they had, circumstances might’ve turned out differently for them and not necessarily have to end with one of the twins sacrificed due to ignorance on this particular yet large aspect of their lives.

as a sidenote ( added in 2023) i would also like to address how, it is easy to see these 'hauntings' were clearly a metaphor or parallel to the discussions of mental health, and how often even close family members could dismiss the issue or "pretend not to see it" until it is too late, or, how a deteriorating mental health could and has led to many burning their bridges when the sick are at their worst. haunting of hill house is a complex, realistic study on the subject revolving heavily around the themes of familyhood and, even years later, i'm in love with the series.

#long post //#nellie.#nellie; discussion.#luke.#luke; discussion.#god i love them #wanna chew at them so bad ...

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acnelli · 2 years

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Valid

I'll probably get some anon hate for this but this story found a home in my head ever since the terrible news about abortion rights in the US reached me. This blog is 100 % fandom and I never post or reblog anything political here. But writing is a form of coping for me. And with this I try to cope with the fact that it seems like we go back into the middle ages further and further.

Edit: This now comes with a beautiful moodboard @lumosatnight made for my birthday 💛

Rating: T

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley

Summary: “It doesn't matter how it happened, Ron,” she whispered,”it matters how we deal with the consequences now.”

Warnings: Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Abortion (not described, only discussed)

Read on AO3

#tw: discussion of abortion #tw: pregnancy #romione #romione fanfic #ron weasley #hermione granger #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter #nelli writes

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arcadianambivalence · 2 years

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Nelly really is just shepherding these kids across the moors, never quite able to stop the generational trauma, isn’t she?

#she doesn't even talk about her family really #but the earnshaws are her siblings #and this IS her family she's discussing and so distant from all the while #wuthering heights #:(#nelly dean

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unamused-kookaburra · 2 years

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King Creole really said 'in his latest blockbuster, Elvis must choose between two women: the beautiful, jaded and haunted yet hopeful, Ronnie, and... Nellie. Who will he choose?!'

#its a really good movie but why even include nellie its just mean #i feel like she got the least screentime out of everyone and they had zero chemistry #but they discuss marriage after knowing eachother for like a week?#like babe i get it but you deserve so much better #he's obviously settling #king creole #personal

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0xstarzx0 · 26 days

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Nelly

Rafe S2 x Reader

{OPEN COMMANDS}

[English is not my native language ❗️❗️]

SYNOPSIS: After making the decision to adopt a goat without Rafe’s advice, he does not agree.

TW: insults, parent discussion, mention of children, plush.

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The week of Rafe had been so tiring, he had to get up every day at 4am to return at 9pm, if we do not count the overtime.

He was waiting for one thing every day, to find you. You and your pig. Because even if Rafe didn’t deny it, he was attached to your little beast.

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Today Rafe returned early, he managed to complete the project he has been working on for weeks.

"Y/N?" he called you from down the stairs.

No answer, usually you answer or go down. The blond climbs the stairs. He goes to your room.

The door is closed, he opens it. There is no one in the room but the bathroom light is on.

He gently opens the bathroom door, His eyes widen to view.

"We’re not trying to eat each other! Or fuck each other!" you say.

Rafe can’t believe it, there’s a goat in his bathroom. "What the hell is going on here?" he yells. You jump and turn around.

"Rafey!" You shout in his arms. He rejects you and you frown. "Why is there a goat in my house!" our house" you take it back.

Rafe looks at you with incomprehension. "I found her on the side of the road." You take the little goat in your arms." Her name is Nelly, says hello Nelly." You take her paw and move it. "Hello Daddy!" you say by pretending to be Nelly

Rafe sighs deeply, he rubs his eyes. "Y/N I don’t want that goat here." "Why?" you ask sadly."Because it’s a goat Y/N!" he screams.

You hold back your tears and look at the goat. "I know you feel alone here, you can always invite your friends, but don't bring any fucking farm animals here!"

You say nothing and let a tear sink. "I have no friends Rafey… Other girls say I sleep with you for your money, they say I’m a whore…"

You lift your head and smile at him, feeling something strange in your heart. "I don't have any friends and I'd love to have kids, but it's too soon for you, so for now animals are the only thing I have left."

You show him the goat. "I named her Nelly because she reminds me of a plant, do you like her?" Rafe looks at you amazed. "You seriously want kids?"

You hold Nelly close to you. "Why not, I'd be less alone and I'd have friends..." Rafe seems lost is his thoughts, after a long pause he finally speaks. "Ok." You raise your eyebrows. "What?" "We're gonna have children." You set down Nelly. "What?"

"We're gonna have kids." Rafe nods his head. "Ok." You furrow your brow. "Are you serious??" The blond puts his hands on your face and kisses your lips.

"We're gonna have babies! Rafey we're gonna have children!" You jumped with joy, your tears turned into tears of joy.

"Yeah baby!" You put your arms around his neck and kiss him, he takes your legs in his hands and lifts them up. You wrap your legs around his hips. "And what if we started making some?" You giggle and put your head on his neck. "With pleasure."

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balis77 · 2 months

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Hermann: "Good work retrieving that Golden Bough for us Nelly. Welcome to my team here at N Corp. You've already met Aseah."

Aseah: "Ah, that Linton fellow truly did make an excellent dough. I wonder what we shall bake next..."

Hermann: "We also have another of Yi Sang's old compatriots, Gubo."

Gubo: "I heard you were with Yi Sang for a while. Did he ask about me? Does he want to come home? Did he-"

Hermann: "Hong Lu's brother, Jia Huan."

Jia Huan: "Ah, did my brother get you to finally wash those filthy rags of his?"

Hermann: "Sonya, who's technically only hired help."

Sonya: "Ah, I heard you were a Butler. Would you like to discuss workers rights some time?"

Hermann: "Our newest addition before you, Captain Ahab."

Ahab: "I SHALL SHARPEN EVERY HARPOON, SAIL EVERY WAVE UNTIL I HAVE SKWERED THAT BEAST ACROSS EVERY POSSIBLE REFLECTION! I, AHAB, WILL PROVE THAT I ALONE WILL-

Hermann: "And of course, me. I'm sure you've seen the excellent work I did with my ungrateful son. A shame my current Wing doesn't allow insectoid hybrids to be created under their watch."

Nelly: "...please tell me I at least get to wear the cool longcoat at this job."

Hermann: "You do."

Nelly: "Thank god."

#limbus company spoilers #canto VI spoilers #Nelly LCB #Hermann LCB #Ahab LCB #Sonya LCB #aseah lcb #gubo lcb #Jia Huan LCB #Hermann really assembling a team to rival the Reverb Ensemble as the goofiest group of evil counterparts #I hope they add a literal windmill next canto

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justthoughts1310 · 2 months

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Boruto's Love Interest is Mitsuki

So, in the last post, I made it clear why I believe that Mitsuki is in love with Boruto.

However in this post, I will explain why I believe Boruto is receptive to Mitsuki being his romantic partner.

My explanation will span across chapter 7 and 8, and it will compare and contrast them with each other.

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Up until this point, Boruto has three confirmed love interests: Sarada, Sumire, and Mitsuki, but he has shown no romantic interest in any of them. Until, maybe now.

I want to start by contrasting Ch.7 with Ch.8.

In Chapter 7, Boruto realizes that Mitsuki has tracked him with a snake. At first, it appears that Boruto sticks around to confront MItsuki because he's far enough away from the village to go ape mode, and also because Mitsuki has closed in on him and now he cannot escape fast enough.

Chapter 7, confirmed that the prior was not the case. Boruto actually scolds Mitsuki for causing excessive environment damage, and Boruto keeps his attacks and skilled and percise as possible. All the while, Boruto fights cautiously in order to ensure that he neither hurts Mitsuki nor destroys the forest.

Chapter 8, confirms that the latter was also not the case. As soon as Boruto learns that Kawaki is coming, he automatically uses flying Thunder God Technique to teleport away. Delta and Kawaki can literally fly, and by the time they reach Boruto's location, Boruto is nowhere to be seen.

Both chapters are paired by the fact that Shikamaru warns Boruto about both Kawaki and Mitsuki pursuing him before they arrive.

Boruto had the option to teleport away in Ch. 7 and not deal with Mitsuki at all, but he (instead) stayed and had a conversation with him. He proved to Mitsuki that he could kill Mitsuki at anytime, but he refused to harm even one hair on Mitsuki's head.

In Boruto's fight with Mitsuki, he has two very prominent opportunities to escape, and he takes neither chance. This is even pointed out by Kishimoto, when Mitsuki asks Boruto why he does not simply escape when he has more than enough ability to do it?

Pair this with him evading Kawaki. When Boruto hears that Kawaki is coming, he doesn't even entertain a conversation with Kawaki.

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Now, let's discuss language.

In Ch.7 Boruto saying something that I've never heard Boruto say before:

He explicitly declares himself to be Mitsuki's Sun.

When Mitsuki exhibits concern with regard to Kawaki, Boruto tells Mitsku not to worry, and that this is a simple quarrel between brothers.

Now, I point this out to say, because a lot of no nuance nellys continue to infer that Boruto and Mitsuki has a fraternal relationship, and THEY DON'T.

The Naruto and Boruto series have never shied away from using words like Brothers, Rivals, and Friends, and all of these words have deep meaning in the world of Naruto and Boruto. They all have symbolic level meaning.

Yet, Boruto never refers to Mitsuki as his brother, and Mitsuki never refers to Boruto as his Brother.

Now, one might say, that maybe neither of them know what it's like to be a brother or to have a brother. To which, I'd say that's absolutely ridiculous because both of them are brothers and have brothers.

Boruto's the brother of Himawari. Boruto's brother is Kawaki.

Mistuki's brother is his older clone: Log.

If Boruto and Mitsuki, had fraternal feelings for one another, I think it would be really obvious to each of them as individuals, since the two of them are both not only children. In fact, they are the only new generation characters in all of Boruto that actually have siblings (aside from their siblings Himawari, Kawaki, and Log of course).

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Boruto tells Mitsuki that he doesn't need a sun, that he can shine on his own, but he also says if you need a sun then come find me.

In some translations, he says "Come to my place anytime" (oooo sexual).

Anyway, my point is that, if Boruto ends up being as astute as Eida and Sarada in realizing that Mitsuki has romantic feelings for him. Boruto may have just said to Mituski, "Come though and I'll give you what you need *wink, wink*".

Lol, I'm joking but I'm not joking. I don't want to perscribe sexual intention to this so early on.

However, I do think Boruto is saying that if you still feel that you need me in this romantic and relational capacity (once you realize that it's me and not Kawaki), I will be here to receive that, accept that, and be what you need in regard to that to the best of my abilities.

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Just the way the story had already played out, I think there's a good chance that the character of Boruto is bisexual.

#boruto x mitsuki #two blue vortex #boruto uzumaki #boruto #boruto x sarada #naruto #borumitsu #sarada #boruto x sumire #mitsuki #kawaki

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fibula-rasa · 4 months

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How’d They Do That?

Special Effects & Stunts of Silent Cinema - Part 1

This is the first installment of an open-ended series where I try to highlight and illustrate the work of special effects and stunt artists of silent filmdom. Using articles from contemporary fan and trade magazines, I’ll make gifs or dig up images and/or video clips to accompany the descriptions of how the sequences were executed.

My notations will be bracketed and highlighted in a different color. Hope you all enjoy! Fair warning: this is a long read.

How They Do It!

[from Photoplay, April 1926]

by Cal York

Millions are asking how the motion pictures are accomplishing the marvelous new effects which have been developed in the past few years. It took months of investigation to give you the answer

DO you remember how you thrilled when the Red Sea parted to let Moses and the children of Israel pass through, only to close again and swallow up Pharaoh and his pursuing warriors in C.B. De Mille's stupendous "Ten Commandments" ?

How you gasped as T. Roy Barnes fled from the burning tenement with Claire Windsor in his arms as flames and smoke spurted about them and debris crashed on all sides in "Nellie, the Beautiful Cloak Model"?

The destruction of Pontius Pilate's palace with the crushing of hundreds underneath the ruins in "Ben Hur"?

The rescue of Doris Kenyon by Ronald Colman in Fitzmaurice's great picture, "A Thief in Paradise," as Miss Kenyon's runaway horse reared and stood poised on his hind legs on the very brink of a precipice?

Conway Tearle's hair-breadth escape from the mountain of rushing water in "The Great Divide"?

The stirring battle scenes in "The Big Parade" in which giant shells burst all around, tearing huge craters and spreading death as our boys marched on and on and on through No Man's Land.

How Blanche Sweet carried Ronald Colman to safety as the blazing roof fell and seemed certain to bury them. This in "His Supreme Moment."

I could go on and remind you of train wrecks which have brought you from your seats, of battles against storm and shipwrecks at sea—of thrills and hairbreadth escapes and terrific disasters.

How many times have you gone home from your motion picture theater and wondered how these things were accomplished, discussed with your family and friends what possible method could have been used to achieve the seemingly impossible?

AFTER months of investigation, I am able to give you an explanation of the thrills in the pictures I have mentioned and to explain to you the general method used in most other similar scenes.

First, I will tell you how they parted the Red Sea. This was done by a process of double printing, worked out by Roy Pomeroy, technical director at Lasky's. But that, marvelous as it seemed, was but a simple thing compared with the miracles now being wrought on celluloid by Frank Williams, the wizard of Hollywood, who has dreamed out and perfected the moving or traveling mat process of printing, which has made possible most of the recent marvels of the screen.

[Roy Pomeroy was head technical wizard for Famous Players-Lasky/Paramount (that is to say, he was their head special-effects engineer). We only know for certain about a handful of films that Pomeroy made specific contributions to, like The Ten Commandments (1923) and Wings (1927). As with many journeymen of the silent/studio era of Hollywood, the amount of films Pomeroy worked on was likely substantial, but many technical roles went uncredited at the time.]

To part the Red Sea, Pomeroy first built, on the Lasky lot, two wooden walls about the height of the ordinary room and backed them at one end with a scenic drop to represent the Red Sea country. These walls he covered with a jelly-like substance made from silicate of soda and sulphuric acid, which shimmered and shook and photographed like water. The floor space between these two walls was made to look like sand. He then photographed this set.

Then, with two cameras set up at the open end, he emptied thousands of gallons of water between the walls from huge water tanks behind them. One of the cameras was cranked backwards, and this showed the parting of the Red Sea. The other camera was cranked forward, and showed the waters joining together. Both were done in slow motion, which will be explained later.

The next step was taken out on the desert.

Wire fences were built a few inches further apart than were the jelly walls built on the stage. First Moses and his followers, with their live stock, were marched between these wire fences, which were just outside the camera lines, and therefore did not show in the picture. What the fences did do, however, was to keep the goats and donkeys from poking their noses outside the camera lines, which would never have done for in the double printing process the camera lines would become the walls of water. And it would never do for a donkey to shove his head through the Red Sea.

After Moses and his Children of Israel had passed through satisfactorily, under the grinding camera, they then photographed Pharaoh and his Egyptians madly pursuing in their chariots through the same fenced lane. And if the horses and chariots smashed out through the light wire fence, it was fine. for you will remember they were seen madly milling about before the walls of water finally obliterated them.

THEN when they put all together, by double printing, here is what they got:

First, a wall of water parted and left a lane of dry land in the Red Sea. (You remember the camera cranking backwards gave them the negative for this.)

Then Moses and his band were printed in passing along the space between the walls of water. After them, came Pharaoh and his warriors in full pursuit.

Right over these they printed the original negative of the waters rushing together, and this completely engulfed The Egyptians.

The only person to get wet in the closing of the Red Sea was Charles de Roche, who played Pharaoh. The blotting out of the King and his war chariot was not done by double printing but by trick photography, as it seemed necessary to the story of give this incident more personal drama.

The method used was this: DeRoche and his horses and chariot were placed on a treadmill. The camera was on a platform facing them. Over DeRoche's head and out of sight of the camera was a huge water tank, with a water chute projecting from it. This chute gave into a tank between DeRoche and the camera, but below the level of the camera line. While DeRoche whipped his horses like a madman on the treadmill and did all the acting necessary to being engulfed by water, the water in the tank was released and poured down in a torrent between him and the grinding camera, giving a perfect illusion. The only reason DeRoche got wet was because the water chute running above his head leaked badly.

Does this seem wonderful to you? It should. It is. And yet I tell you that it is simplicity itself compared with the moving mat.

Remember that in the "Ten Commandments" the double printing put the moving people into a vacancy on the film—the blank space left in the miniature between the walls of water. Also, that the double printing of the moving water over the Egyptians simply obliterated them.

READ ON BELOW the JUMP!

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Photo caption: This great outdoor scene is made up of three parts and was made right in the studios of the Paramount Company at Astoria, L.I. It is composed of three parts: a miniature four feet high, six feet in front of the camera; the top part of the cliff, fifteen feet high, eighty feet in front of the camera; and a painted back drop, a few feet further away. In the long shots, or distant views, you see the whole in convincing reality. The close-up shots are shown in the white frame, the bottom of which indicates where the miniature ends and the larger set begins. This scene is from Gloria Swanson's new picture, "The Untamed Lady"

[The Untamed Lady (1926) is presumed lost, but luckily, a few images of this cliff-top sequence have survived.

from Exhibitors Herald, 20 March 1926]

An amazing revelation of the latest discoveries of pictures which produce miracles before your eyes

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But Frank Williams can put moving actors photographed in Hollywood into a moving background photographed anywhere in the world—put actual life and dramatic action into miniatures, which, during the previous years when they had worked with miniatures, seemed absolutely impossible.

[As you can gather from this article Frank Williams was a pioneer cinematographer and special effects artist. Williams was able to patent his moving matte process (and named it the Williams process) and it was an important effects technique used in film as as varied as Ben-Hur (1925), Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1926), The Lost World (1925), and The Invisible Man (1933). All of which are extant and easily accessible!

While it wasn’t in regular use for very long, the process was the basis for significant later developments in special effects photography, like green screening!]

Williams has made possible scenes that could never otherwise have been shot in motion pictures. It is not only that he has reduced the cost so that often he can give the producer scenes that would otherwise have been prohibitive because of building sets, etc. But he can give them scenes that couldn't be physically shot in any other way—such as a huge building crumbling and toppling in an earthquake and actually burying hundreds of people. It isn't only that he can make hairbreadth escapes without endangering the lives of actors and animals, as was sometimes done to get effects in the old days. He can make thrills that only the actual killing of animals and men would render possible—and this without the actor or animal being anywhere near the scene.

He can build a miniature town, put real, living people into it, and have them go through any necessary dramatic action, and then he can make a miniature torrent somewhere else altogether and have it sweep away the town with its laughing, singing, dancing population and make you believe when you see it on the screen that it actually happened.

THESE things he does by the patented process of the moving or traveling mat. It is a matter of printing, remember, more than of photography. Williams himself photographs nothing. The negatives from which he works are all shot for him, under his direction, and the miracles are performed in his laboratory.

It hasn't been easy for Williams to attain his title of the miracle man of films. He has given to the motion picture art one of its greatest discoveries. Like all great inventors, he has been scorned, laughed at, at times almost starved, forced to work under unspeakably difficult circumstances. But, none of these things moved him.

A big, quiet, simple fellow, only thirty-two years old. Shy, rather diffident of speech, he makes everything he does look easy. When he comes on a set, his quiet presence is scarcely noticed, and cameramen and technical experts go on spluttering and arguing, and when he is finally appealed to, he settles the problem so simply that everyone wonders why he didn't think of it himself.

WILLIAMS started as a cameraman at the old Essanay lot the year he was out of high school. He was fifteen years old and knew just enough about a camera to turn a crank. He has spent seventeen years at his work, and it was as far back as 1912 that he started work on the moving mat process.

He had no money and few would listen. He was laughed at—Ford, Edison, Marconi, Fulton, all went through the same experiences.

At one time, not so many years ago, John Considine, who is Joe Schenck's chief lieutenant, could have bought a half interest in Williams' big idea for a couple of thousand dollars. Today it is rumored in Hollywood that Williams has refused a cool half million for the same half interest.

THE way he finally made it was this—he'd work a while as a cameraman and save a few hundred dollars, and then go back to work in his laboratory—usually the bathroom in the place he was living—until his savings were exhausted. Then back to the camera for another stake, and so on.

In 1912 he was cameraman for Mack Sennett when they had the back end of a little grocery store for a studio. During this time Williams made his first attempt to use the moving mat process. It failed, however, due to the inaccuracies of the cameras and printing machines of the time and the crude film in use.

But Williams wouldn’t let go of the idea. He kept right at it, and finally, in 1917, he again tried to perfect his process. working in a laboratory furnished by Adolph Zukor, of Paramount. But again he faced defeat, and for the same reasons—mechanical inaccuracies and improper film.

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Photo caption: A rolling stage at studios of the Education Film Co. in Hollywood. Upside-down scenes and rolling ship scenes are easy with its use. It is possible to show ship interiors on the stage inside the cylinder which duplicates exactly the movement of a ship in a storm

[The rolling stage was used for lots of imaginative and comedic sequences in shorts and features. In the Lupino Lane short Movieland (1926), there’s a bit that shows the stage in action. Here’s a link to that specific scene, but the whole short is a lot of wacky fun and I recommend watching the full film!

Another illustration of how the rolling stage can be put to use is in When the Clouds Roll By (1919):

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FINALLY, six years ago, his efforts were crowned with success. The Williams moving mat process was used in a Universal picture, "Wild Honey," and acknowledged commercially. Williams received a great deal of help and gives much credit for this to Elmer Sheeley, then a Universal art director, especially in the building of the miniatures.

Through the better grade of film, a motor-cranked camera set on a solid tripod, and through his own printing machine, built according to Williams' own drawings at a cost of $18,000, one whose accuracy is to within one ten-thousandth of an inch, all the obstacles which had frustrated him so long were overcome and Williams' moving mat process came to life, as perhaps the greatest single invention in motion pictures since that of the camera itself.

Once having demonstrated what he could do in "Wild Honey," in which he made a miniature stream appear a rushing torrent over a hundred feet high which pursued Priscilla Dean down a dry stream bed and finally engulfed her, Williams did not have much trouble getting producers to listen. This "Wild Honey" thrill was the forerunner of all big water spectacles, and when shown to C.B. DeMille gave him the idea for the parting of the Red Sea. DeMille admitted that this flood was the greatest spectacle he had ever seen up to that time.

[Unfortunately, Wild Honey (1922) is currently presumed lost and I was unable to find any depiction of Priscilla Dean fleeing from a torrent of water. As noted above however, there are quite a few extant films that also used Williams’ moving matte process.

In case you were wondering, I put $18,000 through an inflation calculator and it is equivalent to more than $315,000 in 2023 money!]

In trick photography miniatures have always been a very important part. It would hardly do to burn a huge building to have a woman carried from the blazing structure, and this the Williams process makes unnecessary.

TAKE the thrilling rescue front the burning tenement in "Nellie, the Beautiful Cloak Model." A replica of a New York tenement was built in miniature at the studio where the picture was made. We will say for illustration that the scale used in erecting the miniature was one and one-half inches to a foot, or one-ninth the actual size.

In working with miniatures there are two very important things to be considered, and these must be worked out with mathematical precision, if Williams is to be given a perfect negative on which to transpose living actors through his traveling mat. One is to make the miniature look the proper height. This is done by placing the camera the proper distance from the miniature (of course much closer than if it were a real building), and shooting from a lower level. The other is called timing. For example, if a miniature tree is to fall and the camera set-up is close enough and low enough to give the miniature the proper height when it is seen on the screen, then you must be careful of the speed with which it falls.

A little tree falls rapidly—a big tree slowly. And here is where the timing enters. Ultra speed cameras are used. The faster you crank the more pictures you get per second, and the slower the thing seems to move when you see it on the screen. You have all seen slow-motion pictures. These were made with slow-motion cameras, or what are more commonly termed ultra-speed cameras. And it is through this slow motion photography that the little tree is made to fall at the proper speed to be the big tree it represents, or the miniature stream is made to run at the proper speed for a giant river.

And so to get back to the fire which is still threatening "Our Nell." A torch is applied to the miniature tenement. At the proper count little invisible wires tied to window sashes are pulled and burning brands crash to the street below. And all the time the cameras, driven by motors at the proper speed, placed at the right distance from the conflagration and almost flat on the floor, are grinding away and recording this great fire.

[Nellie, the Beautiful Cloak Model (1924) is extant, with a print located at Gosfilmofond, but the film is not readily accessible. However, a depiction of the burning building sequence appears on an advertisement for the film:

from Film Daily, 28 February 1924]

OVER on some other part of the lot, and at any time which suits the director's convenience, T. Roy Barnes, with Miss Windsor in his arms, dashes through a black velvet door and down a street backed with more black velvet.

Two things must be remembered, however. The actors must come out of the velvet door at the right spot and at the right time or "count." This is necessary so that Williams can match up the fire negative, which is the background with action in it, with the negative of Miss Windsor and Barnes, which becomes the moving mat.

The remainder is simple, and is done by Williams and his printing process over at his laboratory.

On the screen you see Barnes dashing from a burning tenement with Miss Windsor in his arms while, in reality, neither of the actors has been close enough to a fire to singe a single eyelash.

Blanche Sweet's rescue of Colman in "The Supreme Moment" was worked out in the same manner as this, as have been most other burning building thrills in pictures made in the last few years.

[His Supreme Moment (1925) is presumed lost and unfortunately I was unable to locate a depiction of the burning building rescue mentioned here.]

Now for the destruction of Pontius Pilate's palace with the struggling mass crushed beneath, in "Ben Hur." Of course the palace was done in miniature, while the people did their acting out on the lot, where the street was built with a dead white backing. Again the timing had to correspond with that in the falling of the palace.

The throng of people was lined up and rehearsed. Two lines were drawn in the street a fixed distance apart—which represented the space where the ruins of the palace would fall, and the throng was sent dashing wildly down the street. At a fixed signal, all caught between the two marks fell flat on the ground. Those who had not reached the first line halted and registered terror. Those who had passed the second mark fled on, looking back and also registering terror. You see, those caught between the two marks were the people buried under the debris of Pilate's palace—those on either side had escaped.

Then came the trick printing with the two negatives, with considerable painting out of those who had fallen flat between the two lines, and you have the palace falling on the panic-stricken throng in the street. The accompanying drawings will help you to visualize this.

Never Before Told

This set of illustrations graphically explains for the first time the marvelous traveling mat process invented by Mr. Williams, which makes it possible for one cameraman to take a background in Europe, another to take the action of moving persons in Hollywood, and to combine them in one motion picture so that when it appears on the screen the action seems to take place against the background so perfectly that it cannot be detected by the human eye.

Follow this explanation carefully, and the method will be clearly demonstrated to you.

No. 1. This is the negative of the moving figure taken in front of a white background. In the negative, white appears black and black appears white. It is from this negative that the Williams traveling mat, which has revolutionized motion pictures, is made.

No. 2. This is a print made from the No. 1 negative and is printed on film of extreme contrast. In this the white and black values are given their true tones.

No. 3. This is the No. 2 film intensified in a silver nitrate solution so that it becomes a dead black silhouette, while the rest of the film is transparent.

No. 4. This is the background negative which can be taken any place in the world or made from still photographs or from miniatures. This background negative can have put in it any motion required.

No. 5. This shows the most important step in the Williams' moving mat process. In front you see the moving mat or drawing No. 3. In the middle is the background negative, drawing No. 4, and at the back is the unexposed film on which they are to be printed concurrently. By this double printing, you get a print of the background negative, which leaves an unexposed portion in each frame, corresponding exactly to the figure you see in drawing No. 1.

No. 6. The result of the double printing being made in No. 5, which leaves a silhouette blank space of the moving figure, is again double printed and into the blank space is printed the real photographic action taken in the original negative.

Thus you see that one double printing has left a blank silhouette space into which the real action is double printed in every detail.

---

The rescue of Doris Kenyon, which is also illustrated by the artist, was accomplished in this manner. One negative was shot of a very real and very steep precipice, the cameramen suspended on a platform far out over the edge to get the proper angle. Another negative was shot of Miss Kenyon's horse racing madly along what looked like a fence—but what was the inevitable white drop. Doris and the horse had to reach a certain mark at a certain count—for over at the precipice there had been rocks and dirt released at a certain count—the horse bad to rear, and Colman had to reach the frenzied beast, starting from outside the camera line, and he, too, must arrive on the right count. There could be no waiting for man or horse. They took it perhaps forty times before everything was exactly right, and then the two negatives (the precipice background and the moving mat) were ready for the printing wizard, and audiences got a great thrill.

[A Thief in Paradise (1925) is almost entirely lost. I profiled the film in my series Lost, but Not Forgotten in 2023.]

Photo caption: These two drawings explain how the runaway horse thrill in George Fitzmaurice's "A Thief in Paradise" was made. The upper drawing shows the cameraman getting his shots of a very steep and very real precipice. It also has the horse with its rider and the rescuer sketched in on the edge of the precipice where it actually appears in the picture.

The lower drawing shows the run that was made before the dead white background, with the horse rearing and Ronald Colman coming to Doris Kenyon's rescue.

The upper drawing was the background negative and the lower drawing the moving mat negative, and by the Williams' process the rearing horse, rider and Colman seemed to be actually placed on the brink of the precipice

---

You remember the mountain of water pursuing Conway Tearle in "The Great Divide." Of course they shot the torrent in miniature. Conway and his horse made their hairbreadth dash on a dark night and in an artificial rainstorm with nothing but a director threatening —then, although they did have quite a time making the steed climb a slippery and sloping wooden bridge, which was out on the back lot. Then up in Mr. Williams' laboratory, they finished one of the greatest thrills ever witnessed.

[While The Great Divide (1925) is thankfully extant at Cinemateket-Svenska Filminstitutet, it’s not easily accessible and I was unable to find a depiction of the effect.]

And the marvelous battle scenes in "The Big Parade." There were the big guns tearing huge craters in No Man's Land made on one negative, and the boys marched on and on and on in the other negative, and Mr. Williams brought them together in his printing laboratory. However, it was by no means as easy as it sounds, for this was one of the hardest pieces of moving mat printing ever accomplished.

SO critical is the public that the building, photographing and printing of these miniatures must be of the very highest type of workmanship obtainable. It might be interesting to know that this work in "The Big Parade" alone cost approximately $70,000 for the background negative and the moving mat negative. The miniature battlefield was about one hundred thirty-five feet long and more than seven thousand miniature shells were fired in a period of forty seconds.

On another picture—"The Barrier"—which shows a fierce storm at sea, icebergs, and a ship caught and crushed in an ice floe, more than $85,000 have been spent to create these illusions.

[The Barrier (1926) is unfortunately presumed lost and I wasn’t able to find a depiction of this effect.]

Mr. Waller, technical camera expert of the Famous Players Long Island Studio, had never seen a cyclone; yet he was instructed to produce one for D. W. Griffith's picture, "That Royle Girl." Mr. Waller did extensive research work on the subject, and then made one to experiment with. A scientific knowledge of the working of the law of gravity, by the way, is necessary to create this phenomenon of nature.

[That Royle Girl (1925) is also presumed lost, and without film footage of this sequence there’s not really a way to know how the cyclone looked in the film. However, I do think the image highlighted in the advertisement below is likely from the cyclone sequence.

from Motion Picture News, 21 November 1925]

In the basement of the studio Mr. Waller connected up three vacuum cleaners. With three suctions of air and some dust, he made a tiny cyclone. This was photographed in slow motion so that the camera and technical crew might study the formation and activity of the cone.

From his observations of the film, Mr. Waller was able to prepare the series of wash drawings which, photographed in animated cartoon fashion, represented the action of the cyclone's cone in this sequence of the picture.

Several hundred drawings had to be made, each one depicting gradually the advance of the cone toward the Inn, which it finally demolishes. These were photographed in rotation on motion picture negative, and this negative double exposed on the 180-foot miniature scene containing the houses and trees. Thus we got a very good illusion of the cone of a cyclone advancing over a village and sweeping houses and trees out of its path.

[I wonder if/hope that some of these drawings have survived!]

The animated cartoon idea was also used in "A Kiss for Cinderella," when the pumpkin and mice change into the coach and four. The first few feet of the sequence showed real mice and pumpkin; from then on 256 wash drawings of the gradual transformation were photographed in rotation and gave the impression of being animated.

Double exposures of one actor playing two parts is the oldest and most familiar camera trick to the fans.

Just recently, however, has it been perfected to the point where the actor's two screen shadows can light each other's cigarettes and shake hands.

Tom Meighan, you recall, did this in Irish Luck."

AN invisible line from top to bottom divides each frame of the negative in half. One half at a time is exposed, photographing one half of the set.

Tom appears as Lord Fitzhugh on the left half, and as Tom Donohue on the right half. If you remember. Tom's two shadows are sitting side by side on a divan in the instance of the cigarette lighting. Fitzhugh leans over and gets a light from Donahue's cigarette. The illusion is perfect. But the cigarette from which his lordship really got the light was tacked onto a chair just outside the line, on the half of the set not being photographed at that moment. Only the lighted end of the cigarette projects into Fitzhugh's half of the picture.

[Irish Luck (1925) is extant at Eastman House, but it’s not currently easily accessible. I wasn’t able to find a depiction of this split-screen effect.]

Then when Donahue's half of the scene was being filmed, Tom leans forward and holds his cigarette in exactly the spot where the chair had been, the lighted end being outside his half of the picture. Think of the perfect matching this requires!

It is done this way. As Lord Fitzhugh performs on one side of the set, the director times his actions, counting the seconds out loud. He knows just where his lordship's right arm is, for instance, at the sixteenth second. When Donahue begins to perform on the other side of the set, his arm must be in a corresponding position at the sixteenth second. Tricky.

A thrilling moment in "Aloma of the South Seas," Gilda Grey's new picture, occurs when a shark eats a sailor. If you want this thrill, you naturally have to take it synthetic.

The shark cost $3,000. It was made of flexible rubber, and its insides consisted of a maze of electric wiring. Outside the body were several buttons which the actor could operate in his fight with the shark. It swims, wiggles its tail and bites electrically.

[Aloma of the South Seas (1926) is presumed lost and I wasn’t able to find images of the shark described here. However, as consolation, here is a photo from American Cinematographer of the film’s cinematographer Harry Fishbeck shooting on location in Puerto Rico:

from American Cinematographer, February 1926]

I guess most of the suffering for art is done by the actors who tie themselves into knots to create the illusion of paralysis, amputated legs and so on. John Gilbert is shown in the last reels of "The Big Parade" with an amputated leg. Jack Barrymore in "The Sea Beast," also does it. It is merely a painful process of strapping the foreleg back. In "The Street of Forgotten Men," with Percy Marmont, a very lucid expose of cripple fakes is shown. Marmont had his arm strapped to his back for hours at a stretch during the filming of this picture. It hurts the first fifteen minutes, Percy said. After that the arm becomes numb.

A vigorous massage is necessary to bring it back to life, but it doesn't feel normal for weeks, Percy says.

Lon Chaney has his tricks of deformity down so pat that they are almost painless to him now.

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wellgoslowly · 1 year

Note

Hello! I love reading your stories and I was wondering if I could get a request please. It’s for Lockwood and Co. One day, Lockwood stumbled into a small bookstore because it was raining and there he finds the reader (and her dog, a boxer please) who owns the bookstore and they start talking and the reader doesn’t think anything about it (because she talks to all her customers the same way) but Lockwood starts showing up more often at the bookstore to just to talk to her and slowly but surely they start falling for each other. Thank you so much!!!

Bookstore Girl

a/n: this is by far the longest request I've written to date! I'm very proud of it and I'd defo be interested in writing a part two. I also just love me a good bookstore romance so this was super fun to write! i listened to the song bookstore girl by charlie burg a lot while writing this!! also there's quite a bit of tea related discussions and I have never made tea so pls don't scream at me I am simply american and unexperienced.

pairing: lockwood × fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: none

notices: a character in this oneshot uses neopronouns [ey/em]!! if you don’t know what they are, please check this out- and if you don’t support people who use neopronouns, do not interact. If you comment hate, you will be blocked. neopronoun users are valid and loved on my blog, and I won’t tolerate hate of any kind. if you use neoprouns- know that I love you and you will always have a place in my writing (as a person who goes by they/she/ey)

tags: @ikeasupremacy @oblivious-idiot @givemea-dam-break @tangledinlove @neewtmas @losticaruss @waitingforthesunrise [if yall want to be tagged when I post requests, lmk in the comments! also sorry if I forgot anyone!!]

It was a slow, rainier-than-normal London afternoon when you first met Anthony Lockwood.

“Hi there… Would you happen to have anywhere I could sit and… dry off?” You had been shelving what was left of a new shipment of classics you had just received when you’d heard a distressed patron behind you. “Oh yes, of course.” You said as you turned to face the customer, suppressing a laugh at the sight before you. A handsome figure stood behind you, their dark long coat absolutely dripping as they wrapped it around themselves, trying to salvage some sense of warmth. “We have a cafe in the back, follow me… and try not to drip too much.” You joked, and goddamn, of course the pretty customer had a pretty laugh.

“Apologies, uh… ma'am.” He said, noticing the pronoun pin on the strap of your apron. “I was just walking home and the storm came out of nowhere and one of my roommates broke my umbrella last week… long story.” They explained as you led them to the small cafe situated in the rear of the store. “Would you like anything? Cocoa, Tea?” You offered as they sat down at a small table near the entryway. “Oh, tea would be perfect, thank you.” They spoke, and you couldn’t help but notice the rapier attached to their hip as the sheath scraped gently across the hardwood floor.

“How do you take it?” Nellie, your best friend, business partner, and head barista, asked from behind the counter. “Hm- surprise me. However you take it is fine.” The customer said with a smile. You slipped behind the counter, brushing past Nellie as ey flitted about looking for the secret stash of eir favorite tea that ey always keep hidden, only taking from it on “special occasions”. Nellie winked at you as you slipped into the backroom, looking for the spare blanket you always keep back there for cold winter days. You rolled your eyes and shooed Nellie away, causing em to laugh. Finding the soft reserve blanket, you turned to take it to the sopping wet customer, only to find Nellie blocking your way.

“What are you doing?” Nellie asked, a slightly mischievous glint in eir eyes. “Getting our dripping wet customer a blanket. Why?” You asked, suspicious of Nellie’s train of thought. “He’s nice. Asked me my pronouns and told me he goes by he/him. He’s pretty cute too.” You scoffed. “What does that have to do with anything?” You laughed, causing Nellie to roll eir eyes at you. “You never let anyone use your blanket, not even me.” You laughed again. “Yeah, Nellie, well, you’re never sopping wet when you ask. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to our customer.” You say, brushing past Nellie and ignoring eir laughter as you walked out of the backroom.

When you returned to the main floor, you noticed that the customer was no longer alone. “Bruce, leave the poor guy alone.” You laughed, watching as your dog, a Boxer, jumped up, front paws landing on the customer’s lap as the customer laughed. “It’s not a problem, honestly. He’s quite cute.” You smiled, handing the blanket to the customer, who took it with a soft “thank you” and an appreciative smile.

“I'm glad you think so. Some of our older patrons don't like that we have a dog around, but I could care less.” You say, bending down slightly to pet Bruce on the head as he jumped down from the customer's lap. “Is he yours?” The customer asked as he wrapped the blanket around his body. You nodded, sitting down at a chair opposite the patron.

“Yep. This place, too.” You said with a cheerful smile as Bruce jumped into your lap. “Oh! I had no clue I was in the presence of the owner.” You laughed, scratching behind Bruce's ears. “No, I'm serious, that's really cool. I run my own business too, but it's not… quite like this.” He chuckled, almost to himself, glancing down at the rapier on his hip.

“Wait- you run your own agency?” You asked, intrigued. You had vaguely heard of agents running their own agencies, but you hadn't necessarily believed that someone your age was capable of running something like that. And yet it kind of made sense, taking in his appearance- the long coat, white button down, black tie, and slightly too-tight pants gave the desired effect of making him look slightly older and a bit more authoritative.

He smiled and stuck out his hand. “Anthony Lockwood, of Lockwood & Co, at your service. Most people just call me Lockwood.” You smiled, shaking his hand in turn as Bruce grumpily whined at the loss of your hand. “[Name], of Read Rose Books. Pleasure to meet you, Lockwood. You know, I think I've heard of you. You did the Annabelle Ward Case a while back, right?” He nodded, a sparkle appearing in his eye at your mentioning of hearing of his agency. “Yes, that was us. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, [name].”

“And I'm Nellie.” Nellie had a knack for sneaking up on you at the worst times, and that day was no exception as Nellie had somehow crept up behind you without a sound. ~~The customer~~ Lockwood himself didn't seem to notice Nellie's presence, jumping about 3 feet in the air at eir arrival. Nellie set down Lockwood's tea, and he thanked em before taking a sip.

“Oh my god, this is amazing.” He said, turning to Nellie. “How did you do that? I've never tasted anything like it before.” You could see Nellie beam at Lockwood's praise, and you couldn't help but smile. “Secret recipe” was all Nellie said before ey flounced back behind the counter.

Lockwood chuckled, taking another sip. “George- one of my housemates, would love em. He's really into cooking too- makes all sorts of elaborate meals that always taste amazing.” You chuckled, looking back at Nellie. “Even I don't know what Nellie puts in there- ey've never told me.”

“If there's anyone who could get the recipe out of Nellie, it's George. He's an insanely good cook, and he loves tea more than the average person.” You both laughed softly before Lockwood spoke up again.

“Speaking of George, do you have a phone I could use to call home? Just to tell my housemates where I am.” “Oh, of course! Follow me.” With a distressed whine from Bruce, who had to depart from your lap, you got up off you chair and led a blanket-clad Lockwood over to the front desk, where your store phone was located. “Thank you so much, I should be quick.” He said, picking the phone up. “Don't worry about it, take as much time as you need.” You assured him. “I'll be right over there stocking some classics if you need me.” He nodded, and you walked back to where you had been dutifully stocking the beautiful new editions of Pride and Prejudice, making a mental note to leave one aside to purchase later for your own personal collection.

You were still within earshot, so you could hear most of the conversation that Lockwood was having (not that you were purposefully eavesdropping, of course- it was very quiet in the store so it was very hard to try and not hear his conversation. You did try, though.) Lockwood's conversation started with a “Hi George, I wanted to let you know that I'm ok-” before Lockwood was promptly cut off by a loud voice shouting at him, causing Lockwood to jump and have to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment.

“Hello to you too, Luce. Look, I'm fine- I got caught in the storm and *someone* broke my umbrella on that case last week so I had to seek shelter before it got too bad. Don't worry- I'm at that bookstore in town… The one George has been wanting to check out? Read Rose? The staff has been very nice and helped me to warm back up but I'm not sure when I'll be able to come home with how the storm is going.” A moment of silence followed as someone- Lucy, you assumed- spoke to Lockwood. The quiet was broken only by the sound of books being pushed into their respective slots on the shelves.

“No, no, Lucy, you are not coming to get me. I don't care if you broke my umbrella, I won't allow you to walk over here in the rain- Lucy? Lucy?!” And then Lockwood let out a frustrated sigh and put the phone back down on the receiver. You looked back up at him, stifling a laugh at his exasperated expression. “I guess one of my housemates is coming to retrieve me.” He laughed, running a hand through his still-wet hair as he looked outside at the still raging storm. “From what I could hear, they sound very stubborn.” He chuckled. “Oh, she is. Lucy is insanely stubborn, believe me.” You laughed, liking the picture you were putting together in your head of this Lucy already. “To be fair, something tells me you're fairly stubborn yourself.” You chuckled. Lockwood gasped, putting a hand to his heart. “You wound me.” He said, and you both fell in to laughter.

Your laughs subsided after a moment, and you fell into a comfortable silence as you stocked and Lockwood walked around, perusing the aisles of books. You two stayed like that for a couple of minutes, and you had never been more content to just be quiet with someone before. “Now I understand why George has been bugging me to visit here for so long. We haven't had much time- cases have been piling up so George is either at home or at the Archives most of the time these days.” You nodded in understanding as he took a book off a shelf near you and examined the cover.

“I get it. Not the agency work- I don't have any Talents. The stress, I mean. My grandmother owned this place and passed it down to me when she passed. Every day there's something new to take care of or a new problem that comes up.” You laughed as you put the last book on the shelf. Lockwood laughed as well. “I know exactly what you mean. You love it though, don't you?” He asked, turning to you. He smiled as your eyes met his, and you gave him a smile in return. “Yeah,” You said softly. “I really do.”

He grinned, and was opening his mouth to say something when there was a sudden noise at the door, and then there was a borderline soaked girl holding an umbrella standing breathless in the doorway. This must be Lucy, you thought to yourself. She was obviously righteously pissed, her hair dripping as she tried desperately to control the bangs that were matted to her forehead. “Lockwood, you idiot.” She said, shoving the umbrella at Lockwood and turning to face you. She sent a look Lockwood's way, which you translated to say something like “who is this?”. Lockwood smiled.

“Lucy, this is [name], owner of Read Rose Books. She and her friend Nellie have been very welcoming and helped me to get warm. [Name], this is my associate, Lucy Carlyle.” Lucy rolled her eyes, elbowing Lockwood in the ribs and whispering something like “you can just introduce me as your friend, you dickhead” before she turned her attention to you, smiled, and stuck out her hand for you to shake. You did, softly saying “nice to meet you”, as did Lucy. “Thank you for taking care of this one.” Lucy said after your handshake had ended, pointing to Lockwood. You laughed. “It was no problem at all, really.”

Lockwood moved to return the blanket you you, but you refused. “You need it more than I do. Just make sure to return it whenever you can, ok?” He smiled appreciatively, nodding in understanding before Lucy grabbed him by the arm ans hauled him to the door. “Thank you again!” Lockwood yelled at the same time Lucy said “Have a nice night!”, and then they were out the door and the shop was silent again.

Nellie was there within seconds, pressing a warm cup of cocoa into your hand. “I'm never getting that blanket back, am I?” You asked em softly. “Probably not, no.” Ey agreed.

---

It was a week until you saw Anthony Lockwood again.

It was sunny outside this time, and you had a pretty nice crowd going inside the small Read Rose venue. You were just finishing up a customer's transaction, barely had the words “have a good one” out of your mouth, when you saw him enter the store. He had on the same outfit, but his hair was more styled, in a totally not attractive way. He was entering the shop with someone who you didn't recognize. They were slightly shorter, with brown skin and curly dark hair and glasses.

You noticed the second that Lockwood found you, watching his eyes light up and a smile form on his face as he waved. You waved back and returned the smile when you saw what Lockwood was carrying in his left hand.

“I was thinking I'd never see that blanket again.” You joked as Lockwood and his companion walked up to the front counter. Lockwood chuckled. “I see how little faith you have in me.” He spoke as he passed the blanket over to you. “Well, she's not exactly unfounded. Remember that time I leant you a sweatshirt and I didn't get it back for a month?” You laughed as you placed the folded blanket on a shelf beneath the counter, not seeing Lockwood sharply elbow his companion in the ribs.

“Anyways, [Name], this is my best friend and business associate, George Karim. He's the one I told you about that's really good at cooking. ” You reached out your hand for George to shake, but he ignored it and turned to examine your store. Within seconds, he was walking away to an aisle that had caught his eye, leaving you behind with Lockwood as you yelled out a rushed, “it was nice to meet you!”

Lockwood smiled apologetically. “Don't mind him. He's au- he can be a bit brash, but he's a good guy, once you get to know him.” You smiled back as you waved your hand in a dismissing manner. “Don't worry about it. I hope I do. Get to know him, that is. Lockwood & Co. seems like a very fun bunch.”

All Lockwood could do was smile before George returned, informing you that they would be back soon but they had a case that night that they had to prepare for. You nodded in understanding. “I'll look forward to your next visit. Be safe out there.” One last dazzling smile from Lockwood and he was gone, being borderline pushed outside by George as you laughed.

---

It went on like that for weeks- at least once a week, Anthony Lockwood would wander into your shop, only once or twice actually buying a book. You got to know each other fairly well- you learned that he hated sugar in his tea, that he always wore pink socks, that he didn't always wear suits, and that he started wearing [favorite color] ties whenever he came to visit after you told him it was your favorite color.

You learned that his favorite genres were classics and mystery (and that he had a bit of an obsession with gossip magazines). Often times, he would come in right before closing a couple times a week and sit and read with you to pass the time before you closed and walked you to your flat a block away.

Every time this happened, Nellie would leave work a half an hour before you and give you a set of totally non-subtle winks before flitting off into the sunset. Lockwood never seemed to notice eir suggestive winks, and if he did, he never appeared too flustered.

Nellie would corner you every morning after, grilling you for every detail. “Why do you even care?” You would say, laughing as you unlocked the storefront. “Because a super hot guy is obviously falling for my best friend!” Ey would exclaim, and you would roll your eyes and laugh it away, making sure to change the subject while you tried not to dwell on the possibility that Nellie was right.

---

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite bookseller. Do you ever take a day off?” You laughed from your perch on one of the bookshelf ladders, looking down to see Lockwood standing below you, a smile on his face and his hands on his hips. You laughed. “Hi, Lockwood. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You bent over, grabbing a book to put up on the top shelf.

“I was sent by George to search for a book he was looking for.” Came the reply, not an uncommon excuse. You turned to reach for another book to stock, but you realized that Lockwood was holding out a book for you. “Thank you.” You said softly, and he looked up from the synopsis of a book in his hand to smile at you. “Of course. It seems you're a bit of a workaholic- I'd love to help in any way I can.” You laughed as you shelved the book.

“You're one to talk. Pretty much every time you come in here you've got that getup on and intense bags under your eyes.” You joked as you descended the ladder, taking the empty box from Lockwood's hands.

“Well, one needs to be a little bit obsessed to lead a top agency, don't they?” He asked, following you to the cafe. Nellie brightened as ey saw Lockwood trailing after you, calling out and asking if Lockwood wanted anything. “Yes, please, Nellie. Could you by any chance make your secret recipe tea to go? I really need to get going, but I was in the area and I just wanted to stop by.” Nellie smiled. “Aye aye, captain.” Ey said before they started the tea making process.

“I thought you came in to look for a book for George.” You said, turning to him with an eyebrow raised and a smile on your face. You giggled as you watched Lockwood flush. “Ah, yes, well, you see-” He was so caught up in his mumbling that he didn't realize that Nellie had appeared next to him, a bag in eir hand. “Jesus, Nellie.” Lockwood jumped, and Nellie chuckled. “Not Jesus- people do often get us confused.” Nellie joked before pushing the bag in front of him.

“What's this?” Lockwood asked, cocking a brow. "A gift for you, George and Lucy. For being such great patrons.” Lockwood smiled. “You really don't have to-” Lockwood started to speak, but Nellie interrupted him. “I insist.” Ey said before turning and running away before Lockwood could fight anymore.

Lockwood turned to you and scoffed. You chuckled. “Ey really like making baked goods for people.” You explained. Lockwood smiled, and the two of you lapsed into a comforting silence, taking in the slow crowd that filled in and out of Read Rose Books.

After a moment, Lockwood broke the silence. “Are you- would you be amenable to visiting Portland Row tonight?” His question caught you off guard, but you smiled nonetheless. “I could be convinced. Why? What's in Portland Row?” You asked, turning to look at him. He smiled softly, a soft flush dusting his cheeks. “Lockwood & Co. We just finished a pretty big successful case so we're throwing a small get together at the house, if you wanted to come?” He asked, and you could sense the nerves radiating off of him. You smiled, nudging his shoulder as you turned to face away from him, trying to draw attention away from the blush that was slowly spreading across your face.

“I'd love to.”

eeeek thank you so much for reading!! pls leave feedback, it truly makes my day :) also if you want to request or see my other works, my masterlist is linked in my about me post which is pinned :)

I love you all so much, remember to stay hydrated, and I hope yall have an amazing day!!! mwah

xoxo linnie <3

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moeitsu · 2 months

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: Welcome to Horseshoe Overlook

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 3 - The Suns Low Down The Sky

Arthur escorted Kate to Dutch’s tent first, where the other gang members looked on curiously. Jack leapt into his mother's arms, as she eyed the mystery woman who rode in with her son. Arthur explained the situation to Dutch, introducing Kate as a traveler heading west, planning to stay for only a few days.

“Nonsense!” Dutch laughed heartily. “Drifter, outcast, or outlaw, whatever you may be, Miss McCanon, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. We only ask that you pitch in with meals and chores.” He smiled, taking a puff from his cigar.

Kate nodded gratefully. “That's very kind of you, Mr. Van der Linde,” she replied.

“Please, call me Dutch,” he insisted. Kate reciprocated the informalities.

Dutch continued, “Arthur, show our new friend here where she can settle her things. Then come find me afterward; I’d like to discuss these Pinkertons you’re so worked up about.” He spoke casually, as if discussing the weather.

Arthur led Kate to a small clearing next to the ladies' tents, where they whispered among themselves. Though Kate felt like an outcast among the group, she hoped to get to know them better, especially the other women. It had been a long time since she’s had the company of fellow girls. Even though she was still unsure about just how long she would remain here.

“You get yourself settled,” Arthur said warmly, “I’m gonna go speak with Dutch. I’ll come find you for dinner.” He bid her farewell, Kate nodded and set to work unpacking her few belongings—a tent cloth, bedroll, and a small bag of clothes. She chose to travel light, since she had no wagon to pull.

From the adjacent tent, two heads peeked out with nervous giggles. One woman had a head full of curls and a face full of freckles, while the other was dark-skinned and wore a vibrant yellow dress. They whispered amongst each other before addressing Kate.

“Hello,” Kate said, feeling a hint of sudden nervousness, it really had been awhile since she was around so much company.

“Hi Miss,” said the curly-haired girl, “are you Arthur’s new mistress?” She asked with a giggle.

Kate’s eyes widened in surprise and her cheeks tinted red, she hadn't thought about what the situation looked like to the other members. A strange woman riding in with one of the men, of course they would think she was a prostitute. Yet she was a little flattered, she did not feel nearly as pretty enough to be considered as such.

Kate used to be all “ladylike” back in the days when she was tending to her husband and daughter. But she's always been more on the rugged side, she stood about 5 foot 10 inches, and had wide shoulders and thick thighs like sturdy tree trunks. All the years on the open plains she's gained muscle in places she didn't even know she had. But the beginning of her journey west is what really hardened her, she shuddered at the memory.

“No, no, I assure you it’s nothing like that,” she clarified. .

“Oh, quit it, Mary-Beth,” the girl in yellow scolded, stepping out from the tent. “My name's Tilly. Nosey Nelly over here is Mary-Beth.”

Kate chuckled softly, relieved by Tilly's playful interruption. "Nice to meet you both," she said, offering a warm smile. "I'm Kate. And no, I'm not Arthur's mistress. Just passing through, like he said.” She restated, taking a good look at the two girls, she noticed they were incredibly young. Tilly couldn't be much older than 18, and Mary-Beth only looked a handful of years older. The faces were full of youth, and eyes still bright with hopes and dreams. She wondered how two beautiful young women ended up with a gang of outlaws. She prayed it was nothing nefarious.

Mary-Beth blushed, realizing her bluntness. "Sorry about that," she mumbled sheepishly.

Tilly waved off the apology with a grin. "Don't mind her. She's a hopeless romantic always jumping to conclusions," she explained, shooting a teasing glance at her friend.

"It's alright," Kate assured them, continuing to unpack her belongings. "I'm just grateful for a place to rest for a few days."

"Well, you're welcome here," Tilly said warmly. "We might be a ragtag bunch, but we look out for each other." The girls smiled in unison. It was clear they were eager to make a new friend.

Kate nodded, feeling a sense of security and camaraderie with the girls already. "Thank you Tilly. I really appreciate it."

“Can we introduce you to the others?” Mary-Beth inquired. Kate put down the bed roll she was spreading out and wiped her hands. She took a look around the camp and saw people milling about doing all sorts of activities. Some were cooking, some cleaning, others sat by a fire while two played dominos at a nearby table. She couldn't see him, but she knew Arthur would be inside the large canvas tent with Dutch and Hosea discussing the encounter by the river.

“That would be nice,” she answered with a nod. Mary-Beth lept at the opportunity and linked her arm with Kates, the gesture took her by surprise.

“Oh, it's so nice to have another woman around here. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the girls first,” Mary-Beth exclaimed, her excitement infectious.

Kate couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm; this was slowly becoming exciting for her too. Together, the three of them strolled a short distance to a larger tent near a crackling fire. Jack sat on the ground, drawing shapes in the dirt with a stick, his eyes lighting up when they approached. Kate recognized the woman beside him as his mother from their earlier encounter. She wore a worn blue dress covered by a long plaid-brown trench coat, busy sewing Jack's sleepwear.

“Hello, Miss,” Kate greeted politely, acknowledging Abigail's tired smile. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your boy already. He's a wonderful kid.”

Abigail nodded gratefully, the weariness evident in her eyes. “Jack told me all about his adventures,” she paused her sewing to shake Kate's hand. “I’m Abigail.”

Kate returned the handshake warmly. “It's a pleasure, Abigail.”

As they moved on, Mary-Beth leaned close to Kate's ear, her voice hushed. “Abigail’s been under a lot of pressure lately,” she confided. “Her husband, well, I guess they're not technically married. Anyways, John hasn’t been the best father to Jack. She worries about her boy a lot.”

Kate's sympathy for Abigail deepened. Motherhood was challenging, even under the best circumstances, and she couldn't imagine the strain of raising a child in their risky situation. She wondered if this had anything to do with why Arthur took Jack fishing. Maybe he was trying to give his mother a break. She hoped to offer her support to Abigail when the opportunity arose.

Approaching the tree line, they encountered a blonde woman holding a rifle, evidently on guard duty. Kate noted the caution in her stance, understanding their wariness toward strangers.

“Well, who do we have here?” the woman greeted, her tone wary.

Mary-Beth took the lead in introducing Kate. “This is Kate, she’s our newest member!” she announced.

Karen eyed Kate suspiciously, her grip on the rifle tightening slightly. “Newest member, huh?” she said bluntly.

Kate raised her hands in a friendly gesture. “I’m just passin’ through, only staying for a night or two,” she explained. “I’m uh - a friend of Arthur’s.” She wasn't sure why the words came out so strange.

“I’m Karen,” she replied tersely. “Sorry if we don't take kindly to strangers. It's been real hard these past couple weeks.” Mary-Beth nodded in agreement. “I best get back to my lookout, holler when dinners ready.” She added, turning around and heading back into the thicket of trees.

As they returned to camp, the aroma of meat stew filled the air, and the fire crackled brighter with the encroaching darkness. People began claiming their seats by the fire's warm glow. Kate scanned the camp but saw no sign of Arthur, she figured he must still be with Dutch. She hoped he was alright after his encounter with the Agents, though she understood his agitation. If he truly was an outlaw, then any government official would probably trigger his flight or fight. She wanted to ask him about it, and ask him what happened.

She longed to hear his side of the story, but she knew it wasn't her place to pry. If he chose to confide in her, she would listen eagerly. After all, sharing stories was what kept her journey alive, each encounter offering a new perspective and enriching her travels. In return, she kept their memory alive, as they lived on through her.

As Mary-Beth led her to a spot by the fire, a formidable older woman with a head full of gray hair strode over, her voice carrying the weight of authority.

“Mary-Beth, I swear to the Lord above if those clothes aren’t washed by tomorrow morning I will—” she halted mid-sentence, her gaze landing on Kate. “Oh, hello dear. Who might you be?” Straightening her dress and tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she composed herself before the stranger.

“Miss Grimshaw, this is Kate McCanon. She’s going to be staying for a few days,” Mary-Beth introduced, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

Kate realized that Miss Grimshaw must be the matriarch of the camp, responsible for keeping things in order. She offered a warm smile. “It's a pleasure, Miss Grimshaw,” she said, extending her hand for a shake. “I’m very grateful to be welcomed here. Whatever you need me to do will be done, be it cleaning, cooking, hunting—you name it. Anything I can do to repay the kindness.”

Miss Grimshaw seemed pleased by Kate’s graciousness. “Well, my oh my, if only the other girls had as much responsibility as you, young lady, then maybe we wouldn’t be living in this dump,” she chuckled. “Well, enjoy your evening, dear. The work can wait until tomorrow.”

Kate nodded her thanks, noting Mary-Beth's subtle eye-roll as Miss Grimshaw walked away. As the dinner bell rang, a heavyset man by the chuck wagon announced that dinner was ready. Mary-Beth informed Kate that he was Mr. Pearson, the camp cook.

The two of them lined up and filled their bowls, then settled by the fire. Kate found herself between Mary-Beth and Tilly, enjoying the warmth and the chatter of the camp. As the commotion continued, she spotted three men emerging from Dutch’s large tent. Among them was Arthur, making his way over to join them at the fire.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur left Dutch’s tent feeling irritated. He laid out the entire situation to him and Hosea—the Pinkertons, Milton’s offer, everything. He stressed that they were being watched, that danger lurked closer than they might realize.

Dutch had questioned his decision to refuse the offer, which Arthur found absurd. Why would he betray his own for a deal with the devil? He was raised not to trust the government and this camp was the closest thing he had to a family, and he’d sooner face down the law than betray them.

The conversation echoed in his mind, “ What's our move, Dutch? ” Arthur had asked, desperation creeping into his voice. Dutch's response was predictably vague, “ We do nothing, son, ” he asserted, “ They want us scrambling, like headless chickens, but we will stand our ground. We just need a bit more cash, then we’ll set sail east. ” Hosea sighed in resignation—“ Have faith ,” Dutch added, as if it were a magic word.

Arthur had never once doubted Dutch or Hosea, they were the people who clothed him, fed him, and protected him from a very young age, but he was beginning to wonder when the robbing and running would end. They had already lost Mac, Davey, and young Jenny. This life was not a safe one, and everyday he wonders if it will be his last.

He bid them farewell and exited the tent, he made his way towards the fire and spotted Kate eating dinner and integrating herself with the gang. He noticed her smile as he tipped his hat in greeting, and sat on a log opposite from her.

“Looks like you've made yourself at home, Miss McCanon,” Arthur remarked with a friendly grin, not revealing any of the stress that weighed heavy on his shoulders.

“Kate,” she corrected him, casual and warm, “and yes, everyone's been lovely. I’m grateful for the company,” she replied, spooning up some stew.

“So, where is it you come from?” Lenny chimed in, initiating the conversation.

“I was born up north, near Boston. I lived there for about 20 years before traveling southwest,” she answered truthfully. Arthur noted this must be why her accent was different from most people around these parts.

“Long way from home!” Javier exclaimed, joining the conversation, “I’ve always wanted to see the north, I hear it's beautiful,” he looked up, picturing the image in his head.

Kate nodded and hummed an answer as she remembered her home, “it's very green and mountainous.”

Lenny’s voice chimed in again, “what brought you out this way? If ya dont mind me asking.” He said politely.

Kate inhaled a breath and shook her head slightly, “it's quite a long story. Suffice to say, there’s nothing left for me up there. Ain't got no family, no land or property.” She said as her expression darkened briefly.

“How come a pretty thing like you ain't married eh?” The Irish man, Sean, quipped from his seat across from her, his voice lubricated with ale. He was more than a little tipsy, already on his fourth beer of the night. Arthur tensed at his comment, Sean had a knack for stirring trouble with his loose tongue. To his surprise Kate laughed and met his banter with her own.

“Well, you see Sean, I’m just waiting for a man who can match my charm. But they seem as rare as a sober Irishman in a pub.” She shot back with a playful wink. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle.

Sean let out a whooping laugh and slapped his leg, “oh she’s a feisty Lass!” he hollered, “what’s a woman like you doing with a grumpy old bastard like Arthur? Maybe you’d like to take your chances with a handsome young gentleman such as myself.” Sean shimmied his body insinuating something nefarious. Kate only laughed and shook her head.

Arthur couldn't help but join in, “I shoulda let you hang,” he said with a snicker, masking his annoyance, “and we met on a job a few weeks back. Ran into her again down by the river when I was fishin’ with the kid.” He explained, taking a swig of his drink, he didn't want Kate to think he had any ulterior motive based on Sean’s comment.

They continued to chat together, but the conversation shifted from being about Kate to whatever absurd tale Uncle was telling. Arthur’s peace was interrupted for the third time that day by the sound of hooves approaching.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate leaned back against the log and placed her empty bowl beside her. Content after a warm hearty meal. She listened with content as the other members of the camp shared stories amongst each other.

Her gaze lingered over to Arthur, who seemed lost in thought whilst looking deep in the fire. He wrung his hands together and Kate noticed he did not grab dinner for himself. Before she could offer to fill him a bowl they all turned to the sound of hooves.

Three men were returning to camp, with a woman following behind them. She noticed, unlike the other ladies of the camp, the woman was wearing trousers, and carrying iron on her hip, she made a note to introduce herself later. Next to her, Tilly pointed out the new arrivals. The one with shaggy black hair was John, Jack’s father and Abigail’s not-so husband. He dismounted and immediately went to his tent, where Abigail was eating with Jack. The other two men were heavier, and rougher looking. Tilly said their names were Bill and Micah. The one called Bill helped himself to the stew, while the one she called Micah caught Dutch’s attention and they entered his tent together. That just left the woman, Tilly explained that she was a widow they rescued in the Grizzlies. O’Driscoll’s had killed her husband, and Micah accidently set her cabin aflame. She dismounted and pulled a white envelope from her satchel.

Approaching Arthur she held out the paper, “for you.” She said handing him the letter, “from a woman, uh, Mary Linton, I think.” He nodded and took the envelope, opening its contents. Kate was suddenly curious about this Mary woman.

The woman, Sadie, tipped her hat at Kate and Tilly before grabbing a bowl of stew and retreating back to her tent. A woman of few words, Kate recalled.

She tried to watch the fire and go back to listening to the stories, but her gaze lingered on Arthur, whatever this woman said in her letter gave him a sorrowful expression. Abruptly he stood up, shoving the paper in his back pocket, and walked away. Kate was a little disappointed he didn't say goodnight, or give any acknowledgement. She had the idea to bring him some food later to cheer him up.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Over an hour had passed and Kate was confident she knew all the camp members now, after everyone shared tales and fun memories of one another. The only people missing were Charles, who Tilly informed her he often went out hunting, and Kieren, who hasn't really integrated himself with the others yet. It was getting late, and she needed to feed and tend to her horse before resting herself. She bid her farewell to everyone and made her way over to her beloved mare Lorena. Briefly stopping by her tent to grab an apple for her, and a peach for Arthur. She would have to pass his tent on her way, so she figured she would offer the food then, if he wasn't already asleep.

To her surprise he wasn't on his cot, perhaps he went for a ride she thought. She continued on to find her mare with the other gang's horses near the entrance to their camp. Lorena greeted her excitedly, it had only been a few hours since she last saw her, but her baby had always been clingy.

“How ya doin’ girl,” she cooed, scratching her snout. She reached around and undid the saddle strapped to her back, “let's get this heavy thing off ya so you can rest properly.” She said pulling the saddle down. Lorena let out a happy huff in response.

Kate reached into her satchel pulling out a small blade, she tenderly cut small pieces from the apple and fed them to her horse. While she fed her she sang a soft tune, almost like a lullaby, to ease her mares nerves and settle her in for the night.

This house, she’s holding secrets.

I got my change behind the bed,

In a coffee can I can throw my nickels in.

Just in case I have to leave.

She sliced another piece of the apple and Lorena lapped it from her hand, nudging her snout into Kate’s hair, making her laugh. She continued on with her song as the quiet of the night sang its own gentle tune.

I will go if you ask me to,

I will stay if you dare.

And I go, I’m goin’ shameless.

Let my hunger take me there.

Lorena let out a soft, breathy whinny, her body growing visibly relaxed. Kate watched the other horses as she sang, most of them paid her no mind, lazily grazing on the little tufts of grass that the overlook had to offer them. She noticed Arthur’s mare, Belle, standing near a tree about a yard away. She watched them wearily, probably interested in the apple Kate was feeding. She was a beautiful white Arabian, and a stark contrast to her own black beauty, as Arthur had called her.

She paused her tune and clicked her tongue, inviting his horse to join her. Lorena stomped a hoof in protest but Kate ignored. She wanted to feed his beautiful horse, and get to know her.

“Nice to see you again, pretty girl,” she said when Belle came around the tree she was hiding near. She cut another slice of the apple and Belle sniffed her palm before gently taking the piece from her.

While feeding the two horses and gently running her fingers through their manes, she finished her song.

I will go if you ask me to.

I will stay if you dare.

And if I go, I’m goin’ crazy.

Let my darlin’ take me there.

Kate doesn't remember how she discovered it, but since the day she’s had Lorena her voice always had an effect on her horse. Maybe it was because she was the first to show her mare kindness, being rescued as a young filly taken from her mother too soon. Kate had always been a bit of a singer, her father taught her to play guitar, and her mother would often sing lullabies to her siblings when they were little. She picked it up somewhere along the way in life, it was a comfort for her. One of the last things she has of her family was their love for music, and she always carried that with her.

“That was real pretty,” a rugged voice said from the ground, a few feet away from where Kate stood. She yelped and jumped back, in the moonlight she could just barely make out Arthur’s figure resting against the tree that Belle had been standing by.

“Arthur, you scared the shit out of me! I’m surprised Lorena didn’t take off again!” She scolded. Grabbing her mare’s reins as if she were about to bolt.

He chuckled and stood up, brushing his jeans, “well Lorena already knew I was here,” he said in a hushed voice, almost teasing.

Kate blushed and realized he was right, the horses knew he was there, she was the one who didn't look down. “Sorry,” she admitted, “but you really did scare the daylight out of me,” she laughed, feeling less embarrassed now. “I um, noticed you didn't have dinner with us tonight,” she said changing the subject.

Arthur sighed and scratched the back of his neck, “uh yeah, just wasn't hungry is all.” He said bluntly.

“Are you alright?” Kate asked flat-out, Arthur blinked in surprise at her question, “the letter you received earlier, I noticed it made you upset.” She explained.

Arthur let out a breath, “oh that, it’s…complicated,” he admitted.

“I see. I won’t pry if you don’t want to talk about it,” she said, reaching into her satchel and pulling out the fresh peach she had brought him. “I brought you a snack, in case you were hungry. I was gonna bring it to your tent but you weren’t there,” she smiled handing him the treat.

Arthur’s heart leapt at the gesture. It had been a long time since someone paid attention to him like this. Sure everyone at the camp always asks how he is or how his day went, what he’s up to and what not. Aside from his short talks with Tilly and Mary-Beth. The rest of the gang never seemed to notice when he doesn't eat, or when he’s not at camp. When he was in a sour mood they avoided him like the plague, and when he was upset Dutch would just say, “chin up, boy.” He was the right hand man of the gang leader, but he always felt invisible. Like he was nothing more than a big dumb strong arm.

“That really for me?” He said, unable to hide the smile in his voice, “peaches ain’t even in season, where'd you get this?”

“A man from Georgia came through Emerald ranch the other day, he was selling a bunch of fruit so I bought some peaches,” she explained. She went back to cutting slices of her apple and feeding them to Lorena.

Arthur held the peach in his hands as if he were admiring the plushy soft flesh, “thank you,” he said sincerely.

“Don't mention it,” she replied warmly. Arthur held the peach and watched Kate feed her horse while he stroked his mare with his free hand.

“I meant what I said earlier, ‘fore I scared you,” he said quietly, “the song, well, your voice, is real pretty,” he complimented again.

Kate laughed quietly, “thank you Arthur, It's something I've always found comfort in.”

“I heard you singin’ for her when we was back at Emerald ranch,” he continued, “you must have a special bond with that horse.” He looked at Lorena who was breathing quietly and closing her eyes as Kate scratched under her jaw.

“Lorena and I have a complicated history,” she began, “she was just a filly when I got her, scared and alone, and I was, well I was pretty much the same,” she added quietly, not wanting to reveal too much emotion in her tone, “I guess her and I needed each other more than we realized.”

Arthur sensed her discomfort and began telling her about his own mare, “well that's more than I can say about Belle,” he started with a half laugh to ease the tension, “She found me in the Grizzlies about a month ago, I was stuck between a rock and a hard place when,” he paused a moment and looked somber as he reflected on the memory, “when my old horse Bodasia didn't make it through the snow storm, I thought I was going to die too.” He patted Belle affectionately. “That's when she found me, I could barely make out between her white coat and the snow. But she wasn't scared of me, came right up to me as if she was sayin’ follow me, I’ll get you out of here .”

Kate watched as Arthur nuzzled his horse lovingly, it always warmed her heart to see people have such deep bonds with their horses. They were incredible animals, and very in tune with their owners' own emotions. For Belle to trust Arthur from the beginning, and stand by his side since, he must be a very special man.

“That's beautiful, she chose you Arthur. That bond is stronger than anything you could have bought from a stable or caught in the wild.” She said somberly.

Arthur nodded in agreement, the two tended to their horses in a comfortable silence. The sound of the night’s chorus around them.

After a moment, Arthur spoke up again, “the letter was from my old flame, Mary,” he began, his voice tinted with quiet sadness. Kate realized he was comfortable enough to open up to her about it, she dared not interrupt. “She's….she's askin’ for my help.”

“What kind of help?” Kate asked softly.

Arthur sighed and shook his head, “She's in a tough spot,” he explained, his gaze distant as he recounted Mary's plea for assistance. "Her family's facing trouble, and she's desperate for someone to turn to."

"Sounds like she trusts you," Kate remarked, offering him a sympathetic look.

Arthur nodded, his expression conflicted. "We had our moments," he admitted, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "But things didn't end well between us."

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she spoke.

He sighed heavily, his gaze drifting to the ground. "Yeah, well, sometimes things just don't work out the way we hope," he replied, his voice tinged with regret.

Kate could sense the weight of his words, the burden of past regrets bearing down on him. She reached out a hand, placing it gently on his arm in a gesture of comfort. "You can't blame yourself for everything, Arthur," she said softly. "People change, circumstances change. It's just a part of life."

For a moment, they sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts as the night enveloped them in its embrace. After a while, Arthur spoke up again, his tone more subdued. "I don't know what to do, Kate," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Part of me wants to help Mary, but another part...well, another part just wants to leave the past behind and move on."

Kate nodded sympathetically, understanding the internal struggle he was facing. "It's not an easy decision to make," she acknowledged. "But whatever you choose, just make sure it's what's best for you."

Arthur let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Yeah, easier said than done," he muttered, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

"You'll figure it out, Arthur," she reassured him, her voice filled with conviction. "If life didn't give us second chances, then we would all be alone. We rely on each other, lean on each other, to make it through the tough times. Helping others isn't a weakness, it's a testament to our humanity. Even if they've hurt us in the past.”

Arthur offered her a grateful smile, "Thanks, Kate," he said softly, his voice tinged with gratitude. "I appreciate that more than you know."

With a nod of understanding, Kate squeezed his arm reassuringly before returning her attention to Lorena. Together, they sat in companionable silence, the sound of the forest as their backdrop. After a moment, Arthur retrieved the peach from his satchel, its juicy aroma filling the air as he bit into its sweet flesh. Lost in thought, his mind wandered to the woman who had unexpectedly entered his life and stirred emotions he thought long buried.

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acnelli · 2 years

Note

I hope I’m the first anon to talk about the Romione fic, “Valid”,

I just wanted to say that I wish there were more fics like these out there. I feel that Ron and Hermione were able to talk about these things and the way you put it in your story shows so much emotion and caring for one another. I like the fact that they were both understanding and they still will be there to support each other regardless of the decision.

I don’t want to spoil the ending to anybody. This story is a real eye-opener because at the end of the day it should be the choice of the person and not the government hopefully there’s other people that think this way but sadly the world is filled with different views.

Hopefully we don’t repeat history, I would like to see more change in the world especially surrounding this topic I feel like you really did execute so much emotions in the story.

The scene where people were protesting that was really spot on and it’s scary that that still happens today in this world. I really hope that there’s more fics that touch on topics like these, since relationships are not all ways a walk in the park.

( I hope you don’t get any anon hate, you did leave trigger warnings on this story and if somebody didn’t like it they could always just press the X that’s on the top corner of the window or they could just not read it.)

I also wanted to add that I did like the conversation they had with each other it was very comforting that they support each other.

I can say that I fell even more in love with this couple then I have before. I truly like the story and just like you I am greatly disappointed at what is going on in the United States. It is ridiculous and I hope that things will change because at the end. It is not the governments decision but our own.

Hello anon 💛

Thank you so much for leaving me this lovely message.

In the end, it was Hermione's decision. But a supportive partner is always a plus. I'm happy you enjoyed reading my story and that it brought forward the feelings and emotions as I intended.

While what's happening in the US was the reason why I wrote this, I should say that my own country isn't doing much better in that regard. As far as I know one can get safe access to abortion until week 12 (if the mother's life is at risk, beyond that) but you pretty much have to jump through loops before you can get an appointment.

This is, unfortunately, a universal problem. And with this story I want to show some support to everyone affected by political choices, laws, and social pressure.

Thank you so much for your ask, anon 💛

#tw: discussion of abortion #tw: abortion #anon ask #ask #nelli answers #romione #hermione granger #ron weasley #hp #harry potter

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xwritingdixonx · 1 year

Text

Till Death Do Us Part | Chapter 2 |

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series masterlist

Summary: Y/n and Deanna discuss the arrival of the new group in Alexandria, causing more conflict amongst the Blackwell family. Until, Rick and a very familiar face stroll up to their front porch simply wanting to say hello.

Warnings: Arguing, language, mentions of physical fighting/ abuse, sensitive topics (the inability to have children)

Word count: 3.3k

Tags: @daryldixcnswife

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The dirt that had accumulated on your skin over the past 2 weeks ran down the tub meeting the metal drain of the shower. Cleaning up was dreadful yet relieving. The way the hot water hit every tense muscle in your body from sleeping on floors and washed away all the blood and grime that covered, what felt like, every inch of you. You scrubbed and scrubbed. Scrubbed under your nails, your scalp, your skin. Washing everything twice and giving yourself a good shave. You didn’t have to, you knew that. Dead walked the earth. No one gave a shit about body hair. But you did it this time just to make yourself feel better.

It was in moments like this, that you thought about him. Moments when you got to be alone and your mind would wonder.

You’d practically shove Daryl into the shower, especially when he’d get home from the shop. He’d smell like oil and dirt. You could handle the dirt and sweat but not the oil, it gave you migraines if it lingered too long. Some days Daryl would mess with you, attempting to sneak up on you when he thought you didn’t notice (you could smell him before you saw him). Or chasing you around the apartment for a hug before he showered. But there were occasional days when he’d come home and you’d be curled up in bed, covering ur eyes from any light, and rubbing your temples from an already severe migraine. He’d go to the shower immediately, then come to you.

You cut the hot shower off, almost as a way to cut off your thoughts too. You slipped on a pair of light colored jeans that we’re probably a size or two big for you which you had to secure with a black belt with a chunky silver buckle. Your white tank top was fitted and tucked into your pants.

Your long hair hit almost the mid of your back. Cecilia and you had similar hair, brown and wavy. If there was something the Blackwell’s had in common, it was the hair that grew from their heads. Thick and full with waves or curls, varying shades of brunette. You pinned half of it up, letting your bangs fall to frame your face, making a note that you’d have to go see Jesse for a trim soon.

Decking yourself out in shades of silver and gold didn’t scare you. You wore the same silver necklace that held your ring, finding it a habit to play with it. Rings cluttered your fingers, as did the silver hanging from your ears. In total you had five piercings on each ear. You and Nellie got all of them together when you were teenagers. Two on your lobe, two on your lower helix, and one on your upper helix. It wasn’t everyday you wore your ear jewelry, in fear that in a fight they could be ripped out.

The ink that forever touched your skin was your favorite accessory. You didn’t have to clip them on everyday, didn’t have to worry about them falling off and losing them forever. They were just always beautifully there.

After lacing up the same black boots you laced everyday, you were off to Deanna’s, not returning home for another dragged 4 hours.

The sun was no longer at its peak in the sky, it was at a mid point meaning it would be setting within the next couple hours. You shut the red front door behind you, rounding the corner to the kitchen which connected to the dining area. The conversation you heard when you had first walked in the door had come to a close. Everyone sat around the large dining table with changes of clothes, clean skin, and clean fluffy hair. “Celia told us….about the group” Nellies words were soft and quiet, “that’s why you were at Deanna’s right ?”

You let out a sigh and rested your hands on your hips “yeah, yeah it was”

No one could quite read your expression and you weren’t quite sure what emotion to present them with. You had talked to Deanna for hours, you were quite exhausted. In all honesty you just wanted to go to bed.

“Come on boys, let’s take this outside” Henry motioned for his nephew’s to leave the table and pick up their card game. As you approached the table Henry pulled out out his chair for you, you gave him a polite smile and a small thank you before sitting down. Henry didn’t like to get involved in family business too much. He wasn’t blood, he hadn’t married into the family unlike his older brother so usually he was quick to excuse himself unless you asked him to stay. You liked Henry, he was loyal to you and your family, a skilled fighter, and treated the boys as any amazing uncle would, they adored him.

“She’s not budging is she?” Tommy sat to your right, you shook your head. “I gave up after a couple hours” You truthfully admitted crossing your arms across your chest, “she says we can’t just kick them out, that they’ve gotten comfortable and that it would be cruel.”

The way the room fell silent showed how deep in thought everyone was, wracking their brains to decide their standpoint on the situation.

“She says they’re good people, that I need to meet them and decide what jobs they’d be best for. She even suggested having a dinner party” You continued, you could hear Eddie scoff a laugh from next to Tommy but you forced yourself to tune it out.

“She’s right.” Celia started with a serious tone in her voice, “they have children. We can’t just send them back out there. Those kids deserve a roof. And food. Just like Jace and Luke do.” Celia’s tone was firm, obviously show casing her stance on the matter. Deanna told you how Jace and Luke had been hanging out with the younger boy, his name was Carl and that he was a kind kid. Nellie expressed her agreement with Celia.

Eddie muttered a “god Nel” while shaking his head. “What Eddie?” Nellie snapped throwing her hands up in retaliation, “ i’m not saying we trust them! i’m saying we give it a chance. If something happens we deal with it.” Nellie wasn’t the type to yell and throw insults, even now she wasn’t yelling. There was almost a plea in her tone. Pleading for Eddie to just stop being so stubborn.

You remembered when your group arrived in Alexandria. You wondered if there was ever a time someone sat around their polished wood dining tables, debating your stay. Probably, you were quite the gossip for the first few weeks. Nellie’s pleading eyes met yours. “Sitting around debating their stay isn’t gonna change anythin’. Deanna made her choice.” Tommy interjected, Tommy always tried to be the middle ground in situations like this.

When there seemed to be a “right” and “wrong” side, Tommy stood arms crossed in the middle. And if he couldn’t find a middle ground, he stuck by your side, whatever your stance might be.

“How did you not know?” Eddie, unsurprisingly, turned his aggression towards you because you knew somehow in his mind, this was all your fault.

“What?”

“She didn’t once mention this to you?”

You let out a deep sigh and crossed your arms over your chest, “No Eddie.” You allowed your tone to match his, condescending and thick with ignorance. He sat up in the wooden chair causing it to creek, so you did the same. Straightening your back and allowing a light scowl to spread across your features. It wasn’t exactly intentional but it wasn’t unintentional either.

Everyone else at the table knew where this was going. You and Eddie were relentless with each other, the insults and name calling were vicious. Hands were only laid on each other once. You had shoved him back by his chest which resulted in him grabbing you by your wrists, shoving you into a wall. Tommy broke it up, screaming at the both of you. Eddie did apologize for that considering you had light bruises on your wrist for a few days after.

The bickering between the two of you began, “well then maybe you don’t have as much say in Alexandria as you think you do. I thought you were Deanna’s right hand” Eddie knew how to press your buttons, to dig right under your skin and just let himself marinate there. “I wasn’t here, remember? I was on the trip with the rest of you.” You watched Eddie roll his eyes with a malicious grin on his face, his next insult on the tip of his tongue.

“The same trip you murdered a pre-“ “Don’t.” You abruptly slammed your hand on the table creating a loud bang causing every in the room to flinch. Simultaneously standing up from your chair causing it to create a scraping noise against the floor. Your chest was heaving with heavy breaths, your nostrils flared, and your jaw clenched as your temper began to rise.

Eddie didn’t seem to care, always as if it was amusing to him. “Were you angry ?” He looked you dead in your eyes, taking a stance himself “jealous maybe?”

“Eddie” Nellie spoke in a firm yet quite tone in an attempt to tell him to stop. He was going too far, farther than he ever had before but he didn’t seem to care. Ever since the incident happened on the trip you knew he had just been waiting. Waiting to bring it up, waiting to scream at you for what you’d done.

“Because she was gonna have something you’d never have, a family.”

“I have a family.” You snapped back, keeping your composure at his words. Though your features had softened from the scowl you once wore.

“Maybe that’s why Daryl walked out. Because I might’ve too if my wife couldn’t give me-“

“Enough.” Tommy took his stance in front of Eddie, chest broad and an angry grimace on his face. Your face fell showing a hint of your vulnerability about that topic.

The look on Nellie and Cecilia’s face said it all as did the silence that settled in the room.

For a second you could see Eddie’s eyes droop with a hint of regret.

“Lizzie would hate you.” With those words, out went any regret Eddie had for his words. He went low but you always knew how to go lower.

Lizzie and Eddie were the oldest and the closest out of the four Blackwell siblings. They were so close in age that they practically grew up as twins. They were the one’s who saw and dealt with the issues within the family long before Nellie or you had. You were both too young and ignorant. Lizzie was the one out of the two to approach things with a more mature and calm mindset. She was the one who bailed him out of all his shit. Who supported all the girlfriends and heartbreaks he went through. When Lizzie died a piece of Eddie went with her, she kept him good. Kept him from turning angry. Like your father.

There was truth in what you said. Lizzie wouldn’t like how he carried himself now. Wouldn’t like how he treated you, the things he’s said to you.

You could see the hurt in Eddie’s face and his water line form with tears. You had never hit a nerve with Eddie while arguing to the point where you made him cry. “You’ve been alone these last few years! Alone and angry!” Eddie yelled at you, a quiver in his voice, before he turned to leave. “What would you suggest I do? Fill my bed with as many whores as you do to keep myself warm!?” You yelled at him as he exited the room, his stomping foot steps on the wood stairs before the slam of a door.

Nellie let out a sigh running her hands through her hair, “I’m sorr-“ “Fuck off Nel.”

Your hands shook from anger as you slipped a cigarette into your mouth and headed towards the front door. There was a gust of cool wind that hit your red hot tempered cheeks. You caught sight of the boys who sat around the little glass porch table, playing their card game. Hopefully, they heard nothing.

“Who’s winning?” You asked as you lit your cigarette and made your way over, leaning your lower back on the white railing of the porch. Making sure the wind blew the smoke in the opposite direction. “Uncle Henry” Luke jokingly rolled his eyes, a satisfied smile bearing on Henry’s face.

“I used to bet money with this game, of course I learned how to win”

Henry’s eyes met yours, you wore a frown on your face and so much dread behind your eyes. “Start a new game without me, I’m gonna talk to aunt Y/n”. Henry left his seat along with his cards and walked with you a bit farther down the porch to the stairs. Both of you stood opposite of the other, leaning your backs on the beams of the porch.

“I can only imagine how that went” You scoffed and nodded, “yeah about the same as it always does.”

Your head fell low, your eyes only looking at the ground of the porch and your boots. “I don’t know if it’s my place but I-“ Henry stopped mid sentence and sighed, “Deanna’s coming”. He spotted her a little bit farther down the road, 2 men following in her tracks. “And she brought company” You groaned and turned your back to the street, almost as if you were trying to hide yourself behind the white beams of the porch. Maybe your white tank top could camouflage you. “Fuck me” You muttered taking one last drag of your cigarette before stomping it out and kicking it off the porch. “Go grab everyone for me Henry” You blew the smoke out from your lips, mentally preparing yourself to turn around and put on a perfect exterior.

What could she possibly fucking want? Did she not get enough of you?

Rick and Daryl spotted the house Deanna was walking towards before they even got close to it. It was one of the larger houses in Alexandria, if not the largest.

Deanna had went over to Rick’s a bit after she was done talking to you, she asked him if he’d be willing to come meet some “very important people” and to bring whoever he wanted. Rick of course, picked Daryl. Daryl knew how to read people, he was quiet, observant and most of all, honest. Rick did ask him for one thing, a goddam shower.

Getting closer and closer to the house, Deanna waved at Henry, who retuned a polite wave and smile. But for Daryl, it revealed silhouette’s and faces that were all too familiar. He felt his heart pound against his chest, even though he stood outside, all the oxygen his lungs needed was gone. He knew it was you by the way your large back tattoo could be seen through the sheer white fabric of your shirt but he still didn’t allow himself to believe it. Not until he saw your face.

You turned with your hands on your hips, a forced smile on your lips, allowing yourself to be in clear view.

“Hey D?” You bare feet walked down the cool wood floor of your apartment hall, making your way to the living room where you could see a lamp on. Being up this early was normal for Daryl, he usually left for work before you got up but Daryl didn’t work today.

What you didn’t expect to see when you entered the living room was Daryl swinging the strap of a large duffel bag over his shoulder. “Where the fuck are you going?” You were still groggy and tired, your hair messy, only wearing short pajama shorts and a tank top. “I gotta go make sure Merle’s alright” You and Daryl had just argued about this yesterday, the news reports were getting worse and Daryl was insistent on going to Georgia to at least make sure his brother was okay. He tried to reason with you, saying he’d go check on your aunt Claudia too and that he’d be home within a day or two.

You never understood it, his brother was a piece of shit that he hadn’t talked to since your engagement. After Merle said you were just “some whore not worth putting a ring on”. You didn’t understand why he wanted to blow money on a plane ticket to go see that bastard.

“So what? You were just gonna leave me in the middle of the night?” The sleep that once clouded your eyes was replaced with burning hot tears. You were angry and hurt.

“No, I-“ Daryl finally caught your eye and saw the tears rolling down your cheeks. He dropped the bag back to the floor and came to you, cupping your face in his large hands. You crossed your arms across your chest, needing to show how angry you were. “I would never leave ya.”

“So then stay.”

The fake smiled you had forced on your face before dropped. A mixture of shock yet relief emitted off your features. You had to let a few seconds pass, struggling to let your brain process that he wasn’t just a polaroid picture you kept next to your bed. He wasn’t the linger of touches you could ghostly feel on your skin. He wasn’t a memory, he was right here. Your thoughts couldn’t formulate a sentence, your lips parted because you wanted to speak or cry out but you couldn’t. And you knew, if you didn’t touch him soon, every atom in your body would surely rip itself apart.

As soon as Daryl saw your foot take the first step down onto the stairs, it was his green light and he met you halfway. One second you were apart and the next your body was melting into his. His body is rough and stronger than the last time you felt him but it gives you more relief than you could’ve ever imagined.

You can feel his firm torso and beating heart. His arms are practically locked around your back pulling you closer in. You can feel your body shake and you can’t help but cry, cry because of the three long years of not having him.

You pull yourself back to look at him, cupping his face in your soft hands while his hands lingered on your hips. He doesn’t look at you at first, his head is low, his long hair falling in his eyes. “M’sorry” He chokes out, when Daryl met your eyes he expected anger which he knew he’d have to understand.

But that anger didn’t exist.

All he was met with were doughy eyes, watery with tears.

“I know” Your mouth painted a soft smile as you gave him a nod before folding him in your arms again. “Uncle Daryl?” The boys were next to give Daryl a hug, you heard him reply to them with a soft ‘hey kiddos’.

As the rest of the members in your family piled out of the house, Daryl got his fair share of hugs, hellos, and happy tears. You watched as Eddie held him especially tight, them sharing a few words you couldn’t quite hear. There was a particular person who couldn’t be spotted amongst the group. For a second it almost seemed as if Daryl looked for her, waiting for a hug from your eldest sister.

Daryl looked at you searching for an answer and you replied, with a simple shake of your head.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl dixon x female reader #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon series

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harlowtales · 2 months

Text

Y/N makes a choice. Who will she take it further with? ⚽️💔🤔❤️‍🔥

18 plus - Adult Themes, Language, Sex

Jack got up early and packed up the jeep loading pups in the back to head to Lexington. He sort of let you know he was coming but not for the reason he said. He told you he was taking a road trip to see KY Engineering because KY and Nemo were being honoured with a state award and wanted Jack to go. This was only partially true. They were being honoured but Jack had no plans to go and it wasn’t for another week. He told you he’s was due for some time with KY in the studio and to hang out in Lex for a a bit. You shrugged it off and went about your day. You were not nearly as affected anymore by Jack since you and Sunni had formed such a solid bond.

Jack picked up Urban and hit the highway. It was nice to just get away for a bit with some beats pumping and Lexington was under 2 hours away. Urban smelled a rat and called Jack out on it and immediately.

“So just headed to Lex to hang out huh?” Urban said suspiciously

“Yup.” Jack said dodging any further discussion.

“You. Who hate Lexington are just going there to chill out when Y/N is there in a soccer tournament to chill with KY and Nemo who you see all the time.” Urban said now more directly.

“Fuck bro what do you want from me?” Jack yelled over the music and noise from the open road.

“The truth maybe?” Urban said unapologetically

“I gotta talk to Y/N is all.” Jack confessed “I need to tell her...I…I like her a lot and I just want to see if she feels the same. You know we ain’t getting any younger bro. You’re happy with your lady. I figured it’s time to lock in with a real one before..”

“Before Sunni snatches her soul.” Urban chuckled “Gotta hand it to bro, he landed Y/N. He can cook though, girls love that, and he’s got that dorky sexy thing going on. Remember everyone had a crush on Y/N at one point?”

“He didn’t fucking land Y/N. They’re just hanging out and talking and shit.” Jack said confidently. “He is not sexy at all, he’s just a bootleg me. I know what’s best for Y/N. I’m the one she really wants but every time I had to avoid the situation because of my lifestyle.”

“Ok bruh.” Urban said “You tell yourself whatever you need to.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Jack said getting flustered.

“Yo sorry…eyes on the road.” Urban apologized for riling Jack up while he was driving.

They pulled up eventually to the gym at the University of Kentucky. Almost immediately there were whispers and pointing at the car as Jack parked. They snuck up on Y/N’s team in a huddle as the gym door was cracked open. Everyone froze as Jack and Urban got closer. None of them had really met a celebrity before, and Urban was almost as famous as Jack’s best friend.

Y/N turned around swiftly as the coach said “Jack Harlow? What are you doing here sir. Nobody told us you were coming.”

“Yeah what are you doing here?” You said with an edge still upset Jack was always mean to you, especially lately.

“C’mon, I can’t drop by?” Jack said oozing charm with his diamond earrings and megawatt smile.

“Um of course you can. Welcome to our practice Mr. Harlow. It’s an honour to have you here.” The coach apologized. “Ok girls don’t get distracted.” The coach yelled at the team about to hit the field.

Jack had never actually seen you play. It’s one of the many things you were mad at him for. Sunni made an effort to rearrange his work schedule to see you play all the time. “So you just in town to hang with KY huh?” You said with no hesitation to let Jack know you weren’t feeling him at all at the moment. “Where’s Sunni did he come for the ride?” You asked hopefully.

“Sunni ain’t here. I’m here.” Jack said firmly stirring something up inside of you that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Sunni is always with me.” You shot back.

“Why don’t you run along and get on the field. I came here to watch a star play my favourite sport.” Jack taunted. He was never just going to be nice.

“Oh I’m going to fucking play.” You said with clenched teeth. Jack had a way of getting under your skin. “But you know by this time Sunni would be telling me I can do anything and to just do my best.”

“That’s sweet but that’s not what you need.” Jack replied looking deep into your eyes. “Now go out there and practice hard like UK’s head is already on a platter. This is the finals. You wanna a sweet pep talk or to be told you are a demon and you’re going to crush them.”

“I’m a fucking demon.” You repeated feeling the competitive juices flowing.

“That’s my baby.” Jack said knowing it was what you longed to hear.

“Don’t do that. I know what you’re doing and I know why you’re here. I like Sunni.” You said assuredly.

“Y/N we’ve been in love since we were kids.” Jack said shocking you as he’d never admitted that before.” You know who you belong to now go play.”

“I belong to me and me only.” You said stopping in your wrath only to pet and kiss pups who was dying to jump into your arms.

“Y/N! You’re in!” The coach yelled.

Jack sent Urban and pups to the hotel as he wanted to be alone with you after practice. He sat and watched you in amazement. He knew you could play but he didn’t know how good you were. There was no doubting the olympics was in your future. He felt so proud as you scored twice and played rough. It turned him on to see you out there outshining everyone.

“C’mon Y/N get it! Steal it!” Jack yelled as the team looked at him. They were nervous he just showed up but everyone knew Sunni as Y/Ns sort of man and that her and Jack had been friends since forever so they didn’t think anything much of him cheering you on and bought the story of him just passing by and in town for other reasons.

After you showered and were the last to come out from the locker room hoping Jack would be gone, he was still there and motioned over to you. “I should stick with the team.” You said tired and sore.

“Nonsense, you know we need to talk.” He said smoothly.

“About what?” You said confused “You know you got some…nerve.” You said softly as he pulled you in for a kiss. Your heart raced and your head was swimming. You hated the effect he had on you and thought Sunni had successfully gotten you over him.

“Is the locker room empty?” Jack said breathlessly

“Jack no it’s not that easy.” You said weakly “Please Sunni is a good guy. He’s our friend.”

“He’ll understand he’s not your man and he doesn’t have you like I do. Our souls are one and you know that.” Jack said touching his forehead to yours. I need you right here right now. Please. After this if you choose Sunni I…I’ll leave you alone I swear.”

“No you won’t. You always do this.” You said getting weaker and he knew it. He pressed you up against the wall and began feeling under your shorts to push his fingers into your aching space. You moaned as his hands thrust in and out of you getting slicker with your passion for him. He kissed you hard and with his other hand grasped your breast. You pulled him into the locker room and locked the door.

He was bulging hard in anticipation of getting inside you but propped you up on a bench and pulled your shorts down. He forced your legs apart and licked your glistening pussy like a sweet lollipop before forging ahead with his tongue penetrating your inner core. He sucked your clit hard making you say his name “Jack!! Ughh!!” and grab a handful of curls as you arched your back.

He swivelled his head and drove deeper making you cum within minutes. This had happened before many times. Jack would toy with you eating you out in the back of his Jeep and dropping you back to your dorm. This went on for a year and nobody knew. You both felt that as long as you didn’t have sex with each other it didn’t count. It never amounted to anything so you didn’t tell Sunni.

“Fuck I missed how you taste.” Jack said wiping your cum off his cherry lips. He stood up so now his dick was bulging in his pants right in your face. You quickly pulled his sweatpants down as it sprung out you grab the rock hard shaft and took it all the way in until it hit the back of your throat. Jack winced in agonizing pleasure as he was sensitive to deep head. You pulled his warm cock out of your soft wet mouth slowly, looking up at him making him desire you more. He bent you over a desk and pulled on your ponytail as he entered you roughly.

“Jack!! Please!!” You cried out but he showed no mercy driving into you like a freight train in and out. You had to remember him. He couldn’t send you back to Sunni with some run of the mill memory. He wanted you to feel this for a long time.

“Do you feel me?” He said breathing hard and not letting up on his relentless rhythm slapping against your ass with his whole body. He was large and you definitely felt him deeply tearing your inner walls down.

“Yes!!” You screamed as his grip on your ponytail tightened and he thrust with more force. Suddenly you felt him pull out and heaved a sigh of relief but it wouldn’t last long.

“Come and fuck me.” He demanded as he sat on a chair, his cock hard and slick from being far inside you. You obeyed and positioned yourself to sit on him taking in his full length. He groaned and threw his head back only to slap and grab both your ass cheeks as you rode him steady and strong. It stung but he slapped your ass again and slightly smiled as a tear slid down your cheek but you didn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around you and sucking on your tits he forced you up and down harder.

“I…Jack! I…I…oh god!” You exclaimed as you gushed all over him wetting up his stomach. He kept you straddled walked over to a pile of blankets laying you on top and entered you again more slowly which was even worse as now you were sore. You hung onto him and winced in pain as he pushed into you.

“Come for me again.” He commanded picking up speed and covering your mouth. You screamed into his hand and clawed at his back.

“Jack stop! I can’t take it.” You pleaded

“Come for daddy one more time.” Jack breathed in your ear as he had you pinned down driving to hit your g-spot. His head was starting to throb as he was minutes away from exploding.

“I’m coming baby.” You whispered “Cum with me.” You opened your legs more so he could press further into you.

“Y/N shit!!” Jack cried as he pulled out and came all over you rubbing his cream on your tits. He was drenched in sweat and collapsed onto the pile of blankets next to you pulling you close to him. You laid your head on his chest heaving and in disbelief of what just happened.

“Never forget this even if you choose Sunni.” Jack said kissing you on your head. “I love you so much it hurts me and I always will. I would give you a life you can only dream of.”

“Jack I love you.” You said determined for him to know even if it didn’t work out which you were doubtful it would.

“But..” he said sensing something bad coming.

“But I…need stability and consistency.” You said honestly.

“Done. I’ll cancel tour if you want me to.” He said eagerly.

“Lord no don’t do that I’m not that important” you said as you both started looking for your clothes. He stopped you and his piercing ice blue eyes saw right into you.

“Is that…is that what I’ve done to you?” He said searching for the answer in your eyes. “You think you’re not important to me?”

“Yeah.” You said shortly as if it was common knowledge. “You literally dodged me every time I wanted more and were with so many other girls right in front of me.”

“I’m an asshole. You know what? I’m sorry this happened. I came here thinking this would make you mine.” Jack said hanging his head.

“Jack I belong to you. I can’t change that, but Sunni is a great guy. He looks after me.” You said matter of factly.

“So what does that mean?” Jack said tears welling up in his eyes.

“It means…when I get back to Louisville, Sunni and I are making it official. I’m sorry Jack but I can’t trust you.”

Jack took you to your hotel in silence. He couldn’t believe after all that you chose Sunni. He enveloped you in a a huge hug and planted a kiss goodbye on your cheek. “You’re mine forever do you understand?” He said looking down at you.

“Yes. I do.” You said in agreement as you didn’t want to pretend you didn’t have a bond with Jack that could not be broken, but he had broken your heart too many times and you knew Sunni would take care of you in a way you deserved. You walked into the 21C hotel lobby and turned to wave goodbye with a dimpled smile and blew him a kiss.

He caught it and held it close to his chest with a goofy grin and made you giggle, knowing you made the right choice.

@itsyagirljaz @okaaay-mice

#jack harlow #romance #fanfic #jackman thomas harlow #dramatic #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow smut #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n

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bethanydelleman · 3 months

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Your recent post about Anne Brontë and preachiness makes me want to ask: do you agree with claims that "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" is "the anti-Wuthering Heights"? Some people say this because Arthur Huntingdon's portrayal contrasts with the "romanticized" Heathcliff, while others say it because "Tenant" is both feminist and Christian, while WH is "unconcerned with feminism" (I'm not so sure about that...) and "pagan" in its spirituality. Do you think those two sisters' books are fundamentally against each other?

I personally feel that all the Brontës were just doing their own thing, not that they were against each other. So no, I don't agree at all.

I have no idea what Emily Brontë was up to with Wuthering Heights, that book is wild! But I don't think a rational human being would read it and say, "Man, Heathcliff is hot stuff, wish I could marry him." He's a horrible husband in the novel. Catherine specifically advises Isabella not to romanticize Heathcliff and Isabella learns her lesson and even runs away from him with her male child, just like Helen Graham. Heathcliff is just as unredeemable as Arthur Huntingdon. Even his big "romance" with Catherine ends up killing her.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is about a young girl learning that the love of a good woman cannot change a man, but that does not happen in Wuthering Heights. Catherine Earnshaw (#1), is semi-civilized by the love of a good man, you could argue that Heathcliff is destroyed by hatred and he cannot be recovered through love, and Cathy (#2) perhaps tries to change Linton but fails/he's dying anyway. Anne Brontë could only have been responding to misinterpretations of Wuthering Heights, not the text itself.

And to add Jane Eyre to the discussion, Jane does not reform Rochester, God half-smites him and he reforms himself. Anne Brontë is likely just opposing pulp fiction of her era, just like Jane Austen did before her.

Side Note: Helen actually holds out hope until the very end that Arthur will at least ask God for forgiveness, if not reform. That is something that does not really happen in Wuthering Heights, Isabella never expects Heathcliff to reform and neither does anyone else really.

As for the morality, Nelly Dean's discussions of death are very Christian so I wouldn't call Wuthering Heights "pagan". Also, it is emphasized a lot that they cannot keep a curate in the parish and Heathcliff is deprived a religious education, so if anything the book is showing the fall into immorality when a community lacks guidance/faith. Which honestly, isn't that different than The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Both books also emphasize upbringing and how it can shape how men act in the future.

Lastly, feminism. I don't know. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall has some very feminist messages, especially when education is discussed. Helen is very outspoken in her opinions, which I know people love. I don't know if Wuthering Heights has any specifically feminist messages, but every novel written by a woman doesn't have to be about feminism. I'm not a feminism scholar though, so I don't know.

#question response #emily brontë #wuthering heights #anne brontë #the tenant of wildfell hall #charlotte brontë #jane eyre

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rypnami · 26 days

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happy star wars day :)

sebastian, leander, garreth, natty, nellie, and poppy adore star wars

andrew, everett, amit, imelda, anne and arthur have seen star wars and enjoy it

duncan has not seen star wars

ominis has not seen star wars because he can’t but if he could i think he’d at least kind of enjoy it

grace, samantha, and eric prefer star trek but also like star wars

charlotte, evangeline, lenora, nerida, violet, and cressida are star trek fans who do NOT like star wars

professor black thinks the whole discussion is stupid and will give anyone he catches talking about it detention

he’s secretly a star wars fan tho

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burningvelvet · 5 months

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A very long analysis on Heathcliff, his relationships, and his origins: or, how Wuthering Heights drove me insane :)

Links to my previous WH analysis (which aren't required to read this post!): 1) my post analyzing heathcliff & his relationships with cathy2.0/isabella/hareton / 2) smaller post analyzing heathcliff & the earnshaws in relation to theories about his parentage / 3) misc. heathcliff/cathy analysis

On Heathcliff's origins, his mysteriousness, and his arrival to Wuthering Heights:

As I mention in that 2nd link, I think the theory of Heathcliff being Mr. Earnshaw's son is an interesting theory of conjecture because even if not true (and it probably isn't) it allows us to more deeply explore the generally accepted basis of the canon, which is that Heathcliff is not related to them, but nevertheless is still caught between the labels of "family" and "outsider," just like he would have been if he had indeed been a bastard, a step-child, or even more formally adopted. Under Mr. Earnshaw's wishes Heathcliff shares a room with the children, he is given equal gifts and clothes as them, and he is preferred over Hindley. And while he may not be in line to inherit legally, he ends up inheriting anyway, an idea which lends itself to the novels Joseph-approved theme of predeterminism/fate.

So I'm not dead-set on any singular interpretation or theory as to Heathcliff's role in the story or the details of his background. Much of his character is inherently mysterious: his race and age are unknown, his family history and origins are unknown, what he was doing for 3 years of Cathy's marriage and how he acquired his wealth are unknown, some of his feelings and motives are highly debatable (as I discussed in my post about his odd dynamics with Cathy 2.0, Isabella, & Hareton: https://www.tumblr.com/burningvelvet/738901817580290048/my-analysis-on-heathcliff-and-his-relationships), & whether English was his first language is also questioned (many people including myself have wondered at the line where we're told he "repeated over and over again some gibberish that nobody could understand," though it could have just been panicked child's speech).

Many academics have noted how Wuthering Heights follows various testaments of the Gothic literary tradition, not only by the involvement of death, violence, ghosts, etc., but also in the use of incestuous themes (whether literal or metaphorical) and the use of the Other in Heathcliff, aided by the mysteries of his origins and his racial ambiguity.

As for Heathcliff not revealing much about his childhood, I believe this part of it could be due to trauma as well as regular childhood amnesia. He may not remember anything. A lot of people don't have many memories from before the age of ~6 anyway — and I just looked it up— his real age is never given but he is believed to be around the same age than Cathy who was described as "hardly six years old." I had thought they were a little older for some reason. He's also said to have been "speaking gibberish" which I once considered may have been indicative of a foreign language and/or accent but now, because of his age and probable low background, it may have been due to his just being very young and maybe unsocialized and shy. It actually makes my heart ache when Nelly describes him :(

Here's an excerpt from chapter 3 describing Heathcliff's childhood:

"He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, and bid them all stand off, for he was nearly killed—he would not have such another walk for the three kingdoms.

'And at the end of it to be flighted to death!' he said, opening his great-coat, which he held bundled up in his arms. 'See here, wife! I was never so beaten with anything in my life: but you must 'en take it as a gift of God; though it's as dark almost as if it came from the devil.'"

We crowded round, and over Miss Cathy's head I had d peep at a dirty, ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to walk and talk: indeed, its face looked older than Catherine's; yet when it was set on its feet, it only stared round, and repeated over and over again some gibberish that nobody could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had their own bairns to feed and fend for? What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad? The master tried to explain the matter; but he was really half dead with fatigue, and all that I could make out, amongst her scolding, was a tale of his seeing it starving, and houseless, and as good as dumb, in the streets of Liverpool, where he picked it up and inquired for its owner. Not a soul knew to whom it belonged, he said; and his money and time being both limited, he thought it better to take it home with him at once, than run into vain expenses there: because he was determined he would not leave it as he found it. Well, the conclusion was, that my mistress grumbled herself calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me to wash it, and give it clean things, and let it sleep with the children.

Hindley and Cathy contented themselves with looking and listening till peace was restored: then, both began searching their father's pockets for the presents he had promised them. The former was a boy of fourteen, but when he drew out what had been a fiddle, erushed to morsels in the great-coat, he blubbered aloud; and Cathy, when she learned the master had lost her whip in attending on the stranger, showed her humour by grinning and spitting at the stupid little thing; earning for her pains a sound blow from her father, to teach her cleaner manners. They entirely refused to have it in bed with them, or even in their room; and I had no more sense, so I put it on the landing of the stairs, hoping it might be gone on the morrow. By chance, or else attracted by hearing his voice, it crept to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and there he found it on quitting his chamber. Inquiries were made as to how it got there; I was obliged to confess, and in recompense for my cowardice and inhumanity was sent out of the house.

This was Heathcliff's first introduction to the family. On coming back a few days afterwards (for I did not consider my banishment perpetual), I found they had christened him 'Heathcliff': it was the name of a son who died in child-hood, and it has served him ever since, both for Christian and surname. Miss Cathy and he were now very thick; but Hindley hated him: and to say the truth I did the same; and we plagued and went on with him shamefully: for I wasn't reasonable enough to feel my injustice, and the mistress never put in a word on his behalf when she saw him wronged.

He seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment: he would stand Hindley's blows without winking or shedding a tear, and my pinches moved him only to draw in a breath and open his eyes, as if he had hurt himself by accident, and nobody was to blame. This endurance made old Earnshaw furious, when he discovered his son persecuting the poor fatherless child, as he called him. He took to Heathcliff strangely, believing all he said (for that matter, he said precious little, and generally the truth), and petting him up far above Cathy, who was too mischievous and wayward for a favourite.

So, from the very beginning, he bred bad feeling in the house; and at Mrs. Earnshaw's death, which happened in less than two years after, the young master had learned to regard his father as an oppressor rather than a friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper of his paren's affections and his privileges; and he grew bitter with brooding over these injuries. I sympathised a while; but when the children fell ill of the measles, and I had to tend them, and take on me the cares of a woman at once, I changed my idea. Heathcliff was dangerously sick; and while he lay at the worst he would have me constantly by his pillow: I suppose he felt I did a good deal for him, and he hadn't wit to guess that I was compelled to do it. However, I will say this, he was the quietest child that ever nurse watched over. The difference between him and the others forced me to be less partial. Cathy and her brother harassed me terribly: he was as uncomplaining as a lamb; though hardness, not gentleness, made him give little trouble."

From this excerpt we see that Earnshaw 1) despite being racist toward Heathcliff, is also wildly protective of him - so much so that he kicks Nelly out of the house FOR DAYS for initially not allowing Heathcliff to sleep in his childrens room 2) Earnshaw doesn't like Cathy that much, and prefers Heathcliff over her; later when he dies he has a nice moment with her, but still asks her why she can't be a better child (lol) 3) Earnshaw did not name Heathcliff on his own accord but Heathcliff is named after Earnshaw's own son that died!!! And that says a lot; we're also never really told how Mrs. Earnshaw felt about him being named after her dead kid, or if she had a part in it or not, or if she grew to like Heathcliff too — she just dies soon after - however, I think we can all assume she always favored Hindley over Heathcliff, since we're told Hindley's jealousy grew after her death 4) Heathcliff is described by Earnshaw as a "gift from God" which I find kind of suspicious because Earnshaw struggled so much just to get him home... um, God had no part in that, Mr. - unless he's referring to the kids existence imo. At any rate, if Heathcliff isn't biologically related to Earnshaw, we're still led to have the sense that Heathcliff is sort of predestined to be there 5) Heathcliff was indeed a bit scraggly/unkempt when he arrived, but imo that doesn't mean he was necessarily a homeless orphan; if he did have a mother/family, they probably would have been living in harsh conditions anyway just by being impoverished, and if not, maybe he was just a bit dirty from wandering outside like normal kids do, and like he's so fond of doing anyway on the Moors later on - he could have just been playing outside when this white guy comes along and takes him under his coat! 6) Earnshaw says he asked around for the kids parents and felt obligated to take him on, though the kid was struggling... so yeah, regardless of if he's omitting other info or if he's his father or not, we can infer that he essentially kidnapped Heathcliff.

After re-reading this excerpt, I don't think it's as likely that Earnshaw had seen/known Heathcliff personally prior to his taking him home, but I still don't think any of this totally disproves the theory that Earnshaw could have been lying to Mrs. Earnshaw/omitting certain information.

Why was Mr. Earnshaw in Liverpool to begin with? I and many others often assume it was some sort of a business trip, and it probably was, but after re-reading the part where he leaves, I can't actually find anything to definitively confirm what he was actually there for. He could have been in Liverpool specifically to take Heathcliff with him. Another thing that doesn't make any sense is the fact that he walked all the way there alone: "I’m going to Liverpool today, what shall I bring you? You may choose what you like: only let it be little, for I shall walk there and back: sixty miles each way, that is a long spell!’"

He's then gone for 3 whole days. Meaning according to him, he walked 120 miles in 3 days, half of that while carrying/dragging a struggling small child, who he says he took because it would be his easiest option: "his money and time being both limited, he thought it better to take it home with him at once, than run into vain expenses there."

He's contradicting himself, because if he was so concerned about finances then he never would have taken on another child, as Mrs. Earnshaw immediately supplies (meaning if he was on a mission to retrieve Heathcliff, he didn't tell her): "Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had their own bairns to feed and fend for? What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad?" Ummmm you're telling me there isn't something a little suspicious or weird about any of this?!

And why would he be walking in the first place when he has horses — was he really so tight on money as to not want to support/feed them on a journey, or did he just not want to be recognized or attract attention, or did he not want to deal with a child riding on a horse for the first time? I assume carriages/wagons were out of the question for costs, and I know people walked a lot back then, especially in rural farmlands, but that is a very long journey as he himself says. What was so important? Did he even go to Liverpool at all? And why did he bundle Heathcliff up as if to hide him? To avoid suspicions about having a bastard child, etc.? And we're told Mrs. Earnshaw was expecting him home earlier, and we get no indication if she knew Mr. Earnshaw's plans or whereabouts.

And why does Mr. Earnshaw act so upbeat and nonchalant about all of this, when we're told he's usually really stern? Ie he supposedly treats Nelly well eg, telling her he'll bring her back fruits on his journey, but then he LOCKS HER OUT OF THE HOUSE FOR MULTIPLE DAYS for not following his orders about putting Heathcliff in the children's room on his first night there.

Where tf did she even go lol? Am I forgetting some part about her family having a nearby house? How far did she have to walk to get there, alone and unaccompanied as a young woman? Probably less than 120 miles in 3 days, but still! He's known Nelly her whole life, and he's supposedly known Heathcliff for a day (in which time Heathcliff has already led him into physical exhaustion), and yet he already prefers Heathcliff over her as well as his own children.

Even excusing Nelly being a narrator of debatable reliability, and being sometimes contradictory & biased against Heathcliff, Mr. Earnshaw's behavior still seems a bit outlandish and it makes sense that Mrs. Earnshaw would ask him if he had gone mad. I course, I may be looking too far into this, but how can I not?

Heathcliff's trauma, his relationship with Mr. Earnshaw, Earnshaw as kidnapper, and race:

I think Heathcliff is certainly severely traumatized. I'm not a psychologist but Nelly's line "hardness, not gentleness, made him give little trouble" is textbook childhood CPTSD, and it is partly due to Earnshaw indeed being a kidnapper with a white saviour/"white man's burden" complex.

I think the following quote by Nelly supports this kidnap view, in that she actually refers to him being kidnapped; Emily may also be encouraging us to speculate on even the most outlandish theories of his origins like Nelly does:

"‘A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,’ I continued, ‘if you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. And now that we've done washing, and combing, and sulking—tell me whether you don’t think yourself rather handsome? I'll tell you, I do. You're fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week’s income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!'"

Like in Charlotte's Jane Eyre, Emily also borrows taboo Romantic and Orientalist imagery and racializes the gothic Other figure, because this idea of the foreign/non-white body was a source of anxiety to a lot of white British Victorian readers. This is a popular concept in Gothic literary studies & a lot has been written on it, so I won't go into it too much.

Like Charlotte's Bertha Mason, Linton Heathcliff's identity as being mixed race is essential to his character — in the narrative, him being white-passing is supposed to relate to his identity being more Isabella/Linton (as also evidenced by his name) and less Heathcliff's, who is disappointed not to see his own resemblance in his son.

Since we seriously don't know Heathcliff's true origins, we can't ascertain his ethnicity (given his descriptions/epithets/Nelly's speculations, he is likely fully or part Roma, South-Asian, or African), and we can't tell if he or his family/mother were highborn, enslaved, or simply free, but we do know that slavery was still very active in England in the late 1700s when Heathcliff is a child, and his hometown Liverpool was the center of the slave trade, so connections to slavery either ancestrally or during his hiatus (a popular theory, explored in the book Heathcliff: the Lost Years by David Drum) are possible.

More evidence for the theory of Heathcliff having a previous history of child abuse and unknown early trauma, possibly relating to the slave trade (which doesn't necessarily discount the Earnshaw parentage theory either imo, and if anything may make it more likely if his reasoning for taking Heathcliff was that he wouldn't want his biological son enslaved) — is the portion where Nelly describes Heathcliff and how he initially took Hindley's abuse stoically:

". . . a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment: he would stand Hindley's blows without winking or shedding a tear, and my pinches moved him only to draw in a breath and open his eyes, as if he had hurt himself by accident, and nobody was to blame. This endurance made old Earnshaw furious, when he discovered his son persecuting the poor fatherless child, as he called him. He took to Heathcliff strangely . . ."

When Nelly adds that Earnshaw called Heathcliff "poor fatherless child," I see this as ironic whether Earnshaw is his biological father or not, since he is still the closest thing he has to any sort of "father figure" nominally, and symbolically in line with the view of Earnshaw as flawed micro-colonizer. In the act of standing up for Heathcliff over his own teenage son and future master of the house, he is basically acting as a pseudo-father preferring one son over another; for Hindley, the blow is deepened by Heathcliff not being Earnshaw's son in name.

For clarity's sake, whenever I refer to Mr. Earnshaw as Heathcliff's unofficially adoptive father or father figre, I do so sort of hesitatingly. Mr. Earnshaw/Heathcliff do not have a regular father/son dynamic; we're told that Heathcliff did not embrace but rather fought Mr. Earnshaw the entire 60 miles back to the Heights.

Surely the above may be hyperbole, but we must keep in mind that Mr. Earnshaw's gifts for Cathy/Hindley/Nelly were lost or destroyed in the process: most symbolically, Mr. Earnshaw's struggle to obtain Heathcliff led to Hindley's fiddle being broken, Cathy's whip being lost, and we're never told what happened to Nelly's gift of fruit, but we can assume it was lost or never got to be obtained as a result of his preoccupation.

Heathcliff's relationship with Mr. Earnshaw is complicated because of the racial power imbalance & as I said, Earnshaw having a white saviour complex & basically kidnapping Heathcliff despite (or so we're told) not fully knowing if Heathcliff had a family or not. Most important are Heathcliff's own feelings about the situation; Earnshaw's wild affection is clear.

We're told by Nelly's observations that Heathcliff clearly did not have a great love for Earnshaw: "I wondered often what my master saw to admire so much in the sullen boy; who never, to my recollection, repaid his indulgence by any sign of gratitude. He was not insolent to his benefactor, he was simply insensible; though knowing perfectly the hold he had on his heart, and conscious he had only to speak and all the house would be obliged to bend to his wishes."

When Mr. Earnshaw was dying, Heathcliff was sitting with Cathy who was singing to Earnshaw. When they realize Earnshaw has finally passed, Heathcliff seems to genuinely grieve as equally as Cathy (Hindley is at college at this time):

"The poor thing discovered her loss directly — she screamed out — 'Oh, he's dead, Heathcliff! he's dead!' And they both set up a heart-breaking cry." Later when Nelly returns from getting help: "I ran to the children's room: their door was ajar, I saw they had never lain down, though it was past midnight; but they were calmer, and did not need me to console them. The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk . . ."

Yet we also know by Heathcliff's odd dynamics with Nelly and Hareton, and even by some of his behavior around Catherine I (who is the only person that most of us can agree he really loves), we can see that, probably due to trauma, Heathcliff does not know how to show affection "normally."

By his earlier disconnected reactions to Hindley's abuse, we can see that early on he had trouble reacting to negative emotions as well, which probably led him to his later emotional dysregulation & bursts of rage/frustration, which make complete sense in his situation and are why we can still often sympathize with him in his path of vengeance, even despite his abusiveness.

So we do not know the full extent of Heathcliff's feelings toward Mr. Earnshaw, and whether he truly had deep affection for him or somewhat resented him, but whatever his feelings were, they were clearly complex. As we all know, Heathcliff is capable of feeling very strongly, and when he does, he is usually vocal about it (see: literally most of his dialogue). He can't go 30 seconds without roasting someone lol. But he is oddly ambivalent and quiet about Earnshaw.

You could also (& countless academics have) argue that Earnshaw/the Earnshaw family is essentially a microcosm of colonization, Heathcliff is symbolically captured/enslaved by Mr. Earnshaw (which highlights how white saviourism is oxymoronic), and then actually becomes almost literally enslaved by Hindley later on.

On Heathcliff and Hindley:

Both are extremely flawed. Both are wildly in love with women who die from labor, both become abusive single fathers, both are defined by their grief and feelings of revenge, both want to kill each other all throughout the story, both actually try to do so to varying extents. Heathcliff saves Hareton from Hindley's negligence by catching him, Hindley saves Isabella from Heathcliff's abuse by tackling the latter (in what I think is one of the novels best sequences, Isabella's narration of the period of Heathcliff and Hindley's fighting and her escape). Heathcliff's bond with Hareton, like Hindley's bond with Isabella, is both manipulative and touching in turns. Ditto for their bonds to Nelly.

Many people believe Heathcliff had a role to play, directly or indirectly, in Hindley's death. Evidence for this: 1) teen Heathcliff wishes Hindley could drink himself to death but acknowledges doctor Kenneth says he won't: "‘It’s a pity he cannot kill himself with drink,’ observed Heathcliff, muttering an echo of curses back when the door was shut. ‘He’s doing his very utmost; but his constitution defies him. Mr. Kenneth says he would wager his mare that he’ll outlive any man on this side Gimmerton, and go to the grave a hoary sinner; unless some happy chance out of the common course befall him.’" 2) later, Kenneth remarks to Nelly that "He's barely twenty-seven, it seems; that's your own age: who would have thought you were born in one year?'" 3) Joseph once accused Heathcliff of attempting to murder Hindley during their fight ("And so ye've been murthering on him?") - in which Isabella said Heathcliff had to barely restrain himself from not killing Hindley. Joseph later adds suspicion to Hindley's death when, after Heathcliff explains to Nelly how Hindley had been suffering from the effects of alcoholism but died suddenly in the morning, Joseph "confirmed this statement, but muttered: "I'd rayther he'd goan hisseln for t' doctor! I sud ha' taen tent o' t' maister better nor him—and he warn't deead when I left, naught o' t' soart!'" (trans. from WH Reader's Guide site: "'I'd rather he'd gone himself for the doctor! I would have taken care of the master better than him—and he wasn't dead when I left, nothing of the sort!'"). So Heathcliff told Joseph to fetch Kenneth which left Heathcliff alone with Hindley, who was then dead when Joseph/Kenneth arrived.

My own theory is that Hindley probably choked on his own vomit (a common form of death by addiction) because of Heathcliff's description of he and Joseph finding Hindley "snorting like a horse; and there he was, laid over the settle: flaying and scalping would not have wakened him." It is after this that Heathcliff is alone with Hindley and he dies. Heathcliff can be seen as guilty through inaction imo, though he would justify it by saying he was letting nature take its course.

Heathcliff and Hindley take turns enslaving each other throughout the story. Hindley's seniority, legitimacy, and race give him advantages, while Heathcliff's early favoritism by Mr. Earnshaw and his later accrual of wealth, wit, and strength give him some advantages. We're told by Nelly (and she's biased, but she's the main source we have) that Hindley bullied Heathcliff immediately, to which Heathcliff weaponized Mr. Earnshaw in his favor, as evidenced by the horse scene.

If, when Hindley returned to become master of Wuthering Heights after Mr. Earnshaw's death, his wife Frances had taken a liking to Heathcliff, or if Hindley had simply matured in his time away — in other words, if Hindley had decided to grow up and let bygones be bygones — I wonder if Heathcliff would have done the same, and decided to be peaceful & not to continue their childhood rivalry.

The bulk of Heathcliff's lust for revenge really stems from Hindley's treatment of him after Mr. Earnshaw's death, when Hindley, as the new Mr. Earnshaw, really does follow through on that childhood promise during the horse scene to use his wealth/power/independence to render Heathcliff miserable, and to turn him out or keep him enslaved. Possibly at the beckoning of Frances (which I mention later,) Hindley succeeds in fulfilling this childish power fantasy, and this is partly what inspires Heathcliff to obtain the means of flipping the script and later rendering Hindley a weakened dependent.

Although Hindley is racist/absorbed his parents racism, note that Catherine was not/did not, and so Hindley's true hatred of Heathcliff imo is more motivated by jealousy/envy for his father's affection than it is anything else, & his own feelings of inadequacy & self-hatred which likely would have existed anyway & were just fuelled by being "usurped" in his father's affection.

I really blame Mr. (& Mrs., though we sadly have so little insight into her character) Earnshaw for Hindley/Heathcliff's rivalry, because I feel like we can assume Mrs. Earnshaw must have favored Hindley more when Mr. Earnshaw started favoring Heathcliff, considering Hindley's hatred increased after the grief from his mother's death, — and this favoritism & parental split is bound to deepen the split between their favorites.

Hindley's hatred of Heathcliff really increased after his father & then his wife's deaths (meaning he had prolonged complex grief), which I'm assuming compounded & brought back his feelings of his original grief for his mother, resulting in further hatred of Heathcliff who had nothing to do with any of it but whose arrival Hindley just subconsciously associated with his mother's illness/death & his father's emotional abandonment (which we could consider a mental death which took place before his physical death; imo Hindley's whole character is defined by grief).

To enhance their pseudo-brotherly rivalry, which some may say is reminiscent of Abel/Cain (especially if you believe the theory/opinion that Heathcliff murdered Hindley or was otherwise in any part to blame for his death), we again have the fact that Heathcliff was named after Hindley's dead brother.

Heathcliff is actually Heathcliff 2.0, and maybe it was Mr. Earnshaw's grief that led him to use Heathcliff 2.0 as a replacement child the way Hindley uses Mrs. Earnshaw 2.0 as a replacement mother.

All throughout the story we have people being named after each other and taking on each other's roles, ie the whole 1st/2nd generation parallels (we could extend it to be 1st/2nd/3rd since I've highlighted the narrative importance of Mr./Mrs. Earnshaw), Linton Heathcliff, Cathy 1.0/2.0. — but we know nothing about Heathcliff 1.0 other than that he died in childhood.

Was he Catherine's age, younger, or older? Did Catherine see Heathcliff as a replacement brother? Did Heathcliff 1.0 die before Catherine was born? Was he Hindley's age? Did Hindley already have grief/trauma from Heathcliff 1.0's death and resent Heathcliff 2.0 for usurping not only him, but his dead brother's place?

We're told that "the family" gave Heathcliff 2.0 his name, but I assume Mrs. Earnshaw and Hindley may not have been involved due to us never seeing that they care for him — and Joseph may have had a role in it, but he's also rarely thoughtful, and Nelly was gone — so could Cathy have suggested the name Heathcliff? (which brings to my mind Edward Rochester telling Jane Eyre to "give him his name" when he proposes to her, asking her to call him "Edward" — this would be poetic of Catherine/Heathcliff's relationship).

The meaning of the names Heathcliff/Hindley are very similar; they also share the same initials, syllable count, and the "ee" sound. Heathcliff is a combination of "heath" (a synonym for "moor"; what he and Cathy love to roave on) and "cliff." In meaning, apparently (according to some sources on Ancestry.com) Hindley is a habitational name from hind 'hind, female deer' and lēah 'woodland clearing' — which is basically another way of saying heath/moor. So there is a lot of similarity in their names, and this tainted brotherly theme, both of which must have been intentional.

Regardless of whether Heathcliff & Hindley are foster brothers or half-brothers, this naming choice is still a sign that Heathcliff was predestined to be part of the family, and lends itself to the other themes of predeterminism in that Heathcliff ends up becoming the master of the Heights after Hindley the way he would have if he were his biological brother.

Mr. Earnshaw telling Hindley he'd bring him back any gift he chose, and then returning with that gift having been broken by Heathcliff, are ample reasons to explain the hatred that moody 14-year-old Hindley immediately feels for him, who was about half his age and therefore an impractical playmate. He is more like a new sibling, and like an older sibling, Hindley is horrified at being overshadowed by the family's new addition. Since we don't know whether Hindley knew or was close to Heathcliff 1.0, we can hesitantly assume he may have been upset by the naming.

On Heathcliff, Hindley, and Frances:

I would like to briefly touch more on Hindley's wife's death (so closely followed by his fathers death) bringing up feelings of his mothers death. Hindley's wife Frances Earnshaw is the second Mrs. Earnshaw and she only comes to the house right after Mr. Earnshaw dies. I believe Hindley parallels his father, Frances parallels his mother (so like many men, he metaphorically "married his mother"), and that Frances also has some similarities to Heathcliff.

Frances has an unknown origin story and Hindley keeps her background from his father on purpose, and this could have been intended to parallel the first Mr. Earnshaw from possibly keeping Heathcliff's origins vague: "What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us: probably, she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely have kept the union from his father."

Frances also immediately dislikes Heathcliff... just like Hindley's mother, the first Mrs. Earnshaw, did: "Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had their own bairns to feed and fend for? What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad?"

We don't know why Frances dislikes Heathcliff, but it wouldn't be a stretch to assume it has to do with his race & status, because it is only after her disapproval that Hindley banishes Heathcliff to the role of a servant/slave, we can assume. We can also assume Frances disliked Heathcliff from the beginning, since we're never told that she took a liking to him like she initially does with Catherine; we are only ever told she dislikes him:

"She expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and ran about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the beginning. Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish, Hindley became tyrannical. A few words from her, evincing a dislike to Heathcliff, were enough to rouse in him all his old hatred of the boy. He drove him from their company to the servants, deprived him of the instructions of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of doors instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the farm."

It is after the last quote that we learn Cathy and Heathcliff become increasingly "feral" outdoors, as Heathcliff is forced to toil in outdoor labor, and Cathy insists on keeping him company while he's at it. At this point they are both essentially orphaned, and then neglected and abandoned by Hindley and Frances, the new Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw, who take on the roles of the former Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw, who were similarly neglectful and emotionally abandoning to their children.

On Cathy and Heathcliff:

In the beginning, Lockwood reads this diary entry from Catherine I which proves the prior analysis in that she compares Mr. Earnshaw 1.0 to Mr. Earnshaw 2.0 (Hindley):

""An awful Sunday,' commenced the paragraph beneath. 'I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute — his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious – H. and I are going to rebel — we took our initiatory step this evening."

Notice how in the death of Mr. Earnshaw and then under the tyranny of Hindley (Mr. Earnshaw 2.0), Cathy and Heathcliff are often sharing each other's emotions, and their bond is very twin-like. They both cry & grieve in their room in unison after Earnshaw dies, and although Heathcliff is the one primarily sentenced to torment by Hindley, Cathy doesn't abandon him to it and instead often keeps him company in his punishment, recalling when she was younger and her father would try to keep Heathcliff away from her to punish her.

Even when Cathy does sort of abandon Heathcliff to marry Edgar, in her speech after Heathcliff leaves, she says that her plan was to use her control over Edgar to benefit Heathcliff, so she really never intended to abandon him at all. Abandonment, attachment issues, separation, loss, grief, being torn away from someone/somewhere/something, are all major themes in this story, often expressed by familial and more often filial experiences.

Cathy and Heathcliff's relationship basically embodies all these themes the most poignantly, in that Heathcliff abandons her because he thinks she's abandoning him and he can't bear it and would rather leave than be left; then as soon as he returns, Cathy ends up actually physically abandoning him by dying! And later on, her ghost taunts him (I believe most of us can take the ghost plot as canon & not hallucinatory considering how many characters attest to it), and he once again returns to her like he did before.

Their whole relationship is about overcoming obstacles to separation, and being determined to retain their attachment as an act of defiance (even if it means defying life, death, physics, etc.) — this is why they're considered the most romantic couple in literature even despite their awful behavior most of the time, because in writing/literary pedagogy as a general rule it is almost always the goal of romantic leads to overcome obstacles which separate them from their lover, – and Heathcliff and Cathy take this goal to a new level by overcoming not only their childhood punishments of separation from one another, but overcoming the impossible obstacles of LIFE AND DEATH to reunite in the spirit realm where no one can separate them again — not even God.

Both Catherine and Heathcliff say that they know they won't go to heaven; God literally doesn't want them, and he has abandoned them, and this is the ultimate abandonment/seperation. Thus, all they have in the universe is each other — and if their relationship didn't work in life, they're determined to make it work in death!

Some final thoughts on Mr. Earnshaw and the making of Heathcliff:

Due to all of my previous explanations, I consider Mr. Earnshaw a possibly well-intentioned man but who ultimately failed all of his children (along with Mrs. Earnshaw) by 1) emotionally neglecting/abandoning Catherine because she was a "bad child" & acted more boyish than Hindley, 2) emotionally neglecting/abandoning Hindley in favor of Heathcliff (and maybe it was partly because Hindley was becoming a moody teenager and Heathcliff was comparatively younger/easier to handle bc of his trauma-induced subdued nature, but whatever his reasoning, it had disastrous consequences), 3) emotionally neglecting Heathcliff too by not being involved enough in his integration with the family & not checking in on him and Hindley, 4) straight up just not being that involved to begin with and not seeming to teach his children anything, hence why they're all bratty and grow up to be deeply maladjusted.

Notice how Nelly's motivational speeches to Heathcliff, and her taking care of him when he was sick, have an extraordinary affect on him, meaning Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw probably didn't show him even half as much attention or real affection. Like most English fathers at the time, Earnshaw thought his job as father/master was to merely provide provisions, leave the children with the women to be actually raised, and be done with it. The most unique thing he does in his life, and indeed his whole role in the story, is bringing home Heathcliff.

Maybe most importantly, I also just realized that Earnshaw kidnapping Heathcliff parallels Heathcliff kidnapping his own son after Isabella dies (and also him kidnapping his daughter-in-law Cathy II), and while this narrative parallel works if Earnshaw is merely Heathcliff's adoptive father, it also could be working to suggest that Earnshaw was his biological father, knew Heathcliff's mother had died, and so went back for him and took him by force. If Heathcliff's mother had recently died (or been separated from him), this would have compounded his trauma of being taken by Earnshaw, and this would have furthered his childhood memory loss, which could be another reason why I don't think Heathcliff remembers very much about his origins.

Heathcliff has much in common with Frankenstein's creaure. Yet, he is essentially a self-made man, his own creator and creature. We are even led to think of him as inhuman, as Isabella suggests with her referring to him as such and even calling him vampiric. And he does bear a lot of similarity to John Polidori's Lord Ruthven, from the first vampire novel The Vampyre (a Byronic tale, based on Byron's short story Augustus Darvell). Heathcliff's canonically mysterious origins and mysterious hiatus are necessary to his character; like Isabella and Nelly, we're supposed to question him and form our own opinions on the matter.

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