#or very modern take on a name | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ailelie · 1 year

Text

Wuthering Heights, modern!AU, ...Edgar/Catherine/Heathcliff

This is based purely on the Wise Children's musical version of Wuthering Heights which does use quotes from the original novel, but is, of course, a musical

...this now apparently has a sex scene. So. Be warned for that. I've put asterisks on either side of it for those who prefer to avoid. The scene involves people goading one another into things they're perhaps not quite ready for, but everything is consensual. Is it on the edge of problematic? Yes, but please refer to the ship and source material. What did you expect?

First, we are shortening the time span and aging up the characters. Heathcliff is probably adopted when in middle school. English is his second language and Earnshaw sends him to the same uppity private school as his other two children. This school is ahead of his other school material-wise, plus Heathcliff is behind because his former school lacked resources for ESL students and instead over-assigned them to special education. It takes a couple years at the new school for Heathcliff to prove his only special need is that English isn't his first language. He doesn't shake the stigma, though. After one too many fights, Earnshaw sends Hindley to military school. (Hindley meets Francis who works near the military compound and they start a sweet romance; she is charmed by the idea of her military man protector. Earnshaw dies before Hindley ever formerly enlists and so he goes home instead of going into the military after school).

Before his death, Earnshaw sets up funds for Catherine and Heathcliff to go to college. Heathcliff is more interested in going than Catherine is. She ultimately goes because he does. When not in class, the two explore the city, breaking into locked and abandoned buildings to see what has been barred from them. Why should they, of all people, be denied access to anywhere?

(Note: Their school is not in the same town as their home. Catherine convinces her father to rent them an apartment near campus so that they don't have to stay in a dorm).

Then, the summer after their freshman year, Earnshaw dies and Hindley returns to their hometown. He turns Heathcliff out and revokes his college funding, claiming he needs it for Francis, his sickly wife.

I'm not sure how I feel about Francis. On the one hand, I think she genuinely loved Hindley and maybe even Catherine and would have been a good mother. On the other, she got spooked just looking at Heathcliff, which suggested to me that Hindley had brought her solely for an excuse to get rid of Heathcliff and reminds me too much of white women calling the police on black men existing. However, Hindley may have filled her head with stories of Heathcliff and how devilish he was and she may have been reacting more to those than to his presence. She was certainly of weak enough constitution to get caught up like that. So, perhaps, she would have come to love Heathcliff as well had she had continued exposure to him to learn that Hindley's tales were untrue.

Heathcliff suddenly has to find a place to live and a way to continue his education. Plus, Catherine still wants to spend time together and continue their urban exploration. I think Heathcliff ends up juggling two or three jobs and sleeping out of his car. He and Catherine explore in his infrequent off-hours.

Then, one night, the place they're exploring turns out to have guard dogs. Catherine gets bitten. While she and Heathcliff are escaping, they run into a pair of siblings out for a late evening walk. The siblings see Catherine bleeding and immediately want to help. Catherine tells Heathcliff to go and lets herself by treated by the Lintons.

Catherine requests no hospitals, so Edgar, who wants to be a doctor, but is only pre-med currently, puts his limited knowledge to the test to help her. She doesn't want to go home to her brother, as that could also get Heathcliff in trouble, so she stays with the Lintons. She learns that Edgar actually attends the same university as her and Heathcliff and will be a senior in the fall.

Edgar is charmed by Catherine's artlessness and daring. She shows him her videos from her urban exploration. (Catherine takes videos and does a running commentary; Heathcliff takes photographs. He has the control she lacks).

Isabella is still in high school and a bit of a dreamer. She probably aspires to be a novelist and decides to cast Catherine as her next protagonist, which flatters Catherine greatly.

Catherine spends a lot of time with the Lintons. Heathcliff is always working anyway, but now she is canceling on urban exploration with him to stay with the Lintons. She enjoys being doted on. Isabella takes her shopping and, of course, everything looks amazing on Catherine. Edgar likes how happy Isabella is with Catherine to spend time with and appreciates that Catherine is nice to his sister (of course, she's only nice because of how Isabella dotes on her, but Edgar doesn't know that). Edgar and Catherine have long, winding conversations. He never really challenges her, but he does make her think. (His persuasion is slow as the river cutting through stone and very different to Heathcliff's vehemence). He's a bit of a geek about medicine, which Catherine appreciates. It is a pale shadow of the passion she and Heathcliff share for abandoned spaces and each other, but it is familiar.

Heathcliff despises Catherine's new clothes and points out how impractical they are for breaking into abandoned buildings. He hates how Edgar has convinced Catherine to upload some of her videos online since they were supposed to be only for the two of them. Their exploration isn't for others to gawk at; it is for their interest and reign. They're the masters of the world against no door may be barred; not content creators for the greedy masses.

The more Catherine and Heathcliff argue, the more Catherine appreciates Edgar's willingness to go along with her. Then Edgar asks Catherine on a date and so she cancels a planned break-in with Heathcliff to spend time with him instead. For Heathcliff, strung out on the lack of sleep from working too much and sleeping in his car and furious by Catherine's betrayal, this is too much.

Heathcliff doesn't have Edgar's family money, fancy manners, or future career and riches. He and Catherine have one final fight and he leaves.

Catherine ends up dating Edgar off and on throughout the rest of undergrad and they may even share an apartment. He's older, but the university does have a medical program so he can stay on campus. Catherine does not graduate on time, but flits from major to major as it suits her. When Isabella graduates, she applies to the same college to be near them. She lives on campus, though.

During this time Francis gets pregnant and dies giving birth to Hareton. Hindley grieves too deeply to care for his son and hires a nanny to tend to him. As Hindley falls deeper into despair, drink, and gambling, his funds wither away and the nanny becomes his only expense. When Heathcliff returns, Hareton is just-turned three. Hindley makes sure he has food, but that's about it. He changes diapers infrequently and forces Hareton to potty-train early so that he can stop dealing with the diapers.

Catherine is a fifth-year senior and Edgar is in his second year of medical school when Heathcliff returns. He is back by invitation from the university as he has, in his absence, become known as an artist for his photography. (Catherine may even throw that in his face at some point--he's just another content creator for the greedy masses). His photos sell for high prices and, while he isn't wildly wealthy, he is comfortable and supplements his funds with portraiture and commissions. (He does both traditional photos and photo collages and sculptures). He is known for his command of light and shadow and his creativity.

(Heathcliff didn't get a lucky break so much as made a lucky break through a bit of snooping and blackmail. Still, he only made opportunities and still got lucky in that others decided to pay him for his work).

When Catherine learns that Heathcliff is staying in a hotel, she immediately invites him to stay with her and Edgar instead. Heathcliff initially declines, but then he notices how relieved Edgar is at his refusal and changes his mind. He'll gladly stay with them.

When Edgar is away at class, Heathcliff turns on Catherine, demanding to know why she is still with this milksop. He doesn't understand what she gets from her relationship with him. He is so inferior to her.

Catherine bites back that Edgar debates ideas and listens to her like Heathcliff never could.

Heathcliff is also furious that Catherine has chosen a career other than art. She has decided to become a nurse, which is a gross betrayal of her very essence and clearly Edgar's fault.

The argument ends with them inches apart and about to kiss when Edgar returns to the apartment. He immediately clocks the weird atmosphere, but says nothing. After all, Heathcliff is Catherine's dearest friend and is only here for a single gallery show. He can swallow his objections down in the meantime.

Meanwhile, Heathcliff can't bring himself to leave Catherine again. He wants to steal her from Edgar and punish Edgar for ever tainting her spirit. He doesn't understand how Catherine could bear to love the weak-willed reed of a man.

Heathcliff works on charming the college gallery owner and gets a partial scholarship to enroll in some business and management courses. He has decided to open a gallery in town to display his own work and showcase students.

During the summer, Heathcliff returns home to where Hindley and Hareton are living. Heathcliff pays off Hindley's debts and gets the deed to the family home in exchange. He then sells the family home to fund the purchase of a gallery in the city where Catherine is still in school.

He allows Hindley and Hareton to join him in the college town, provided Hindley agrees to be his employee. He'll help with the gallery, clean the house, and other sundry tasks in exchange for a place to sleep and pittance wage.

The gallery has a small apartment above it, but Heathcliff wants something more grand. He just wants Catherine to pick it with him. To his utter dismay, Catherine brings Edgar househunting as well. Then, to his even greater dissatisfaction, Edgar is helpful.

(By this time, Isabella has developed a terrible crush on Heathcliff and has been making noises about moving off campus and into her brother's apartment, which the family is paying for. Catherine's jealousy is great and she has decided that both Edgar and Heathcliff are hers and Isabella can have neither of them.)

Edgar, upon being invited by Catherine to the house-hunting (and eager to not live with Heathcliff again), did some cursory research online about choosing a good house and neighborhoods in the city.

They find a place that's a bit big and just on the edge of what Heathcliff can afford. Catherine pronounces it as perfect for "us."

Heathcliff and Edgar both look askance at her and Heathcliff repeats "us" slowly.

"The three of us," Catherine confirms. Both men are immediately against this, but Catherine won't be moved. "I'll not choose between you," she tells them. "I love you both and that's the truth of it."

She wheedles Edgar and points out how Isabella is ready to move off campus and she could have the apartment. Does he really want to live with his sister?

She argues loudly with Heathcliff, each accusing one another of betrayal and refusing to see or understand. Heathcliff yells that he doesn't understand what Catherine sees in Edgar and Catherine throws a cup or something breakable at the wall by Heathcliff's head and demands, "Try!"

When she's a bit calmer again, she points out that the house's mortgage would be more affordable with three incomes rather than one because, if Heathcliff and Edgar force her to choose, she'll go off on her own and leave them both.

The men, so cornered, finally agree. Catherine, pleased, kisses them both on the mouth, one after the other, and then darts upstairs to claim her preferred room while the other two handle contacting the realtor and submitting the offer.

Meanwhile, Hindley and Hareton live in the small apartment over the gallery.

Catherine flaunts her refusal to choose. She makes out with Heathcliff on the couch and then, when Edgar returns home, grabs his wrist as he passes the couch and pulls him down for a long kiss before he can leave the room. She sits in Edgar's lap to eat breakfast, wearing only his shirt and boxers, but then talks the entire time to Heathcliff.

Meanwhile, Edgar and Heathcliff continue to despise one another. Catherine becomes a competition between them. Every minute spent with her is a point against the other. (By mutual and unspoken agreement, every minute spent all three together is a point scored to Catherine).

Heathcliff and Catherine start doing urban exploration together again. Then, one night, Catherine tricks Edgar and Heathcliff into going together. (Promised Heathcliff to show and then told Edgar to meet her at the same place). Heathcliff goads Edgar into breaking into the building with him.

At first it all meanness and spite, but then both grow quiet, enchanted by the ruin. Heathcliff starts taking some quick photos and planning other, more intensive shots. He's not paying attention to Edgar anymore, but then he hears him talking in the other room.

He goes to the room and finds the roof caved in and stars overhead and Edgar in the midst of the rubble quoting a poem. Edgar's back is to him and his face upturned to the sky visible amidst cracks and missing tiles. Starlight and the ambient city light of too many street lamps illuminate him and the scant, scraggly weeds poking up through the rubble.

Heathcliff watches and listens before raising his camera on instinct alone and composing a shot: Edgar in the chapel ruins. Edgar flinches as the camera clicks and whirls around, locking eyes on Heathcliff. For a moment neither moves nor breaths nor speaks. Then, Edgar resumes his recitation, his gaze never wavering:

"Clasp me to your life, to your death, to your submissive materials, to your dead, neutralized doves, and let us make fire, and silence, and sound, and let us burn, and be hushed among bells."

The instant his mouth falls still, Heathcliff snaps another photo. Then Edgar looks away and the moment breaks, but something has shifted. "It's Neruda, by the way," Edgar says.

"I don't care," Heathcliff responds, but the last line is still echoing around his head. Let us burn, and be hushed among bells.

After that, they explore the rest of the church together, not speaking, but not separate either.

"Well?" Catherine asks them, expectantly, when they return home. Edgar kisses her on the cheek and says it was interesting. Heathcliff merely grunts in agreement and goes to his room to start processing his photos. When he reaches the one with Edgar staring directly at him, he wants to destroy his computer. He wants to destroy it.

Edgar lacks the feral rage that defines Catherine and Heathcliff. He does not and cannot ever understand their passion and intensity.

Still, after that night, the tenor of their interactions changes. They still compete over Catherine, but they're also goading one another toward something neither could name. They're passive aggressively nice to one another in Catherine's presence. Now, the first to crack, to say something obviously cruel, loses a point. Catherine tries to set them up again, but they communicate enough to avoid that happening.

Heathcliff cannot see what Catherine sees in Edgar. (She sees a harbor in her rages, a soothing balm, stability she desperately lacks; he is also quick and clever and loves her). He only sees a man he wishes to destroy.

Then one night, Catherine presses Heathcliff's camera into his hands and pulls him into Edgar's bedroom (they've each their own, though Catherine rarely uses hers). "I want you to capture the moment he falls apart," she says.

Edgar objects to this, but Catherine soothes him with a kiss and then teasingly asks if she is too wild for him. Heathcliff chuckles at that and answers for Edgar, "Of course you are, Catherine. He is too meek for you."

And Edgar's eyes flash at that. "Fine," he says and pulls off his shirt. Catherine grins like a lynx and pushes backward onto the bed. Her teeth scrape at his throat.

***

Edgar tries to ignore Heathcliff, but cannot as Catherine narrates to him. "See how easily he bruises," she says, after sucking a hickey against the side of his neck. "Watch." Then she lowers her mouth and sucks another. She knows he prefers marks he can hide, just as he knows she prefers to see her handiwork.

"His nipples are so sensitive too," she says. "Look, they prick up with just a breath."

And Edgar knows his face is burning. He lays one wrist across his eyes, but then Catherine tuts and moves it aside. She kisses him deeply and he presses up against her. "Don't hide," she admonishes him and then slips down his body to bite a kiss beneath his belly button.

"He is weak for you," Heathcliff says suddenly and Edgar hates the shiver that wracks through him at his voice. He closes his eyes, but he can still hear the smile in Catherine's voice as she replies, "He loves me."

She pulls his pants down slowly and he grabs the bed sheet with both fists to resist snatching them from her and pulling them back up, putting an end to all of this.

Then her tongue swirls around his member and he makes a noise he cannot describe. Heathcliff laughs quietly and his camera snaps.

Catherine's mouth is warm and he can feel warmth building, but then he feels an intruder at his bum and jerks. Catherine pulls off of him and presses a kiss against his knee. "Let me," she says, her finger rubs light circles around his asshole. "Please."

Catherine almost never says 'please.' He nods and she smiles, soft and wild. Her finger pushes forward again. "Relax," she tells him, caressing his taut thigh with her free hand. She trails kisses down that same thigh and then back up his penis. He forces himself to breathe as her finger sinks deeper. It is uncomfortable, but then her finger crooks and brushes something electric.

She hums around his dick as he moans in his throat. The warmth slowly returns. Catherine pulls off of him and sinks another finger in. He finds himself pushing back against her, trying to hit that knot of pleasure again. He knows the word for it, but words have fled.

"So greedy for me," Catherine says, pleased and amused. "You know, Heathcliff's fingers are longer than mine. Thicker, too. Do you want him to try?"

This cuts through the haze of pleasure. "What?" he asks.

"Catherine," Heathcliff murmurs, full of warning.

Catherine is looking at Heathcliff, so Edgar follows her gaze. He sees the camera loose in Heathcliff's hands and the deeper darkness in his eyes. His hand flexes and Edgar can't ignore the size of his fingers.

"Scared?" Catherine half-mocks. She pulls her fingers free of Edgar and he bites back a noise of dismay. He is still hard, still wanting. Catherine holds out her hand for Heathcliff's camera. "Come on," she says, "trade me."

Edgar knows this is his moment to put an end to it all. To scramble back, cover himself, and recover himself. But instead he looks at Heathcliff and sees want. And the power of that makes him stupid.

"Do it," he says, surprising them all. "Trade her."

Catherine grins and smacks a kiss against his knee. She stands, grabs the camera from Heathcliff, and pushes him toward the bed. "Lube's there," she says, pointing next to Edgar on the bed.

Heathcliff uses a little, but not enough and his finger burns slightly on entry. He grins at Edgar's hiss of pain.

"Is that all," Edgar says, trying to reclaim the power of the situation.

Heathcliff scowls; he changes emotions as quickly as a breeze. "I will ruin you," he vows.

"You won't," Edgar promises. He isn't sure if that's reassurance or a dare.

Heathcliff works a second finger in and Edgar has never felt so full or so vulnerable. His girlfriend is waiting with the camera for the shot of his wreckage, but he cannot focus on her. He only feels the stretch and the fullness and the sheer delight of watching his enemy want him. And then he is close and he feels himself tightening. He refuses to be the only one compromised. He reaches, grabs a fistful of Heathcliff's hair, and tugs him forward, crashing home against his mouth. He comes like that--Heathcliff's fingers in his ass, his heel against Heathcliff's back, and their mouths hot against each other.

***

Heathcliff wants to destroy Edgar, but Edgar refuses to be destroyed. He meets the chaos head-on and remains, maybe changed, but still whole.

Heathcliff pulls away and looks down at his shirt and jeans, soaked with Edgar's come. "You destroyed my clothes."

Edgar, lazy in the aftermath, just smiles. "So undress next time."

Heathcliff goes as still as a deer in the woods. "Next time?" he repeats softly.

"Do you think she'll allow anything less?" Edgar asks, removing the sting of his words with a brush of his fingers against Heathcliff's hand. He still does not like this man, but he can try. For Catherine.

"We're doing this again," Catherine says, dropping the camera on the dresser and clambering onto the bed. She kisses them both. Edgar looks past her to Heathcliff and raises a brow, See?

Heathcliff starts to smile, but then looks away.

"We should clean up," Edgar says, sitting up. "I should shower."

"I'll join you," Catherine says. She bounces back off the bed and holds out her hand for him. "We'll see you at dinner?" she asks Heathcliff.

He nods and they leave.

Alone in Edgar's room, Heathcliff sits on the edge of the bed and buries his face in his hands. The scent of Edgar's sweat and come are thick in his nose.

Fighting with Catherine is like battling a storm. Her refusals are wind and lightning, forces of nature. They are one and the same and he loves her for her feral ferocity and joy.

Edgar is so much lesser, a mere man against gods. He should crumble beneath them, but he does not. He is every weak flower that survives the summer storm. He denies destruction and resists consumption. He is rare. If Heathcliff cannot wreck him, then he must possess him.

He cleans himself and goes downstairs. He listens to the water running in the pipes and orders food for them all. He surprises himself by remembering Edgar's usual order.

When Catherine and Edgar come downstairs, Heathcliff notices the bruises on Edgar's throat. Catherine smirks when she notices him noticing. Heathcliff's newfound possessiveness swells within him and he backs Edgar against the kitchen counter.

Edgar is nervous and concerned, asking if everything is all right. Heathcliff tells him to shut up before lowering his mouth to the otherside of his neck and biting. Edgar's hands flex and tighten against the edge of the counter and Catherine rubs one hand up and down Heathcliff's back; she closes the other, lightly, over one of Edgar's wrists.

Heathcliff pulls away and smudges a thumb across the dark mark he left behind. He steps back, freeing Edgar.

Edgar narrows his eyes at the both of them. "I'm doomed to turtlenecks and scarves in public now, aren't I?"

"No," Heathcliff says. "Let them see."

"You are both ridiculous," Edgar says and he leaves the kitchen.

Catherine launches herself into Heathcliff's arms and peppers thankful kisses all over his face. Heathcliff slams her into a wall and she bites his lip with a wild grin. "Ours, yes?"

"Yes."

Naturally, before they can get everything figured out, before Edgar can have the very awkward conversation with Isabella about his relationships, before they can even think about labels or the future, Hindley dies.

He doesn't show up to the gallery for work so Heathcliff goes upstairs and finds Hareton sleeping next to the cool corpse of his father.

Police are called. Social services are called. Heathcliff does not want the brat, but the social worker gives a polite, I-don't-care smile and says that they're at capacity and that it is better for children to remain with family and that means Heathcliff and, since they live together, Catherine.

So Hareton joins the household. The house is large, but not extremely so. It has four bedrooms, but the fourth is Heathcliff's office and studio. Hareton spends the first night in Edgar's bed. Edgar sleeps on the couch. Catherine and Heathcliff both refuse to give up their space, but the baby, who is about 4 years old at this point, has to have somewhere.

Edgar emails his professors that night citing a family emergency and takes off classes for the rest of the week. During this time, Heathcliff argues for taking Hareton back to the authorities to drop into foster care. Edgar disagrees. Catherine swaps sides to better enjoy them arguing. She doesn't want to take care of her nephew, though.

Hareton has never, other than the nanny when he was a true baby, had someone care for him. So, when Edgar tucks him in, asks him what he likes to eat, and holds him when he cries, he gets clingy.

Catherine realizes one night, watching Edgar carry Hareton up and down a hallway while humming a lullaby, that she rather likes the look of him holding a baby like that. Then she realizes that Hareton is hers and Heathcliff's. They're his relatives. If Edgar decides to love Hareton, too, then he has to stay with them to remain near the baby. This is another way to bind Edgar to them.

She slips into Heathcliff's bed and curls against his back. He grasps her hands tight to his heart. She whispers, "He can't leave us if we have Hareton. If we make Hareton belong to the three of us, he has to stay. He's good like that."

"Children are an irritation," Heathcliff grumbles.

Catherine kisses his shoulder. "Imagine Hindley's expression when Hareton calls you Papa. We can make him hate Hindley. And Francis."

Heathcliff rolls to his other side and pushes a lock of hair behind Catherine's ear. "Hindley hated Hareton."

"Yes, but he hated you more. He never wanted to lose anything to you."

"He lost everything to me," Heathcliff says, proud.

Catherine shoves his shoulder down and climbs over to straddle his waist. "Everything except Hareton," she taunts.

Heathcliff strokes his hands up and down her sides beneath her shirt. He skims his thumbs over her nipples and they harden under his touch. "What would we even do with his spawn?"

"Let Edgar handle the boy. We can spoil or shape him at our leisure, turn him into a little acolyte to do our bidding." She pulls off her shirt. "What do you say?"

Heathcliff rolls her onto her back and she laughs. "I'll think about it," he says.

"Think faster," she says and pulls him down for a kiss.

At breakfast the next morning, Heathcliff says, "If we keep him, you're responsible for him."

"I have classes," Edgar protests while cutting up a banana for Hareton. "I can't watch him full-time."

"You have to choose," Heathcliff says, uncaring. "If you can't handle him, we'll take him back to the social worker."

Edgar looks up sharply, but sees no help on either Heathcliff's or Catherine's faces. Disappointment sinks like a stone in his gut. "Fine," he says, sliding the bananas onto Hareton's plate. "Do that. But I'll leave at the same time and this--" he gestures at the three of them "--is over." He meets their gazes, first Catherine's and then Heathcliff's. "You have to choose."

A moment later, Edgar and Hareton are alone at the table. Edgar sips his coffee and watches Hareton eat. "I suppose we find out whether or not they hate you more than they like me." He sighs. "I hope Isabella won't mind me moving back in."

Edgar spends the day with Hareton, taking him to the park and reading books to him at the library. They get dinner out and return home when Hareton starts yawning with every breath. Edgar knows he is only delaying the inevitable and begins mentally packing on the way home.

When he arrives, Heathcliff and Catherine are waiting for him. "How would we do it?" Heathcliff asks and Edgar blinks; his plans scatter.

"Let me put him down first," he says, walking past them to his bedroom. As he tucks Hareton in, he kisses the child's forehead. "I suppose they do love me. Lucky you."

He returns to the main room. Catherine is pacing and he recognizes the energy and irritation in her fluttering fingers and chewed lip. Heathcliff stands by the empty fireplace, still as a statue.

"He's old enough for a nursery," he says. "Maybe even pre-school. That's half the day there. We can divide his expenses and take turns caring for him in the evenings."

"And what do we do with him?" Heathcliff asks, biting out each word.

Edgar shrugs. "Play with him? Keep him from harm? Make sure he's learning. Comfort him when he's scared or hurt. Discipline him when he's naughty. That sort of thing, I suppose."

"We don't have a room for him," Heathcliff points out.

"I have an idea for that," Catherine says. "We stay in one room, us three. Keep one room for when want to sleep alone and give the other room to Hareton. It is the three of us now, isn't it?"

Heathcliff's gaze cuts to Edgar and he waits for his reply. Edgar nods and swallows nervously. "Yes. I rather think it is."

"Good," Heathcliff says. "One room. Mine is the largest."

Catherine beams. "Good. We're parents, then, too. Papa, Daddy, and Mommy. Or Mama. I don't care which."

"Wait now--" Edgar says, uncertain.

"We did not agree--" Heathcliff begins.

Catherine pushes up onto her toes and kisses Heathcliff's jaw. "We're stealing everything, remember?" Then she skips over to Edgar and twines her arms around his neck; he catches her at the hip. "Besides, wouldn't it be better for him to have parents growing up? It'll be easier, too, if we have more children."

He really cannot deny her anything. Edgar pulls her closer, locking his hands behind her back. "Fine," he says. "I'm Papa?"

"Yes," she says, pressing her forehead to his. They breathe together and, for a moment, he can feel all of the tension and energy drift out of her, leaving calm resolve in its wake.

"We will have to go shopping," Heathcliff says, with a sneer.

"I can do that," Catherine says. "I'll make Isabella help me."

"Fine," Heathcliff says.

"Fine," Catherine replies.

"Fine," Edgar echoes. His future once again rearranges itself. He is a med student, in love with an utterly maddening woman, possibly falling for an utterly frustrating man, and a father. He's only 24 years old. Catherine is planning to be a nurse, though Heathcliff keeps trying to talk her out of it. Heathcliff continues selling his photographs and running his gallery. They might actually make this work.

And so that's how the future rolls out. Hareton grows up in an odd household with three parents who care for him in different ways. His papa always listens to him, ensures he has all he needs, and gives good advice. His mama is mercurial, but takes him on grand adventures around the city, gives him his first beer, and goads him into chasing his dreams. His father is stern most the time, but occasionally playful when Mama is around. He teaches Hareton how to present himself and handle others and demands strength. His compliments are rare, but Hareton treasures each one.

Hareton knows they did not give birth to him--his birth parents were drunkard and a woman prone to sickness--but he loves them. He also loves his younger sister and brother and does his best to protect them from the world.

Catherine is always selfish, but she learns to make sacrifices for her family. Heathcliff is always angry, but he learns to choose his targets well and ensure he doesn't lose anything important when he acts on his rage. Edgar is always a bit prone to worry and a peacemaker, but he learns to stand up more to his tempestuous partners. And all three come to trust and love one another. Their children are raised knowing love.

And then, one day, a young Professor Lockwood rents the apartment over the gallery and learns the whole story.

#wuthering heights #modern!au #edgar/catherine #catherine/heathcliff #edgar/catherine/heathcliff #hareton earnshaw #ot3 #as for the siblings....#cathy is still cathy #catherine likes the idea of naming her daughter after herself #linton is still linton #and linton is still Isabella's son but isn't Heathcliff's #Isabella sleeps with a guy who dumps her the next morning #she figures out she is pregnant and tells no one because she wants to keep the baby #but then she gets very overwhelmed at the idea and decides she can't #so she reaches out to her brother and asks him to take the baby instead #edgar probably eventually becomes edgar earnshaw #so linton is linton earnshaw #and heathcliff uses that as a surname as well

3 notes · View notes

daydreamerdrew · 1 year

Text

I’m genuinely heartbroken that Mark Waid said Mary’s hero name is going to be Mary Marvel now.

I’m obviously a big fan of Golden Age comics, so it’s in no way a distaste for the Golden Age that motivates this, but I really don’t think that “Mary Marvel” as a hero name works that well in modern comics with characters that aren’t meant to know her secret identity calling her that.

I think that this change is motivated entirely by wanting to return to the classic version of the family in whatever ways are possible without any thought given to what makes sense for the specific version of her that exists in comics now. Especially since Billy is going to be called the Captain now, so it’s not like the name Shazam needed to be freed up for him.

And I really do not think that it makes any in-universe sense for modern Mary to name herself Mary Marvel or be amenable to someone else naming her that. Like, I don’t see the road to this from The New Champion of Shazam! (2023), which emphasized so strongly that, despite sexist backlash, her name was Shazam and not ‘Lady Shazam’ or any other gendered variations that stemmed from hesitation to give her that main title.

I think it’s clear from the interview that Mark Waid is thinking about how to make classically-styled Billy work in a modern comic book. For example, he talks about how a lot of his Golden Age stories had very low stakes, but that doesn’t work well for what modern audience are interested in now, even though it was really successful back then.

But while the change that Billy won’t be able to say “Shazam” anymore without transforming is going to be justified with the Lazarus Planet event, it’s my understanding that the change of Billy’s personality is just going to be how it is now without any explanation. And that’s fine with me because I don’t care for how the modern version of him has previously been characterized.

But I really like the modern Mary that we’ve gotten and I’m sad to see her get unnecessarily dismantled. While Billy as Shazam never worked for me, Mary as Shazam did. It was exciting to see her move into the main spot in the family and the series that gave her that name felt like a natural modernization of her classic character, not the forced and mean-spirited approach that the story that gave Billy that name took.

I just don’t see how this name change is in any way good for her character. While Billy benefits from being called the Captain now in that people who otherwise would not be interested are now going to be more open to buying his book, I don’t see how Mary being called a name that some modern readers struggle to take seriously benefits her, especially when her classic iteration doesn’t have as big of a fan base to appeal to in the first place. And there really wasn’t anything wrong with calling her Shazam.

#this feels very reminiscent of Billy and Mary sharing the name Captain Marvel in TPOS!#which I really liked!#and then her being called Mary Marvel with no explanation after it was canceled #also to be frank it’s frustrating how some people got all up in arms over Mary taking on the name Shazam and so taking it away from Billy #just because she’s a girl and they didn’t want her to have that main title #and now they’re all getting exactly what they wanted #and a lot of that that I saw was from purist classic fans who hated Billy having that name and were never going to read New Champion anyway #because it starred a modern version of a Marvel Family character so they would never give it a chance #which was so annoying because they really should not have cared #and I'm also annoyed with people who weren't exactly bothered #but in the long months in between New Champion being announced and finally coming out were like #‘but what’s Mary’s hero name going to be in this? it’s a mystery’#when I really don’t think that it was vague that she was taking on the name Shazam #and fun fact Billy and Mary sharing the name Captain Marvel in the 90s also got sexist backlash and those guys also won #my posts

4 notes · View notes

yeoldenews · 4 months

Text

A Guide to Historically Accurate Regency-Era Names

I recently received a message from a historical romance writer asking if I knew any good resources for finding historically accurate Regency-era names for their characters.

Not knowing any off the top of my head, I dug around online a bit and found there really isn’t much out there. The vast majority of search results were Buzzfeed-style listicles which range from accurate-adjacent to really, really, really bad.

I did find a few blog posts with fairly decent name lists, but noticed that even these have very little indication as to each name’s relative popularity as those statistical breakdowns really don't exist.

I began writing up a response with this information, but then I (being a research addict who was currently snowed in after a blizzard) thought hey - if there aren’t any good resources out there why not make one myself?

As I lacked any compiled data to work from, I had to do my own data wrangling on this project. Due to this fact, I limited the scope to what I thought would be the most useful for writers who focus on this era, namely - people of a marriageable age living in the wealthiest areas of London.

So with this in mind - I went through period records and compiled the names of 25,000 couples who were married in the City of Westminster (which includes Mayfair, St. James and Hyde Park) between 1804 to 1821.

So let’s see what all that data tells us…

To begin - I think it’s hard for us in the modern world with our wide and varied abundance of first names to conceive of just how POPULAR popular names of the past were.

If you were to take a modern sample of 25-year-old (born in 1998) American women, the most common name would be Emily with 1.35% of the total population. If you were to add the next four most popular names (Hannah, Samantha, Sarah and Ashley) these top five names would bring you to 5.5% of the total population. (source: Social Security Administration)

If you were to do the same survey in Regency London - the most common name would be Mary with 19.2% of the population. Add the next four most popular names (Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah and Jane) and with just 5 names you would have covered 62% of all women.

To hit 62% of the population in the modern survey it would take the top 400 names.

The top five Regency men’s names (John, William, Thomas, James and George) have nearly identical statistics as the women’s names.

I struggled for the better part of a week with how to present my findings, as a big list in alphabetical order really fails to get across the popularity factor and also isn’t the most tumblr-compatible format. And then my YouTube homepage recommended a random video of someone ranking all the books they’d read last year - and so I present…

The Regency Name Popularity Tier List

The Tiers

S+ - 10% of the population or greater. There is no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. 52% of the population had one of these 7 names.

S - 2-10%. There is still no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. Names in this percentage range in the past have included Mary and William in the 1880s and Jennifer in the late 1970s (topped out at 4%).

A - 1-2%. The top five modern names usually fall in this range. Kids with these names would probably include their last initial in class to avoid confusion. (1998 examples: Emily, Sarah, Ashley, Michael, Christopher, Brandon.)

B - .3-1%. Very common names. Would fall in the top 50 modern names. You would most likely know at least 1 person with these names. (1998 examples: Jessica, Megan, Allison, Justin, Ryan, Eric)

C - .17-.3%. Common names. Would fall in the modern top 100. You would probably know someone with these names, or at least know of them. (1998 examples: Chloe, Grace, Vanessa, Sean, Spencer, Seth)

D - .06-.17%. Less common names. In the modern top 250. You may not personally know someone with these names, but you’re aware of them. (1998 examples: Faith, Cassidy, Summer, Griffin, Dustin, Colby)

E - .02-.06%. Uncommon names. You’re aware these are names, but they are not common. Unusual enough they may be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Calista, Skye, Precious, Fabian, Justice, Lorenzo)

F - .01-.02%. Rare names. You may have heard of these names, but you probably don’t know anyone with one. Extremely unusual, and would likely be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Emerald, Lourdes, Serenity, Dario, Tavian, Adonis)

G - Very rare names. There are only a handful of people with these names in the entire country. You’ve never met anyone with this name.

H - Virtually non-existent. Names that theoretically could have existed in the Regency period (their original source pre-dates the early 19th century) but I found fewer than five (and often no) period examples of them being used in Regency England. (Example names taken from romance novels and online Regency name lists.)

Just to once again reinforce how POPULAR popular names were before we get to the tier lists - statistically, in a ballroom of 100 people in Regency London: 80 would have names from tiers S+/S. An additional 15 people would have names from tiers A/B and C. 4 of the remaining 5 would have names from D/E. Only one would have a name from below tier E.

Women's Names

S+ Mary, Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah

S - Jane, Mary Ann+, Hannah, Susannah, Margaret, Catherine, Martha, Charlotte, Maria

A - Frances, Harriet, Sophia, Eleanor, Rebecca

B - Alice, Amelia, Bridget~, Caroline, Eliza, Esther, Isabella, Louisa, Lucy, Lydia, Phoebe, Rachel, Susan

C - Ellen, Fanny*, Grace, Henrietta, Hester, Jemima, Matilda, Priscilla

D - Abigail, Agnes, Amy, Augusta, Barbara, Betsy*, Betty*, Cecilia, Christiana, Clarissa, Deborah, Diana, Dinah, Dorothy, Emily, Emma, Georgiana, Helen, Janet^, Joanna, Johanna, Judith, Julia, Kezia, Kitty*, Letitia, Nancy*, Ruth, Winifred>

E - Arabella, Celia, Charity, Clara, Cordelia, Dorcas, Eve, Georgina, Honor, Honora, Jennet^, Jessie*^, Joan, Joyce, Juliana, Juliet, Lavinia, Leah, Margery, Marian, Marianne, Marie, Mercy, Miriam, Naomi, Patience, Penelope, Philadelphia, Phillis, Prudence, Rhoda, Rosanna, Rose, Rosetta, Rosina, Sabina, Selina, Sylvia, Theodosia, Theresa

F - (selected) Alicia, Bethia, Euphemia, Frederica, Helena, Leonora, Mariana, Millicent, Mirah, Olivia, Philippa, Rosamund, Sybella, Tabitha, Temperance, Theophila, Thomasin, Tryphena, Ursula, Virtue, Wilhelmina

G - (selected) Adelaide, Alethia, Angelina, Cassandra, Cherry, Constance, Delilah, Dorinda, Drusilla, Eva, Happy, Jessica, Josephine, Laura, Minerva, Octavia, Parthenia, Theodora, Violet, Zipporah

H - Alberta, Alexandra, Amber, Ashley, Calliope, Calpurnia, Chloe, Cressida, Cynthia, Daisy, Daphne, Elaine, Eloise, Estella, Lilian, Lilias, Francesca, Gabriella, Genevieve, Gwendoline, Hermione, Hyacinth, Inez, Iris, Kathleen, Madeline, Maude, Melody, Portia, Seabright, Seraphina, Sienna, Verity

Men's Names

S+ John, William, Thomas

S - James, George, Joseph, Richard, Robert, Charles, Henry, Edward, Samuel

A - Benjamin, (Mother’s/Grandmother’s maiden name used as first name)#

B - Alexander^, Andrew, Daniel, David>, Edmund, Francis, Frederick, Isaac, Matthew, Michael, Patrick~, Peter, Philip, Stephen, Timothy

C - Abraham, Anthony, Christopher, Hugh>, Jeremiah, Jonathan, Nathaniel, Walter

D - Adam, Arthur, Bartholomew, Cornelius, Dennis, Evan>, Jacob, Job, Josiah, Joshua, Lawrence, Lewis, Luke, Mark, Martin, Moses, Nicholas, Owen>, Paul, Ralph, Simon

E - Aaron, Alfred, Allen, Ambrose, Amos, Archibald, Augustin, Augustus, Barnard, Barney, Bernard, Bryan, Caleb, Christian, Clement, Colin, Duncan^, Ebenezer, Edwin, Emanuel, Felix, Gabriel, Gerard, Gilbert, Giles, Griffith, Harry*, Herbert, Humphrey, Israel, Jabez, Jesse, Joel, Jonas, Lancelot, Matthias, Maurice, Miles, Oliver, Rees, Reuben, Roger, Rowland, Solomon, Theophilus, Valentine, Zachariah

F - (selected) Abel, Barnabus, Benedict, Connor, Elijah, Ernest, Gideon, Godfrey, Gregory, Hector, Horace, Horatio, Isaiah, Jasper, Levi, Marmaduke, Noah, Percival, Shadrach, Vincent

G - (selected) Albion, Darius, Christmas, Cleophas, Enoch, Ethelbert, Gavin, Griffin, Hercules, Hugo, Innocent, Justin, Maximilian, Methuselah, Peregrine, Phineas, Roland, Sebastian, Sylvester, Theodore, Titus, Zephaniah

H - Albinus, Americus, Cassian, Dominic, Eric, Milo, Rollo, Trevor, Tristan, Waldo, Xavier

# Men were sometimes given a family surname (most often their mother's or grandmother's maiden name) as their first name - the most famous example of this being Fitzwilliam Darcy. If you were to combine all surname-based first names as a single 'name' this is where the practice would rank.

*Rank as a given name, not a nickname

+If you count Mary Ann as a separate name from Mary - Mary would remain in S+ even without the Mary Anns included

~Primarily used by people of Irish descent

^Primarily used by people of Scottish descent

>Primarily used by people of Welsh descent

I was going to continue on and write about why Regency-era first names were so uniform, discuss historically accurate surnames, nicknames, and include a little guide to finding 'unique' names that are still historically accurate - but this post is already very, very long, so that will have to wait for a later date.

If anyone has any questions/comments/clarifications in the meantime feel free to message me.

Methodology notes: All data is from marriage records covering six parishes in the City of Westminster between 1804 and 1821. The total sample size was 50,950 individuals.

I chose marriage records rather than births/baptisms as I wanted to focus on individuals who were adults during the Regency era rather than newborns. I think many people make the mistake when researching historical names by using baby name data for the year their story takes place rather than 20 to 30 years prior, and I wanted to avoid that. If you are writing a story that takes place in 1930 you don’t want to research the top names for 1930, you need to be looking at 1910 or earlier if you are naming adult characters.

I combined (for my own sanity) names that are pronounced identically but have minor spelling differences: i.e. the data for Catherine also includes Catharines and Katherines, Susannah includes Susannas, Phoebe includes Phebes, etc.

The compound 'Mother's/Grandmother's maiden name used as first name' designation is an educated guesstimate based on what I recognized as known surnames, as I do not hate myself enough to go through 25,000+ individuals and confirm their mother's maiden names. So if the tally includes any individuals who just happened to be named Fitzroy/Hastings/Townsend/etc. because their parents liked the sound of it and not due to any familial relations - my bad.

I did a small comparative survey of 5,000 individuals in several rural communities in Rutland and Staffordshire (chosen because they had the cleanest data I could find and I was lazy) to see if there were any significant differences between urban and rural naming practices and found the results to be very similar. The most noticeable difference I observed was that the S+ tier names were even MORE popular in rural areas than in London. In Rutland between 1810 and 1820 Elizabeths comprised 21.4% of all brides vs. 15.3% in the London survey. All other S+ names also saw increases of between 1% and 6%. I also observed that the rural communities I surveyed saw a small, but noticeable and fairly consistent, increase in the use of names with Biblical origins.

Sources of the records I used for my survey:

Ancestry.com. England & Wales Marriages, 1538-1988 [database on-line].

Ancestry.com. Westminster, London, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1754-1935 [database on-line].

#history #regency #1800s #1810s #names #london #writing resources #regency romance #jane austen #bridgerton #bridgerton would be an exponentially better show if daphne's name was dorcas #behold - the reason i haven't posted in three weeks

11K notes · View notes

nomaishuttle · 8 months

Text

no i fr couldnt... 200 dollars for the worst seats + wed have to get to ny and ill be looking for an apartment ariund that time and im already going to have spent a Lot of money to be in ky... heaviest sigh of my life

#i wanna see a broadway show one day thoufh... and definitely with lamp #theyre just so expensive 😭😭#but ill see abt the next block of tickets i might be able to seeeere abt taking us. maybe for lamps bday next year if the shows still #running then...#i dont rly care much abt broadway anymore tho like most modern shows dont do it for me. so j think the best bets for a show me and lamp #would enjoy seeing is sweeney or cats bc rhose r r autism bonding musicals... Aka i said Wouldnt it be funny to watch cats the musical and #cats the movie since were home alone rn. and we rented them out on youtube so we could have them on the big screen #and well..lives were chabged that day #and now i have the name of Every sjngle cat memorized. at least from the 98 movie...#it was also Insanely funny to watch 2019 cats immediately after 98 cats. like my brain had exploded watching 98 xats like Whys this slay #why does this slay whys this the best EVER? literally rearranged my brain . and then we watched 2019 and we oscillated between rage Tears #and losing our actual mindslaughing. it was so funny. and then we rewatched 98 again immediately after #and then three more times in the days following And then the rental expired.. all very saf #and then i went fucking craaaazy on the wiki... the psas dudee my favorite #oh and the sweeney story was i watched sweeney bc i was like oh music guy i watch and kennie jd both like this ill give it a try #and i enjoyed it and i watched it with ykw 🙄 which sucked and then i watched it with lamp which SLAYEDDD #and then we listened to every single recording together which was rly rly fun... n now 50% of our conversations are sweeney references #like we have a discord server for our calls Specifically so we could make a soundboard. 2/8 sounds are sweeney sounds. which ik 2 isnt a #lot but out of 8.. and also theyre from the same song #abd literally . the same 7 seconds kf the song. we have I hear nothing 🤨? and yyyyesssssss...#i hear nothing would be useful for when our mics arent working but instead we use barbie sound effect Balls (reverb)#bc my old headphones were weirdd and the soundboard sounds were either faint or inaudible it messed up all my audio #it was either the headphones or bc i was using web discord im not sure but its fixed now. but when i had that issue Literally the only #sound i could consistently hear was BALLS 📣#also yes it was a heavy debate between barbie Balls and nicki minaj BALLS 💥#our sounds are ummm.. balls No. from . ok random but its from the creeper rap ending b i think . the one where steve just kicks the creeper #and goes No. its so insanely funny to me me and my sibling referencenit all the time thats why its there #n then we have sweeney 2012 judges return I hear nothing 🤨 and yesss.. n then vine boom and a laughtrack and a booing crowd #i wanna replace the laughtrack with my dads phone notification sound but idk how 2 find it #tbh . im kind of tempted to get discord Solely so that i can add more sounds to the soundboard JDNFJFNFJFN

0 notes

iron-sides · 9 months

Text

i had like a whole paragraph about how fanon depictions (bc i havent read those comics..) of batman dealing with jason todds death is similar to gilgamesh dealing with enkidus death adn then i deleted it bc i dont know this professor THAT well yet...

#my thots #sob shes about to get um. well lets say a paper written for my high school english teacher #'s entertainment #<- not really but i might send her this i do think shed get a kick out of it #but yh ive known my old eng teacher well enough i have her number and were on first name basis and i am NOT there #yet w this prof so.#the editing process is. extensive <- i had three sentences about dear fellow traveler that i had to take out bc theure #100% unrelated to my thesis os #of #'In The Epic #Gilgamesh’s best friend dies in a tragic and unforeseen act of Ishtar and Enlil. Gilgamesh spends the rest of the book grappling with the l #and his newfound fear of dying #indicating that the Mesopotamians felt very similarly about death to modern people.'#so uh. well

1 note · View note

queers-gambit · 9 months

Text

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

browse the Clingy Baby collection masterlist here

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel au #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky x you #mafia au #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes hurt/comfort

8K notes · View notes