#and it was eluded to by daniel

[ch3ri-ch3ri-lady]

little baby andrei c. late 15th century ukraine 😔 before the horrors

eastern european mediaeval history is acc fascinating and soooo underrated and somehow anne got everything wrong ☠️

underrated era for him. look at his little hat!

[userarmand]

“You are my teacher,” Armand told him. “You will tell me everything about this century. I am learning secrets already that have eluded me since the beginning. You'll sleep when the sun rises, if you wish, but the nights are mine.”

'The Story of Daniel, the Devil's Minion, or the Boy from Interview with the Vampire', The Queen of the Damned.

[lenny-link]

Murder Tango AU

collab AU with @geoporost !!

In this AU, Daniel (Spy) suffered from a devastating loss when his wife and son (yes, Scout and his mother) were murdered when he was younger. He was just a poor and unknown man at the time so the crime was ignored, left uninvestigated. With no one else seeking justice, Daniel decided to find the killer by himself.

But the deeper he searched, the more he realized that this wasn’t just a simple murder, but part of something much bigger and far more complex. His plan of vengeance he made have put him on a path he never expected to be in. He worked to become a profiler and joined the police force, where he met James (Engineer) introduced to him by their commander Terry (Demo) to be his assistant in this case.

As the case unfolded, Daniel discovered more people connected to the murder of his wife and child, and he killed every single one of them. But there was a problem: he was now part of the very investigation hunting him down. Using his position, he subtly altered evidence, covering his tracks in ways only he could.

However, James was brilliant man, too brilliant even, after the loss of his arm while chasing a killer, he had built himeslf his own robotic hand that was a deadly wapon. Daniel knew that if James kept digging, he might eventually put the pieces together and find him. So, he found the perfect way to distract him: seduction. As they grew closer, Daniel became James' solace, his only source of warmth in the darkness of the case. And yet, at the same time, he was the very thing poisoning James’ mind. The more the mystery eluded him, the more it drove him mad.

Meanwhile, Sebastian (Sniper) had been making his own investigation on the side. Unlike James, he actually uncovered the truth. But before he could tell his best friend, Daniel eliminated him. James had lost his only true friend—at the hands of the man he trusted most.

And in his grief, his exhaustion, his loneliness, Daniel was right there, ready to pull him even further into his embrace.

There’s so much more to this AU, but that’s all I’m going to say for now. ;)

(we actually couldn't decide the ending of the story so we have 3 potential endings, neutral, bad and "happy" lol)

a lil bit of shitposting:

OC refs :3 :

(the Ocs with the blue background are @geoporost 's ocs, and the gray backround are mine :3)

we also have Miss Pauling as Terry's (Demo) assistant! :D

[stealingyourbones]

DC × DP, Prompt Idea; The mysterious Danielle Fenton is a fellow intern at the Daily Planet. She has this inate "skill" in getting information from unknown sources, "Dead Ends" Dani calls her sources when asked.

Lois wants to know Dani's source, Jimmy is curious, and Clark is on standby to protect them just in case.

Dani is too much of a sneaky shit for even Lois's incredible investigative reporter skills to figure out Dani's source. They assume she's possibly a meta but again, Dani is just too good at eluding it all to give them concrete proof on that too!

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.42

Summary: While Wednesday is busy worrying about you, an unwelcome guests shows their face at the Addams Mansion. Wednesday is starting to wish you would lose your morals again.

Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: swearing, mentioned child abuse, racism against Outcasts, smut at the end (18+) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

The Addams Mansion was louder than usual with its new guests. Much to her surprise, Wednesday almost found it comforting. If you had asked her even just two years ago if she would have enjoyed the newfound sounds in the mansion, she would have thought the notion preposterous. Absurd even. Of course she wouldn’t have enjoyed the sounds, the mansion was her home. It was a sacred place that should be left untouched.

However, with your family around… at least they treated the old home as it deserved.

Even the youngest were respectful of the knick-knacks and artefacts around the mansion. They had only needed to be told once, and everything settled again. Sure, they would point out the ones they liked, but their hands stayed far away. Rooms that were off-limits to guests remained closed, and everyone was respectful of the… unusual habits of the Addams family.

The only one that remained unusual was you.

If Wednesday was being honest with herself, she was rather concerned about you. She hadn’t heard you say much after that night. By all accounts, you were more similar to Lurch in your communication; doing little more than grunting in acknowledgement of whatever was being said. You hadn’t even talked to Weems, who had shown up not even a day after the event to check on everyone. It was rather disturbing. And not in a good way.

At least there was an upside to the whole situation. Grandmama Addams had healed your arm with little more than a light scar over the skin. It was clearly a burn; that was impossible to erase. But there had been no need to go into a medical centre like the original EMT had mentioned. An Addams knew tricks no normie could comprehend.

There was nothing comfortable about talking about feelings, Wednesday knew all about that. She had trouble talking about her own, and you certainly felt the same. It didn’t take a genius to know that. But she wished you would talk with her. Share your thoughts, what you were feeling at the moment. Or at the very least what you were thinking for the past few weeks, seeing as you still had yet to tell her how you had known the house was going to catch fire.

“Would you pass the sugar, dear?” Mother asked you.

You grumbled and nodded once before pushing it over with your scarred hand. It was a stiff movement, and your brows moved ever so slightly at the effort. So, Wednesday thought, you weren’t entirely healed. You made no other indication of your discomfort and turned the page of your book.

“Daniel seemed quite interested in the atrium,” Mother continued. You hummed for her to continue. “He’s asked numerous times about specific plants.”

You still said nothing in return.

Mother looked at Wednesday over the lip of her teacup. If you wouldn’t even answer her small talk, how would they ever get you to speak? Even if you were having a small spat with Wednesday, you would always talk with Mother. Yet now, she was talking of your brother, and you wouldn’t even answer? It was borderline rude.

You were never rude to Mother.

“There you all are,” Weems said as she entered the reading room. “Everyone was a bit too quiet.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Mother said with a smile.

She did just that. Even you looked up from your book for just long enough to watch Weems sit down with her own cup of tea. It seemed everyone was indulging in caffeine. Everyone except for you, that was. You had opted for nothing more than a glass of water that sat untouched on the small side table.

Everyone resumed their activities; Mother and Weems were talking, and you were reading. Wednesday had her own book in her lap, but the words eluded her. How could she focus on a book when she was so concerned about you? How could you focus on your book? Were you not going absolutely mad?

She needed you to be okay. There was very little she could do to help, but she needed you to be okay. Perhaps you wouldn’t talk with her, but that wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it? No, she could survive you not talking about your worries with her, as long as you allowed her to attempt to help.

A word of advice from Yoko appeared in her head. She looked over at you and watched you for a moment. There was very little emotion on your face, but she noticed you blinking a little longer than normal every time your burned hand turned the page.

She gave herself no time to doubt herself before reaching over and grabbing your good hand. It stiffened, but when she linked her fingers with yours, you quickly relaxed. Before she looked back down at her book, she noticed the slightest pull at the corner of your mouth.

Good. That was progress.

Wednesday was acutely aware of Mother and Weems’ hesitation before continuing their conversation. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach to know they were watching you both. Showing outward displays of affection was becoming less agonising, but there was something unsettling about knowing her mother and your mother figure were watching.

The prickling spiders were starting to crawl across her skin when something knocked on the front door. You didn’t look up, but Mother and Weems shared a look before Weems stood up from her chair.

“Shall I?” She asked even though she had already started walking toward the front door.

“Thank you,” Mother said with a small smile.

No one else paid any attention to what was happening. Everyone simply went back to what they were doing. What would it matter anyway? You were all aware that people only came to the Addams Mansion either based on a dare or had been invited.

“I don’t believe it’s wise for you to be here.”

Your attention was captured by Weems’ words. Wednesday would admit hers were too. There was a certain tone to the words, something that she didn’t think she had heard before. No, that wasn’t true, she had heard that warning tone before.

At Nevermore immediately after Nicky had died.

Wednesday’s mind was running rampant when you pulled your hand away from hers. There was almost no time for her to grab it again before you stood up. Mother sent a concerned look her way. It was a lucky thing Wednesday hadn’t had any tea, or she would have spilled it when she stood up.

Your body stiffened when you looked out the front door.

“I was hoping you would be here.”

That voice sent a shiver down every inch of Wednesday’s skin. By the slight shake in your hand, you felt the same. The closer she got, the more nervous she was. It was a complicated feeling for her. Very few things, and even fewer people, made her feel that way. She didn’t like it.

There was something comparable between your mother and hers. They both held themselves with confidence; something that you appeared to lack until you were in your mother’s presence again. However, there was a rather large difference between the two women.

Your mother always looked like she was out for blood.

“I was hoping to talk with you about something,” your mother said directly to you.

“I don’t believe that would-”

“-Alone,” she interrupted Weems with a venomous smile.

Very few people spoke to Weems in such a way, apparent by the way everyone stiffened at the harshness of the word. But that very reality was what seemed to get you out of whatever stupor you had drowned in. Behind you, your wings puffed up enough to make themselves known as you looked at Weems.

“I’ve got it,” you said in a soft yet confident voice. It was certainly a surprise to Wednesday, who had assumed you would sound weak after a large amount of silence.

Weems looked at you for another moment more. “Morticia and I will be in the study,” she finally said.

“As I said,” your mother said with the same sickening smile, “this is private.”

“Anything involving me involves Wednesday,” you said.

You and your mother stared at each other silently, and Wednesday felt like she was intruding on something. There was a history with you two that she knew very little about, but she knew enough. To stand there, watching your silent battle with nothing to say, was torture.

“Of course it does,” your mother finally said. She looked inside the mansion for a moment. “Won’t you be a dear and invite me in?”

“No.” You straightened back up and crossed your arms over your chest. “Say your piece and leave.”

Your mother opened her mouth to argue - she had stunning teeth, Wednesday noted - but quickly closed it once seeing the look on your face. Or rather, the lack of a look. Fear was the predominant look in your eyes when your parents were involved, but this? There was no reaction. You simply existed in her presence.

It was a wonderful look on you.

“Very well,” your mother finally said with a sigh. “I would like you to attend an event with me this weekend.”

“No,” you said quickly.

Your mother stood tall. “You will hear me out, Y/N.”

Fear flashed behind your eyes at the use of your full name.

“It’s a charity gala,” she continued. “For those with your…” she gestured vaguely between both you and Wednesday, “affliction.”

“We’re Outcasts,” you said, “not lepers.”

“Semantics, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave.

At that, you reached out and grabbed Wednesday’s hand. Hard. An ache spread through the bones of her hand as they were squeezed together unnaturally. The skin on your hand was tough, feeling closer to leather than skin. Truly a fascinating thing.

She squeezed your hand back to the best of her ability.

“After all the shit you’ve done, you want me to go with you to a gala?” You asked. “Just to make you look good?”

There was a red tint to your cheeks. Wednesday could hear all the words you weren’t saying. You killed my brother. You had me arrested. You abandoned me. Though she didn’t wish for a fight, she did wish for you to finally speak your mind. Let her know the hurt she had caused you all these years.

You didn’t continue.

“Your father is away, so you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with the restraining order,” your mother continued as if you were being nothing more than a petulant child.

“You’re not listening,” you said. “I’m not going.”

The tone underlying your words was all Wednesday needed to hear to know your next move. Your grip had loosened enough to ease the ache in her hand, but it stayed firm. Though she wouldn’t blame you, she knew you were done with the conversation. Nothing good could come from continuing to talk with your mother.

You turned around and started to pull Wednesday along with you.

“I heard about the fire,” your mother called after you.

You froze.

“Entire house burned to ash,” she continued. “A shame.” Your chest was heaving. “No longer having a home to call their own.”

The warmth of your hand in hers quickly disappeared as you turned on your heel. Wednesday’s feet stayed rooted to the spot even as she watched you walk up to your mother and stand over her. For the first time, she realised you were a decent amount taller than your mother. You could properly look down on her as she had no doubt you always wished you could.

In the background, the children could be heard playing in an unknown room.

“Don’t pretend you care,” you said quietly. Harshly.

“Oh darling,” your mother said with a smile that didn’t match her tone, “I couldn’t care less.”

“Then don’t talk about them.”

“I just assumed, perhaps wrongfully, that you would wish for them to have a home again,” she continued. The look in her eye was similar to yours. “A gift, if you will.”

You looked down at your mother silently. Oh, how Wednesday wished she could see the look on your face. She so very much adored when you were angry. There was a fire behind your eyes that lit something within her.

Then she started to think about the implications of your mother’s words. Would you allow her to offer such a thing? The reminder of your debt would follow you for the rest of your life. After all, you were still feeling indebted to her parents for the pendant you constantly wore around your neck. But with a home? She couldn’t even imagine the feelings it would invoke within you.

“Shall I continue?” Your mother asked.

You hesitated. Then gave a single, slow nod.

“If you accompany me to the gala, we will pay for the restoration of your little,” she hesitated, “family.” There was almost a sneer on her face, if Wednesday was reading her correctly.

“Are you blackmailing me?” You asked.

“Oh dear,” she laughed, “I’m not that dense.” Your jaw clenched. “It’s an incentive. A rather generous one.”

Your mother then stayed silent. A tactic, no doubt. It would give you time to consider her offer. Even Wednesday would admit it was a tempting offer. She and her parents had offered your family the same thing knowing they didn’t have the means to rebuild quickly on their own. It had been a quick rejection.

When it came to your mother, however…

“You’ll pay for the entirety of a new house,” you confirmed.

Your mother nodded in response. “Large enough for them all, in fact.”

“With the barn and stables.”

“Of course.”

“And nothing will ever need to be repaid?”

“It will be an act of charity.”

“And I can get that in writing?” You asked.

Oh. Oh, Wednesday could see the gears turning in your head. Once again, as she so often found herself doing, she thought back to those years she had believed you to be daft. Oblivious would perhaps have been the better word for it. Acting as if you were unaware of everything going on around you. On the rare occasion, even going so far as to act unaware of even the most basic aspects of life.

She used to believe you. After all, you were rather adept at playing off your intelligence. If she hadn’t been so tragically enamoured with you, life would have become far different than it currently was. She wouldn’t have had the pleasure of calling you hers. 

However, she knew better. She could see the ideas forming behind your eyes. No, they weren’t simply ideas, they were full-fledged plans. Wednesday desperately wished to have the ability to read your mind. What plan were you meticulously concocting?

“You may have it in writing,” your mother finally said. “I’ll draft it when I get home.”

“Oh no,” you said quickly, “I wouldn’t wish to trouble you.”

Finally, for the first time since your mother had appeared at the front door, you turned and looked at Wednesday. There was a fire in your eyes reminiscent of the burning house she had been forced to watch you run into. It was thrilling.

It was terrifying.

“Would you call Señor Moreno?” You asked with a smile that made you look just like your mother. “Mrs. Smith would like to draft an agreement.”

—---

Your discomfort was clear, but Wednesday rather enjoyed you in your current state. There had been few times she had seen you dressed well, fewer times since it had been a happy occasion. This was neither happy nor unhappy, so she took it as a positive. You looked rather stunning, aside from your wings resting uncomfortably underneath your clothes.

Not for the first time, her chest ached when you removed your hand from hers.

Listening to your mother fill you in on who was who was not on Wednesday’s to-do list. No, she didn’t truly care who these people were. What she truly cared about was the feel of your warmth beside her, enveloping her in something she had learned to crave. Something she could only receive from you.

“Come on,” you said softly, far closer than Wednesday had believed. It was unsettling.

She loved when you were unsettling.

With her arm looped through yours, she walked with you around the overly crowded room. A ballroom of sorts, she supposed, not too unlike the one in her own house. The difference was this one was bright and filled with straight-laced professionals. Her house was more often than not filled with criminals and unsightly characters for miles to come.

This was a far more concerning environment.

Every beat of Wednesday’s heart grew stronger the longer she watched you in what would have been your natural habitat. Try as you might to deny it, you were rather skilled at talking up those that could owe you favours. For example, the senator’s wife. Though Wednesday despised it, you had her laughing and getting closer the entire conversation.

You were lucky Wednesday had promised to behave.

She was lucky you had promised to behave.

The longer she stayed by your side throughout the evening, the more she realised there was a side to you she rarely if ever got to see. The part of you that could be serious and prepared for business. It was fascinating to watch your expressions and tone match whoever you were talking with. Almost like a mimic, if she had to put a word to it.

Sometimes, if your mother was around, she noticed the most subtle accent to your words. You sounded just like her.

She would never tell you.

“This is Wednesday Addams.”

Your voice pulled Wednesday back into the moment. There was a man in front of you both that she didn’t care to know. With his horrific toupee and pathetic mustache, she mentally placed him as a wannabe politician. His black tuxedo was slightly dishevelled around the collar, and his buttons were off by one. How peculiar.

“Addams, you say?” He asked with a voice that betrayed him more than the pipe hanging out of his mouth. “I believe I know of your father.”

“How so?” She asked even though she had no interest in hearing his answer.

“We met at a ball many years ago, if my recollection is correct,” he said. A puff of smoke left his mouth. “He’s doing well, I presume?”

“Quite,” she said shortly. Perhaps if she made it clear she wasn’t interested in small talk, he would leave her be.

No such luck.

“Perhaps he would appreciate an invitation to our next ball,” the man said. “He can get proper connections in place for when you take over.”

Your hand on the small of Wednesday’s back twitched. Nothing serious, a minuscule movement. It was enough. Out of the corner of your eye, she saw the slight frown on your face. Nothing overtly noticeable. Not that it would have mattered, the man you were both talking to couldn’t be bothered enough to notice the change.

“The Addamses are old money,” you chimed in, “there’s no need to take over.”

“Of course, of course,” he mumbled. A puff of smoke escaped from between his lips. “In that case, you must take that advice,” he said as he gestured toward you with his head. “You’ll need the good graces.”

Your hand twitched again.

“I’m not sure I understand,” you said with a slight tilt of your head.

“When you take over your father’s company,” he explained. Your nails dug into Wednesday’s back. “After dear Nicholas passed - rest his soul - you became the beneficiary of the company.” He chuckled. “Perhaps they were keeping it a surprise until you came of proper age.” A wink. “Don’t let them know I told you.”

You pulled your hand away from her back. Quickly. You could not have made it any more obvious that you were deliberately putting space between yourself and everyone else. If you could have turned and ran, Wednesday was convinced you would have.

She couldn’t begin to imagine the things running through your mind. Not only had he mentioned Nicky - which she had learned would always be a sore spot no matter how much time had passed - but he had also told you something you undoubtedly had never wished to know. You looked like you had grabbed an electric wire and hadn’t let go.

“Are you alright?” The man asked in a tone that indicated he couldn’t have cared less what your answer was. Wednesday could appreciate the indifference.

“Quite,” you said quickly. “Just thinking.”

“Ah, of course, I could tell,” he said with a nod, “I’ve seen that face before.” Another puff of his pipe. “You look just like your father.”

That.

That was the final straw.

Wednesday could practically hear your sanity break at that simple sentence. Any semblance of control you had maintained throughout the evening vanished. Before, you had acted like you had been shot by the words. You would close off, become solemn in the wake of the conversation. Being told those words almost hurt you more than losing your brother.

But not this time. No, now you were furious. If you clenched your jaw any tighter, Wednesday was convinced the bones would have shattered. Her eyes fell to your hands before you managed to shove them into your pockets. They were balled into fists.

She wondered if it pained your superficially healed burns.

“I believe I need a drink,” you choked out. “If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t wait for an answer before walking off where Wednesday could no longer see you.

She was mortified.

How dare you leave her with people that, not only did she not know, but she didn’t care about? She had only agreed to accompany you because it would be a sleight against your mother. Not once had she agreed to be left alone with these people. Did you not know that she was not going to be good for your image? If anything, she would damage it more than it already was.

“I hope our dear Y/N is alright.”

She knew better. Wednesday really, truly knew better. But she couldn’t help herself. With a small exhale, she turned to face your mother. A polite smile was on her face and she looked rather nice, if Wednesday wished to say something positive about the woman. Not that she deserved it, but that wasn’t necessarily important.

You had her nose.

“Oh she’s splendid,” the man said, “just stewing on some thoughts. Right, Miss Addams?” He winked at Wednesday.

She felt the rare twinge of disgust in her stomach.

“I presumed,” your mother said. “Would you mind if I stole Miss Addams from you?”

“Not at all,” he said. He bowed his head, let out a puff of smoke, and turned around to start a conversation with whatever unlucky soul happened to be nearest him.

“Walk with me,” your mother commanded.

Silence was Wednesday’s best friend as she followed the older woman. She would admit, she had never believed she would find herself in this situation. Walking side by side with your mother - not the woman who raised you, but who brought you to life. It had seemed like a far-fetched dream, if not a full-blown nightmare.

She was ashamed to admit that she was… uncertain of how to act.

“You’re a rather brave young thing,” your mother said as she continued to meander through the party, waving to people when she saw fit. “Has our darling Y/N ever told you that?”

“I’m aware of my own strengths,” Wednesday answered. She reconsidered for a moment. “Yes she has.”

“Then we raised her properly.”

Wednesday opted to stay silent. It had only been a few moments of conversation, but she could fully understand why you felt a certain way about your parents. Was she aware of the ridiculous things she was saying? Did she truly believe that they had raised you? A foolish notion at best.

It was beyond clear that your true family had raised you. If she extended the definition of the word, Weems had even raised you more than the woman she was walking beside. You even called Weems a mother, which was evidence enough. Wednesday wasn’t one to get overly emotional, but she knew the difference between what your family had done to raise you and what your mother had done. The difference was glaringly obvious.

While you hadn’t told Wednesday much about your upbringing, she knew enough. Your mother had never been there when you cried. She hadn’t helped you with your homework, or encouraged your hobbies. It would be of no surprise to anyone if she didn’t know of your passion for climbing or boxing. She had left you to cope alone after not only a crippling car accident, but the figurative and, eventually literal, loss of your brother.

No, they hadn’t raised you, and even someone as emotionally stunted as Wednesday was painfully aware of it.

“I’m sure she’s told you rather horrid things about Marcus and myself,” your mother said, coaxing Wednesday out of her thoughts. “But everything we did was for her own good.”

Wednesday understood the anger you harboured for them. She herself was feeling that same anger well up within her chest. Not quite threatening to burst forward, but making itself known. Subtle, creeping into her veins slowly, like waves gently breaking on the shore. All it would take was one wrong move and those waves would turn violent.

“I believe you truly think so,” was all she said.

“Everyone she loves gets hurt,” your mother said. She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face Wednesday. “Or dies.”

“That’s improbable at best,” she said.

“You’d be wise to leave before you fall victim to that curse of hers.”

Something cold and damp settled into the bottom of Wednesday’s heart. It was… difficult to describe. Was your mother warning her, or threatening? She was unsure. The words themself were threatening, but her tone… she hadn’t prepared to hear that tone from such a woman. Not after what she had come to know about her.

“Not everything you hear can be taken as truth, love,” your mother said softly, far too soft for her own words. She was ignoring Wednesday’s silence. Or simply not caring.  “From what I’ve read about you, you know that painfully well.”

Wednesday turned to silence once again. She had nothing to say, which was a rather unusual experience. So far, she couldn’t properly think of a time she had been left without words. Or, quite frankly, even any thoughts. Skepticism was her friend, and your mother would not break her of such habits.

“There’s two sides to every story,” your mother continued. She looked out toward the crowd of people, and Wednesday followed suit. “This curse prevailed long before Nicholas.”

You had never told Wednesday of any incidents before Nicky. Though, if your mother knew about it, then perhaps you didn’t remember. Or you weren’t even aware in the first place. It indicated something that she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about.

Something that mixed together with everything she had seen as of late.

“We should get together one evening,” your mother said as she looked back at Wednesday. “Doubtless you have questions.”

She did. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had numerous questions that continued to pile up with each second that ticked by. With how much your mother hated Outcasts, was her implication of a curse figurative or literal? If literal, were you truly cursed? Who had done it? At the very least, who had been injured or killed when you were too young to even remember?

Would you hate her if she agreed? There had been a few times you had mentioned, in passing of course, about regretting knowing little about your childhood. Whether from young age or potential trauma, you remembered less than you liked. If she had a chance to find those things out for you, would you be appreciative? Or would you be upset with her for talking with your mother so casually?

Would you hate her?

Her mind was running through every scenario possible. She wanted to tell your mother something; of what, she wasn’t quite sure. Wednesday’s lips parted in an effort to buy herself some more time when someone’s arm brushed against her shoulder. Just the lightest of touches, otherwise unnoticeable. It had been quite a while since she had last felt that electric shock spiderwebbing across her skin.

This was different.

Fire raced through her veins, creating an inferno in her chest that she desperately wished to smother. She could taste the smoke rising up from her lungs, scorching the back of her throat before settling into little more than a tickle. When her eyes opened, she saw vague shapes of the forest.

She was getting rather tired of the forest.

The birds were silent, and even the bugs had ceased to make their high-pitched calls. It was as silent as the grave. After witnessing the fire, this very setting rested heavy in her stomach. The only saving grace was the two familiar figures she saw standing underneath one of the outlines of a tree.

When they turned to face her, all comfort fled. Their faces were nothing less than mangled. Blood fell freely down their chins to the already-soaked dirt below their feet. Wednesday wanted to cry, to scream, to warn them of the creature looming behind them, but she couldn’t. She was silent.

Just like you on that fated night.

She blinked once. When her eyes opened again, the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile. The entire building smelled like you, in some odd way.

The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didn’t think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.

She had never imagined what her corpse would look like.

“I said don’t touch her.”

Your voice. That was your voice, which meant she was out of her vision. Her throat ached like she had been screaming for years. There was a dull throbbing ache in her stomach where one of the wounds on her corpse had been. But your arms were around her, holding her close.

The ache would subside.

“It might be wise to seek medical attention,” your mother said.

“This happened while she was with you,” you practically spat. Wednesday still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she could imagine the fury on your face. “I can be forgiven for not taking your advice.”

“I’d advise you not to make a scene, dear.”

Your mother’s tone left Wednesday feeling cold. Her own mother had never talked to her in such a way, even out of fear. It wasn’t a way a parent should ever talk to their child. Yet, your mother did it shamelessly in front of an entire crowd of people that had no doubt found their way around the three of you.

Her eyes opened quickly. Far too quickly, the lights from the room hammered nails into her brain. But all the pain and discomfort faded away when she met your soft eyes looking down at her in concern. You were rather beautiful, and just the thought brought a smile to her lips.

A smile?

Perhaps she had hit her head on the way down.

“Can you stand?” You asked softly.

Wednesday nodded once.

You kept your hands on her as you helped her to her feet. The floor felt a bit uneven at first, but with your arm wrapped securely around her waist, she felt no concern. Her trust in you was unwavering. You wouldn’t let her fall.

“You should take her somewhere quiet,” your mother said, against everyone’s better judgement. “It will help.”

You shot her a look, but otherwise stayed silent as you guided Wednesday through the crowd. Everyone parted, looking away in some form of almost-shame. They didn’t truly care. Elites cared for little outside of their own interests. And at that moment, getting the gossip firsthand was in their best interest.

There was no telling where exactly you were taking her. She didn’t care to know. If you were taking her somewhere, it would be safe. You had never intentionally led her into harm, and she knew you never would. You cared too much, and though it often got you in trouble, she loved it about you.

…

She had definitely hit her head.

When you opened the door and led her inside the darkened room, she didn’t initially check her surroundings. Wednesday was no fool, she would know if something was unsafe. But when you flipped the switch and illuminated the space, she was overcome with… confusion.

“The coat closet?” She asked, turning quickly to face you.

You were already pacing back and forth in the small - well, small for a room, rather large for a coat closet - space. Each step was harsh, purposeful. Behind you, your hands were clasped terribly tight, as if you were trying to prevent yourself from doing something foolish.

Perhaps you were.

“Did she hurt you?” You asked without looking.

“No,” Wednesday said softly.

You scoffed. “Probably the only thing she didn’t do.” The carpet was becoming worn into a path from your feet. “We never should’ve come to this stupid party.”

There were a few things Wednesday could have said, but she remained silent. It wasn’t often you would find yourself pacing, let alone in a closet. On those rare occasions, she had learned it best to stay quiet. Once you had gotten your thoughts and emotions out, you were lighter and could move on.

“I can’t do this,” you continued without prompting. “I don’t want to do this.” A turn on your heels. “I didn’t even want their name, let alone their fucking company.” The muscles in your arms tensed. “And apparently everyone is preparing for it. What happens when they find out I’m a fucking Outcast?” You readjusted your jaw. “He told me we shouldn’t have come.”

Wednesday perked up.

“Who told you?”

There was no sudden freeze of your movements, as was usual. No, your pace slowed until coming to a graceful stop. Each breath you took was calculated, steady. Strange. She had seen enough of your panics to know this was different. Wrong somehow.

“No one,” you said without looking at her. “Just… just a thought.” You turned slowly. “The voice in my head.”

“Your conscience?” She clarified.

You didn’t answer.

Wednesday didn’t like when you didn’t answer her. It left a gross feeling she couldn’t quite describe. The best description she could conjure was mud sitting at the bottom of her stomach, weighing her down. She didn’t like the feeling. It made her… well, almost sad.

It was possible you noticed her discomfort because, almost instantly, you walked over to where she was standing. Her entire body relaxed - for the first time that night - when your hands cupped her cheeks. There was something pleasant about your touch that never failed to ease any negative feelings trapped within her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked in a far softer voice. It was gentle and comforting.

She placed her hands on top of yours and nodded once.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” you continued. “We should’ve just had a nice night at home.”

Wednesday didn’t disagree. There were many more things she would have preferred to do than come to some gala that no one seemed to care about. You had come under the premise of a gala for Outcasts, but she felt it was a farce. None of those people cared about Outcasts, and they never would. It would have been a much better use of both of your time to do something else, something far more enjoyable.

An idea formed in her mind and she quickly looked up to meet your eyes.

“We can still have a nice night,” she said slowly.

“Wednesday,” you said with a tilt of your head. “You fainted and I’m plotting the death of my mother. You’d have to come up with something pretty… uh…”

Your voice trailed off once she guided your hands down her neck. There was almost a humorous joy to the way you went slack jawed at any indication of activities less than professional. And when she continued, fighting a shiver as your fingers brushed the side of her clothed breasts, you stared with wide eyes until your hands rested on her waist.

“Wednesday,” you whispered. Her name always slid off your tongue with a certain grace that she couldn’t find anywhere else.

“You need a distraction,” she said, “as do I.”

“Please don’t feel like you have to-”

“-I would like to,” she said quickly. 

She knew where your mind was going and, in any other situation, she would have agreed. You had both agreed long ago that this wasn’t something frivolous; it meant far too much to the both of you. It shouldn’t be used for inappropriate reasons and, under normal circumstances, this would be an inappropriate reason.

Even though it was surprising to her as well, she genuinely wanted this.

“We’re in a coat closet,” you said with a slight squeeze of your hands. It felt nice.

“I don’t believe it would be our most unusual interaction,” she said with the slightest tilt of her head.

You bit back a laugh. It was a beautiful sound. “Please don’t call it an interaction, it sounds… dirty.”

She felt herself moving backwards. Whether you were guiding her or she was leading, she couldn’t tell. All she could focus on was your fingers rubbing light circles on her hips and your face getting closer to hers. If she simply leaned up on her toes, she could kiss you.

“I can call it intercourse instead,” she offered.

The both of you stopped when her back pressed against the wall.

“I think that’s worse,” you said, your breath fanning across her lips.

She waited for the question.

“Can I kiss you?”

A rhetorical question at that point, you knew the answer. You had always known the answer. Wednesday reached forward to wrap her arms around your neck and pulled you down into a kiss. It was soft and clumsy. After all this time, you were still clumsy for the first few kisses. Before you, she would have found it ridiculous.

Now, she enjoyed it.

Outside the door, the sounds of footsteps on the tile came and went. It didn’t stop either one of you, quite the contrary, it made the situation all the more thrilling. Wednesday knew the joy you would find in it; she could practically hear your words. Two Outcasts fucking around their personal belongings? Sexy.

Her breath hitched lightly when you slipped your hands underneath her dress. It wasn’t salacious; it was rather decent, if she was being honest. You didn’t hike her dress up over her hips and take her right then and there. Rather, you kept her covered, the only indication of something going on being your hands underneath the fabric.

“I’m sorry, mi vida,” you said softly against her skin as you pressed kisses across her jaw. “This will have to be quick unless you want to get caught.”

Wednesday was never a fan of what you and Enid - and clearly the rest of the world - called “quickies.” She was so selective of when and where she was willing to have sex that the thought had never appealed to her. Why dedicate such a short amount of time to something that required much longer? How was it enjoyable? Or even tolerable?

But, as she had noted throughout the night, she wasn’t particularly picky at that moment.

She nodded quickly. More footsteps could be heard outside the door. You were correct; she didn’t wish to be caught. The thrill was arousing, yes, but if it actually happened? There was no doubt in her mind that, though she wouldn’t care about their opinions, she would be mortified.

Your teeth pressed lightly against the pulse point of her neck as you smiled. If Wednesday stretched her neck just a little further, perhaps she could entice you to bite. There was something delectable about the feel of your teeth on her skin. As if you could read her mind, you lightly nipped at her collarbone.

It was a good thing you hadn’t completely enraptured her, or she would have made a surprised noise when you hoisted her up from the ground. Your hands held her by the back of her thighs until you pressed closer, leaving her trapped securely between your body and the wall.

Oh, she rather liked that.

Your unscarred hand moved, sliding softly against her inner thigh before brushing against her underwear. Her body shivered at the slightest of touches. It was humiliating. What was more humiliating was the smile on your face that she desperately wished would vanish.

“You’re already wet,” you noted.

She could kill you.

“The stoic Wednesday Addams is wet,” you said. Your fingers slipped underneath the flimsy fabric and she had to bite her tongue. “From a little makeout session in a coat closet.”

Out of all the times you could be condescending, you had chosen the worst moment. You chose the moment she was already going out of her comfort zone, but also, quite frankly, desperate. She finally understood the pleasure in quickies; it gave less time for words.

Wednesday would have told you to shut up right then and there. She would have stopped you simply out of spite. But her chance was ruined when you slipped two fingers into her with ease. Her head fell back against the wall as those fingers moved at a dangerously quick pace.

She wouldn’t have to wait long to finish. It was truly disgraceful how worked up she was. Had you known? Because she hadn’t. Wednesday had never anticipated ever being so close to a release with such little time. Perhaps it was you. You and your deceptively soft kisses on her neck. You and your nimble fingers that had learned long ago exactly what she loved. You and your damned thumb that never left her clit until she was so sensitive she could almost cry.

That warm feeling in her core didn’t build softly. It formed quickly with each swipe of your thumb, each thrust of your fingers that had her biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She managed to lift her head right when you pulled your own mouth away. Perfect.

Her lips pressed against yours before that feeling erupted inside her. It was different from all the other times. It was more intense, hitting her rather quickly instead of slowly cascading over the edge. Her nails dug into the back of your neck, but you didn’t seem to care. You simply held her closer, keeping your fingers moving in rhythm with her body until she could relax in your arms.

Footsteps came closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against your lips, “I know it was fast, we can take our time at home.”

Wednesday didn’t have an answer just yet. She was still out of breath, trying to recover from the wave of bliss that had left her unable to properly function. But she could give you some form of answer; a soft kiss, nothing like what you had just done to her.

She felt you smile against her lips.

“Here,” you said softly as you lowered her back to the ground on shaky legs. “I’ll grab our coats, you take a moment.”

The moment you were gone, she felt cold. It wasn’t something she had ever admitted out loud, but she despised when you left her even if momentarily. She was fond of the warmth you gave her, both internally and externally. There was something special about it that evaded her verbiage. All she knew was she enjoyed it.

When she opened her eyes, she froze.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a husky voice.

You thumbed through the cash in the wallet. “I’m stealing.” You grabbed the wad of cash and placed the empty wallet back into the coat before moving on to the next one. “If I’m going to run a company one day, I should start getting used to it.”

Wednesday walked up to you slowly and waited for you to finish with what was currently in your hands. Once you paused, she pulled you down into a kiss. Slow, soft, good. You pulled back ever so slightly with a small smile on your face, and she just looked at you.

“I love you,” she said softly.

You leaned down to kiss her again.

“I love you too.”

[cryptocism]

AAAHHHAHAHA DUDE (GIRL, THEY THEM) YOUR IWTV IS AMAZING!!!! Your art style is like a characterization of them but much more realistic. It's like you took a photo of them and applied a filter. This is amazing, I love your DC Tim art but this is definitely making love your work more!

thanks!!! tbh applying a filter would probably be an easier route to go if it didnt sit wrong in my like... idk creative instincts. instead i use a very time consuming method called "drawing a face over and over and over again until i kinda get how it works"

actually im gonna use this ask as an excuse to post some studies here is the process:

basically step 1 i trace a photo so i can kinda get an idea of how shit works, then i try to draw the photo using what i learned from the tracing. 1st round is always wack so step 3 is comparing my proportions to the photo again. with armand i consistently drew his face too long lmao u can see it in the corrected sketches. then i do a second round of sketches, corrections, and usually a final sketch that i use as a light/shadow study. sometimes i end up doing more sketch passes if i really cant get the hang of it.

then repeat:

the goal is proportions and consistency, so hopefully when i draw a face with different expressions and angles - even if I dont have a reference that precisely lines up - i can still end up in the ballpark of recognizability.

funnily older daniel is much easier for me to draw than younger daniel tbh. theyve got similar faces but the actor for older daniel just has more distinctive features i can center stuff around, whereas young daniel eludes me a lil bit.... i gotta do more studies of those guys if i can shake the armand fixation for like 10 minutes

[dykekingofhell]

i’m fully aware that the show likely won’t go on long enough to adapt the trinity gate era, but it’s material i’d love to see the writers work with. armand and louis’ relationship while complex and in flux throughout the series is very much in the periphery after interview, with just scraps eluding to what the deal is (everyone being in miami together post qotd, armand’s complicated fondness towards louis in tva, the establishment of trinity gate). like it’s already fascinating that the extended cast of vampires of lestat’s circle continue to care for each other and maintain close bonds in spite of everything they’ve done to each other, but for louis and armand in particular, it’s wild that they end up specifically end up cohabiting and romantically involved again when their first relationship ended with such utter coldness. i think the books left a major gap here for the show possibly to explore; how did they come together again? how does louis view armand after years of largely distance? i’d love to see an arc equivalent to the establishment of trinity gate a few seasons down the line with an armand that’s gone through character development that brings him to a state of minimum self awareness and a louis who’s still secure in his vampiric nature. and they can come back to each other again and rediscover the original spark of paris, though without the restriction of the coven as institution looming (but of course there’s still scars left from the trial and claudia’s death and some lingering fear and mistrust on both ends) i’d be particularly interested in combining this era with the aftermath of armand’s suicide attempt in memnoch; maybe louis is somewhat begrudgingly assisting benji and sybelle in nursing armand back to health out of a sense of obligation after a smaller reconciliation in season 3 or 4 as part of queen of the damned, and the whole time is conflicted by feelings of lingering fondness that he’s rediscovered and bitterness born out of specifically the knowledge of armand erasing the memories of his own attempt, and it grows from there, first volatile then (somewhat) easy but in a genuine way, no performance like in dubai, just them seeing each other wholly for the first time. falling in love again, but also for the first time without masks. also daniel and lestat can be around ig. polyamory!

[cecoeur]

when i remember all the things he did to perform including cutting back on insta🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 that was so ridiculous

It’s actually diabolical the way they made Daniel basically shrink himself or limit “distractions” or be less of something in order to be considered good enough. Because even when he did that, they moved the goal line so that he could never be enough. It was never about performance. They wanted him to be Daniel Ricciardo™ but only in a way that suited them or that they could control. ​

And when Daniel finally said enough is enough they fully turned on him and instead of just eluding to him being only good for PR, they said it outright and pushed it over and over again. And now we’ve got Daniel taking his time to figure out who he is outside of that control again. But you can still see Redbull trying to control him/his social usage and image when you see stories from PlanetF1 dissecting the hat he’s wearing in a picture he didn’t even post but also in them commenting about his “tentative return to social media” as though he should feel shame and be in hiding rather than posting on a social app and living his life freely.

[vladsmina]

Armandshipfest — Armand/Daniel

↳ Day 7: free day — sapphic!devil's minion/ genderbend au

“You are my teacher,” Armand told her. “You will tell me everything about this century. I am learning secrets already that have eluded me since the beginning. You’ll sleep when the sun rises, if you wish, but the nights are mine.”

[gfanlocalcryptid]

JIST FINISHED MALEVOLENT SEASON 4

I really loved this season, from Scratch to Oscar, from Marie to Daniel. All these new characters added a new depth to the story and new entertaining dynamics between them.

Kayne absolutely terrorizes me. And what unsettled me the most is that... He's like us. At first I thought that Arthur was like the listeners, blind and only aware of certain things, but we all really are Kayne. We have our obsessions, the characters we don't like and our favorites.

We, like him, are here just for entertainment. We too feel powerful over the characters (think about the episode polls) and we only care about the story. We are Kayne. And it's terrifying.

The Butcher really went from being my favorite character to being fucking dead in the span of 40 minutes. I love him, when we found out he was with Noel and started singing and fighting side by side with him I started giggling and kicking my feet. He was written amazingly and I hope he comes back. Some could suggest that his story is over, but I love him so much!

And poor Noel 😭 I went from not caring for him at all to being devastated by his fate. I really hope he's in Spain.

Another genial thing tied with Kayne being some sort of omnipotent editor is that he decides everybody's fate based on what he finds funnier, and I guess that's the reason why Wallace and Yellow are bound together and stuck in the Dreamlands. I'm 100% sure they will come back.

I'm also Yellow's #1 defender, I hope we see more of him, while Wallace... I was with Arthur about that one.

Finally we know what John's deal with Kayne was (it was worse than I imagined) and I know this will probably worsen John and Arthur's relationship, but I hope that Arthur will understand. I'm honestly not that angry with John, just a little hurt, and I believe now more than ever that he really cares about Arthur.

He was not lying, his love for Arthur saved him.

Some questions still remain: who is the black haired woman who is probably an ancient one as well, how was John bound to that book, why did The KiY's cult have those prophecies about Arthur, will The Order of the Falling Star still have an important role or is that solved, and last but not least, will Anna Stanczyk still manage to elude the narrative?

PS: and what did Oscar write in that letter? This and more questions will be answered later, because I finished listening to the last episode at 3 am, it's now 3:30 and I need to wake up at 7!

[hedgiwithapen]

DHD: Stargate coordinates lead to [DC Comics-based dimension of your choice]

(as per messages, they are going somewhere not DC....)

The Malp showed that P-zero-K-EEE had a breathable atmosphere, decently variable temperature within acceptable range for visiting, and spectacular stone ruins. None of it looked familiar to Teal'c

"Should be fun," Jack said, putting an extra tissue packet in his pocket for Daniel. Even with the allergy medications, the poor guy could really sneeze up a storm after gate travel. 

"I can't wait to get a closer look at some of those fallen statues. They could give us an idea of what, if any, goa'uld have been there, but also so much about the civilization that existed there... If they had stoneworking technology long enough ago that--"

"Save it for after we get planetside and you actually see these rocks," Jack advised. 

The trip through the Stargate was a jolt, as always. Only it usually took mere moments, and ended with the team on solid, or solid enough, footing. 

This time, the journey continued as everyone plunged from the sky.

"Brace," Sam called a moment before they hit the sand.  

Teal'c rolled up onto an elbow. "Hm."

"Hm?" Jack groaned, sitting up himself. "That's all you got? Is hm?"

"A fall like that should have killed us." Teal'c replied. "I am uncertain as to why it didn't."

"Oh, look." Sam pointed  skyward. A massive dark spiral hung over the top of a mountain, spitting bits of lightning. "That thing must have interfered with the Stargate."

"What is it?" Jack asked.

"Well, sir, if I knew, I wouldn't have called it 'that thing', now would I?"

"She's got a point," Daniel pointed out, sneezing sand out of his nose. "No sign of the Stargate or Dial Home Device, but obvious signs of civilization..." he gestured to the dock, a single moored rowboat and shack, and in the distance, a bit of smoke over the trees and hills. "Probably a town..."

"Hello!" called a voice. A man in a white coat and purple hat ran down what had to be a path towards them, panting. "Are you alright? I saw you fall from the sky."

"We did do that." Teal'c said. 

"Are you all alright?" the man asked.

"Peachy," Jack said.

"I'm Dr. Daniel Jackson," Daniel intervened. "Sorry, could you tell us where we are? And if you've seen a Stargate--that is, a big--"

The man cut him off with an answer. "You're on Prelude Beach, of course. My, you are an odd bunch. Such unusual clothing!"

"Sure," Sam agreed. "Now, about the Stargate...?"

"Stargate," the man repeated. "I can't say that I've ever heard of that. Stars...Celestial...  oh! Do you mean the Celestica ruins?"

"Yes!" Daniel grabbed on. "Could you take us there?"

"First, could you tell us your name?" Jack said, pointedly.

"I'm Professor Laventon. And...I would, but I'm quite busy with my own research right now. Speaking of-- oh, dear." He looked around, as if trying to spot something. 

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Three of the pokemon I was studying seem to have eluded me. Again. Would you mind helping me gather them?"

Jack coughed. Everyone turned to glance at him, sidelong. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "Pokemon? Like... Pikachu?"

"I haven't managed to catch a pikachu for my studies yet," the professor said, a little down cast.

"What is a pokemon, and how is it that you know of them,  Colonel O’Neill?" Teal'c asked.

"I don't," Jack said, his voice tight. 

"Oh, they're the little... creature...things." Sam said, frowning. "I think they were on a box of poptarts Cassandra had last time I babysat."

The professor beamed. "They are fascinating creatures, indeed! I do not know what a pop tart is. I'm after three of them, but I'm simply... not as skilled at this as I'd like to be. my hand-eye coordination....eh." he wiggled a hand. "Would any of you assist me? I'm sure I can convince the commander to give us an escort to the Coronet Highlands and the ruins if you help with the pokedex project..."

"Pokedex?" Daniel asked. 

"Yes! a collection of studies and notes on the habits and abilities of all kinds of pokemon to be found in Hisui! I have some, of course, already, but it's not proving to be a very easy task. I was studying a rowlet, cyndaquil, and oshawott, but.."

Teal'c surveyed the grassy field to the right. "Do you mean the creature that appears to be an owl, made spherical?"

"Yes! That's rowlet. Oh, could you catch her for me?"

Teal'c rolled up his sleeves.

"Oh for cryin' out loud, with a pokeball," Jack said. 

"A what, sir?" Sam asked. 

"The thing that guy's got--sorry, professor Laverton, was it? The--thing--" 

"Laventon," the professor said offering Teal'c a small reddish orb. "It's a new invention. You simply throw it at the pokemon and--well, something happens. They appear to shrink down and sit comfortably inside!"

He passed out the remaining orbs. 

"So we catch these three, uh, pokemon," Daniel clarified, "and then you take us to the Ruins?"

"After we talked to the head of the survey corps. And probably some lunch. And I can secure housing for you! the village really could use more--"

"Oh, we're not staying long," Jack said.

"I have caught the rowlet," Teal'c announced. Not to be out done, Sam searched for one of the other creatures, a shrew looking creature that somehow produced fire from its back and caught it. 

"Amazing," she said, opening the pokeball to look at the creature. "How does it do that?"

"That, my dear, is exactly what I'm trying to figure out," the Professor said, clapping Daniel on the shoulder when he managed to drop a pokeball directly on the clown-otter-thing's head. "This way to the village, come with me.”

"Oh," Jack said. "We are staying long. Great."

(note: using the show’s timeline place the events of the movie in the year 1996, which makes it theoretically, technically  possible for Jack’s dead son to have been interested in pokemon right when it started to be a thing)

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part Nine)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Minutes later...

Danielle still lay sprawled across the king-size bed, draped in satin sheet covers, the gentle rhythmic snores confirming she hadn't stirred even since Cillian had left the room. She must have been exhausted, leaving Cillian free to explore his urges undetected. Even now, hours later, her breath rose and fell steadily, unaware of the turmoil raging below her slumbering form.

Cillian joined her in bed again, still carrying your scent on his skin. He moved closer to where his wife lay, barely perceptible in the dim moonlight streaming through the window. 

His mind was turmoil, filled with a mix of regret and guilt. His heart raced. Innocent tears trickled down his cheek, echoing his inner conflict. One part yearned for family and stability while the other half craved both, desire and lust for the unexpected and forbidden. 

Danielle murmured in her sleep, turning onto her side, throwing her arm around Cillian's chest instinctively.

He cautiously placed an arm around her waist, trying to find comfort in her embrace despite his wandering thoughts. However, deep down, he was troubled. His mind kept drifting back to the passionate encounter he shared earlier with you. Cillian couldn't help but compare your encounters—one full of desire and hunger, the other shrouded in guilt and secrecy. How did he end up in this situation? Why was he drawn to you?

Was it because you represented everything Danielle lacked, including, passion and freedom? Or perhaps it was simply the fact that you shared an intense chemistry and mutual understanding that went beyond mere carnal desires.

Cillian tossed and turned, struggling to find solace in the arms of his seemingly content wife. Danielle remained oblivious to the internal battle raging within her husband, her peaceful demeanor serving as a stark contrast to the chaos brewing beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, Cillian wrestled with his conscience, torn between loyalty to his wife and the burning desire for the woman who consumed his thoughts. He wondered why fate had brought them together under such tragic circumstances. What made him choose to succumb to temptation, knowing fully well that their encounters could lead to dire consequences?

The answer eluded him, haunting him with its absence. The intensity of his passionate rendezvous only served to fuel his growing obsession, further complicating matters between him and Danielle.

Cillian knew that, realistically, his marriage was over. It had been over for a long time, ever since they lost their first baby.  The pain of that loss pushed Danielle to seek comfort elsewhere after Cillian sought solace in his work. Unaware of the depth of Cillian’s feelings and during his absences when filming, she started frequenting bars and clubs in search of distractions. It was there that she crossed paths with a man named James, a charming entrepreneur who showered her with attention and helped her forget her sorrows temporarily. 

She soon fell pregnant again, but the child was not Cillian's and didn't take long for rumors to circulate among those close to them that Max wasn't actually his biological child. When confronted about this, neither confirmed nor denied the allegations. Instead, Cillian decided to treat and love Max as if he was his own and somehow, the couple managed to convince everyone in their circle, presenting themselves as a doting couple raising their new bundle of joy while, for many years, trying to fall pregnant again. 

Their relationship became a carefully orchestrated facade designed to hide the truth from friends and family and this, especially, made sense for both of their acting careers. 

They maintained this image publically, but privately they often argued about the state of their union. While Danielle felt secure in the structure provided by her marriage, she also grew tired of having a spouse more interested in his career than in her. Their sexual routine began to lose steam, replaced instead by resentment and frustration. They rarely talked openly about these issues, suppressing them inside, building a pressure cooker waiting to explode.

Whilst, for the past eight years or more, Danielle had been faithful to her husband, Cillian never really forgave her and now you were in the picture as well and he craved your company.

Desire and infatuation had clouded his judgment, leading him into dangerous territory. With each meeting, he sank deeper into the quagmire of betrayal and adultery, his morals crumbling beneath the weight of his passion, and it was this passion which kept him awake until the early hours of the morning.

Unable to sleep, he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead.

He couldn't ignore the profound impact you had on him. His life was spiralling out of control - he lied to everyone and every moment spent with you tormented him with guilt and shame. It was as if he had become addicted to something he once considered repulsive, losing all self-control in the process. Yet, he was unable to stop wanting you – needing you.

In moments of clarity, he vowed to put an end to this madness.

But as he rolled restlessly onto his side, he recalled your touch, the taste of your lips, the soft whimper you uttered when he entered you. All these thoughts invaded his consciousness like an unwelcome army taking residence in his brain. Each memory inflamed his body, making his groin throb with arousal. Every fiber of his being demanded release, yet he knew that succumbing to it would bring nothing but misery.

He also knew that, eventually, this had to end. There was no alternative and, with that in mind, he made a choice. He had to choose his family over you, regardless of how broken it was.

As hard as it might be, he owed it to Danielle and Max to try and salvage whatever remained of their fractured bond as, even though he wasn't Max's biological father, he loved him dearly. Thus, it was the right thing to do. It had to be done and it could not wait any longer. 

***

Hours later, dawn broke softly through the windows, casting warm golden light across the room. He could hear birds singing cheerfully outside. Cillian dragged himself out of bed, reluctantly pulling on some clothes. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he noticed that dark circles rimmed his eyes, testament to his restless night.

He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wake himself up completely. As he dressed, his gaze shifted involuntarily toward the bedroom door, mentally calculating whether he should tell Danielle about his indiscretions or not. But then, reality struck him like a hammer blow to the head. This wouldn't merely damage his reputation, it would destroy his entire world! He shook his head furiously, banishing the thought before it took root. Besides, the risk was too great. Danielle was unpredictable and capable of causing serious harm to someone she perceived as a threat. She already threatened to take Max away on several occasions and, even to you, she could be a threat.

As he walked out of the bedroom, he passed by Danielle's sleeping figure, her face serenely relaxed amidst pillows. There was so much left undiscovered, hidden behind the closed doors of marriages. He tried to shake away these thoughts, knowing they led nowhere.

And then outside, in the living-room, there was his brother, holding a cup of coffee in his hand, looking pensive.

"What?" asked Cillian, attempting to maintain eye contact.

Frank lowered his eyes slightly and offered him the coffee. "You look like you need it man!" he said. 

Cillian accepted gratefully, feeling exhausted both physically and emotionally. The scalding liquid coursed through his veins giving him a brief surge of energy. He sipped it slowly, savoring the rich flavor. He looked questioningly at his brother.

"Nothing," said Frank finally, "It's just… I know things have been difficult lately. And we haven't really spoken about it."

"Spoken about what?" Cillian asked before draining the remaining dregs of coffee from his mug. 

"You and Danielle. You have been fighting a lot, haven't you?" Frank asked quietly while sipping his own coffee. "Yes, we argue constantly," admitted Cillian with a bitter laugh. "We never agree on anything anymore."

"Isn't it exhausting?" asked Frank, sympathetically.

"Absolutely," agreed Cillian, "but we just go along, maintaining appearances." He paused briefly, thinking back to his recent trysts with you. Would anyone guess? Probably not...but he couldn't help wondering whether his behavior was suspicious especially as you ran past them both, still wearing the same nightgown which you have worn last night, your hair disheveled.

"Is Y/N alright?" Cillian asked as you failed to acknowledge him and, much to his brother's surprise, Frank mentioned that you were feeling sick.

"Sick? She seemed alright last night, and she sure did not drink too much," Cillian said, concerned.

Frank nodded in agreement. "True, but sometimes people don't realize they're ill until it hits them full force. Maybe she got some bad food yesterday evening," he told his brother who couldn't help but worry about you. 

Tags:

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[jaqobis]

you know, i have to say...it's buckwild that lan's entire story has been reduced down to moiraine and moiraine's pathos.

like, he's the heir to a dead kingdom who has been struggling with outliving his home and family since literal infancy. he grew up in the borderlands fighting the shadow (and, at times, the aiel) seeking to answer for malkier, seeking the death that eluded and has haunted him his entire life; before he met moiraine, he had already long since been fighting the shadow. moiraine gives him a new dimension to his fight, and he has a crisis when he meets and falls for nynaeve because she offers him something to live for and he doesn't know how to deal with that. his relationship with moiraine strains because his loyalties start to spread to nynaeve, to rand, to other people, and caring for their agendas and their well-being draws him away from moiraine's singular purpose. (caring for rand's well-being is inherently at odds with the necessity of reacting to the dragon reborn existing. this is a conflict we see in everyone who knows rand.)

he does, in fact, have motivations and goals and choices in his life completely independently of moiraine. that fact is, if not the crux of his arc, a major part of it. when he doesn't have moiraine he still has personal war against the shadow, and he still has other people he cares about. gutting this from his character is not only a misuse of the character, and not only a misuse of daniel henney, but a pretty troubling choice given how siuan has also been handled in the show thus far. casting bipoc as moiraine's most important people and then refusing to write them as having lives beyond moiraine is just another symptom of the glaring racism problem with this show

[sereneres]

newjeans’ 6th member – yn ln

📂 — MAIN PROFILE

name. — yn ln

birthdate. — ##/##/2006

mbti type. — isfj

rep. color. — purple / #877696

rep. animal. — 🕊️

📂 — MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

favorite foods. — bread, candy, basically anything? she’s not picky-

nicknames made by nwjns. — mom (hyein, haerin) / ynnie (danielle) / bestie & wifey (hanni) / honey (used very rarely by minji on camera. there is, currently, only one clip of it)

hobbies/things she generally likes doing. — photography / buying things (for her members) / cooking (she isn’t very good but hanni is attempting to teach her) / doing outdoor activities (with danielle)

her playlist. — fever dream – mxmtoon / hurt – newjeans, dear – dreamcatcher / doughnut – twice / i do – (g)-idle / invu – taeyeon / only – leehi / cool with you – newjeans

📂 — FUNFACTS

– she can speak english and korean (and has been learning japanese from minji with haerin)

– yn was in a photography/film club when she was still in school

– yn is okay with both mint chocolate chip ice cream and hawaiian pizza, though she wouldn’t pick them if there were other options.

– she likes squirrels because they remind her of herself and haerin whenever they would hide away in their room.

– during the mbti episode, hyein, hanni, and minji thought yn would be an e. they were pretty surprised to find out that she was an i.

– yn is rumored to be rich, and though she has yet to address this rumor, her members have eluded to it during a live.

– she has writing credits for hurt

– according to her, she is a slytherin, though many fans consider her a hufflepuff

❥ love language details

receiving — words of affirmation = physical touch = quality time > acts of service > gift giving

giving — gift giving > words of affirmation = physical touch = quality time > acts of service

updated — 12/08/23

[aspiringsophrosyne]

Leitmotifs in Across The Spiderverse.

Let's talk about how the music of Across The Spiderverse tells us more than what might be obvious. Spoilers for both movies from here on out: you've been warned. 

EDIT: added in one more very important instance.

For those who don't know or need a reminder, a leitmotif is a musical signature associated with a character, an idea, a situation, or some or all of those things together. And for the first Spiderverse movie, Daniel Pemberton made excellent use of at least two big ones. 

To see what I mean, check out this video. If you haven't already. It highlights how music helped tell the story of Into The Spiderverse. 

While this video exclusively covers the leitmotifs in the soundtrack of ITSV, once you know what they sound like, you can hear their inclusion in ATSV.

For instance, Miles' personal leitmotif (that ties together the themes that makeup Miles-as-a-person's journey) shows up both times he attempts to tell his mother that he's Spider-Man.

But the Spider-Person theme, in particular, is all over the place in ATSV. This is fitting, considering it features so many Spideys. Not only is it front and center in Peter B.'s theme and is hiding out in Gwen's, Pavitr's, and Hobie's themes, it demonstrates how Miles-as-Spider-Man has developed between movies: playing throughout My Name is Miles Morales. It's one of the first things we hear when we see the young hero again.

This is an evolution from before, as for most of the first film, the Spider-Person motif plays incessantly for the other Spiders but sparingly for Miles. Whenever it was used for him, it was to show he'd reached a new station in his learning and growth. It plays for him when he first thwips away from Doc Ock and intertwines with his personal theme during his leap of faith to show that he's finally become Spider-Man.

So to have multiple iterations of the Spider-Person leitmotif jammed into the song that plays when we first see Miles again shows how much he's grown.

However....the other places it plays in the movie can give us clues about the nature of the conflict between Miguel's Spider Society and the newly formed Spider-Band. To illustrate this, I want to talk about three specific moments where it's prominent in the soundtrack.

During Nueva York Train Chase, Miguel busts out of the train like a horror movie monster and calls after the younger Spider: "Who do you think you are? Really!?"

Miles answers: "My name...is Miles Morales. I was bitten by a radioactive spider. I'm pretty sure you know the rest, jerk!" He then proceeds to drop, kick Miguel in the face, and then nail him with a ball of webbing.

This is around 2:05 of Nueva York Train Chase on the official ATSV soundtrack by Daniel Pemberton. What do we hear after Miles declares this and then (temporarily) eludes 2099?

The Spider-Person leitmotif.

It's not much later that we hear it again. When? At about 2:25 in the track The Go Home Machine. When Margo Kess, Spider-Byte, decides not to interfere with the titular machine and keep Miles in Nueva York.

This moment is critical. Miguel is trying to stop Miles. Even if the machine doesn't take him home, it gets Miles out of the older Spider's clutches and gives him a chance. And when he gets away, what plays? The Spider-Person leitmotif. The music tells us that at this moment, in trying to escape and save his father and not halting his escape, Miles and Margo are acting like Spider-People.

The music is on Miles' side. The music tells us that Miles is acting like Spider-Man by resisting the Spider-Society. He's doing the right thing.

And on top of that, what do we hear after 2:35 of Start a Band? The moment where Peter B. looks outside and sees Gwen waiting for him? The Spider-Person leitmotif. It tells us that in taking Hobie's watch and gathering her band together, Gwen's acting like Spider-Woman.

It then plays over and over again until the credits role. The music is telling us that the Spider-Band's mission marks them as Spider-People. They are living up to the title. They are doing the right thing.

I don't think the music is the only thing in the movie that points the audience to that conclusion. There's also a lot of subtext, meta, and suspiciously little information about how Canon Events and the multiverse generally work. But this is one of the simplest ways the movie tells us that Miles and the Spider-Band are in the right. 

[chicago-geniza]

OKAY. Recycled all the energy drink + seltzer cans on the floor and cleared a path from the bed. Figured out what year it was in my mind palace (2020) and took steps to rectify that (ordered food from the place in Logan we always ordered from during lockdown, because we always had dinner there before the pandemic). Also in re: that fic where Daniel's addiction eludes the mind gift. Yeah. Yeah!!! We can use this framework. We can pull or push in one direction like psychic harm reduction. Ergo: you can feel what is seething under the surface and [redacted] is preferable to [redacted]. Vampire Internal Family Systems, babeyyy. You are irritable because of nigh-constant sensory overload but you can't edit personal essays when your brain is stuck in permanent "bitch eating crackers" mode, it's affectively disqualifying, and I do mean affective with an a. The mood makes me hyper-judgmental about tone and content and prone to finding uncharitable Doylist explanations for the author's arguments and that in turn makes me a nasty, nitpicky, vicious editor. So I need to eat dinner and Chemically Calm The Fuck Down