#she sort of succeeds at it

[midnightwind]

Summary: Killing 5 Venatori to escape was easy, trying to get a read on the two elves waiting outside his cell was proving the harder challenge for Lucanis. Takes place directly after the introduction cinematic for our favorite assassin.

Word Count: 5794

Mage.

The demon’s voice curled at the edges of his thoughts, almost purring the word as he stared at the two women blocking his way out. There was a fascination to it, but also a hunger, a pull the spirit felt. He watched its ghostly form stalk around the tanned elf, pulling in huffing breaths. It pawed at her red hair, as if trying to capture a lock between its fingers. Frustration growled from the spirit, turning instead to stare into her slate eyes.

Smells sweet. New scent. What is it? So sweet…

He blinked in confusion, taken aback. In the year since the demon had been forced into him, it had expressed curiosity only a handful of times. The pure rage of being trapped usually took up most of their stay. It unsettled him how Spite was suddenly enamored with a stranger. It felt foreboding. Then the demon was twitching to look at the woman’s companion. Another elf, dressed in bright leathers with her dark hair gathered in a messy bun. She seemed to vibrate with nerves and energy in equal measure, with heavy looking metal… contraptions, for lack of a better word, wrapped over her arms.

Dusty. Reeks of magic. Stolen. Borrowed. Found. Smells of ancient.

And then it was back to prowling around the redhead, a starving grin cracking its face. It caused a scowl to crease his own. Anything or anyone that captured the demon's attention like this was trouble. He shouldn't have even given them pause. A few more knife flicks and he'd be on his way to freedom. The cold calculation of his work was washing through him, but then Spite was surging to stand in front of him, causing him to jump.

Smell good. Maybe help? Finally! Let us out! Free us! Outoutout!

The thoughts were a deluge, slamming into his mind like a tidal wave. It scattered him for a moment, causing his head to swirl. He tightened his grip on his daggers, leather and steel biting into his palm. The weight of his weapons centered him, but before he could pull himself into familiar, deadly action, Spite's fascination was speaking.

“You must be Lucanis Dellamorte.” It wasn't a question. Her eyes seemed to almost shine as she looked him over.

She knows you.

He narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?” And then his brain finally recognized the armor she wore. “You're a Crow.” She was sporting the leathers tailored for mages, loose sleeves trailing her motions. Had another House put a price on his head? Did this mean he had been properly abandoned here?

Before the doubts could work themselves into a proper panic, she was giving him a flourishing bow. “Of House de Riva. It's an honor.” It sounded almost genuine, voice tinged with a laugh. Then her head flicked up slightly, her gaze meeting his. “Caterina sent us. She’d like you home.”

Hope swelled in his chest, bittersweet and sickly. He hadn't been forgotten, but it was too late wasn't it? He was far too changed, now. A monster in human skin. It was a cruel twist of fate. He pulled in a long breath, finally sheathing his daggers. A member of Viago's House meant this was likely genuine. Rescue had come and he could trust that. So long as the other Crow led, he wouldn't have to worry about a poisoned blade nicking him. A second assassin would make his job easier, too.

“I still have a contract here. I need to kill Calivan, but before I can do that we need to find the vial of my blood they took.” He had to grind the words from his throat, disuse trying to choke them back down. “They can use it to control me otherwise.”

The other elf finally spoke up at that as she almost cowered behind the Crow. “Because of the demon.” Her voice was soft, empty of malice, but the single sentence cut him to the core.

This was where they'd leave him at best, or try to kill him at worst. He felt his fingers twitch, heartbeat leaping as adrenaline surged. He'd have to kill the mage first, that was fine. He knew how to do that. She sported a knife instead of a staff, so he'd have a few seconds to close the distance as her orb was summoned. That was plenty of time to slit her throat and collide with the archer before her bow could be nocked. He'd owe Viago an apology for killing one of his Crows, but it was par for the course.

“That’s fine, assuming you're still the Mage Killer the First Talon promised me.” The mage said brightly, smiling.

She didn't move for her weapon, her hands even clapping quietly in front of her. That was baffling. The word demon sent mages into a panic, usually, all fire and brimstone raining down at the thought. Why did she look almost gleeful?

“I can still work.” He answered carefully.

“Perfect!” Relief caused her shoulders to sag for a moment. “Once we clean up your contract, I have my own for two ancient elven mages pretending at godhood. If the stories I've heard about your work are even partially true, your help would really turn the tides.”

“I…” Gods? That was a new one. “I would owe you.”

“A favor between Crows.” She closed the distance in an instant, startlingly fast, and held a hand out to him.

The sweet scent that had fascinated Spite washed over him. Red berries and jasmine. It was pleasant enough, but strong. Hiding the acrid smell of poisons and venoms with perfume was a popular cover among assassins. Given her House, it made sense. The scent was simply dizzying after his year in this pit of the ocean smelling only rotting seaweed, blood, and burning flesh. It also made him hesitant to touch her at all. His reluctance must have been obvious because she laughed, pulling her hand back.

“You know Viago, huh? I don't coat myself in poison quite as enthusiastically as him. Perfectly safe to touch!” And then she was winking at him. “Kissing less so, but you look like a gentleman.” He wasn't sure what to do with that, but she was spinning on her heel and waving at him over her shoulder. “I’m Mirenna, by the way, though people are calling me Rook nowadays. Maybe Viago mentioned me?” There was a hopeful note in her voice, a desire for acknowledgement. When he remained quiet, she let out a disappointed sigh. “Likely not by name. If you ever had to listen to him rant about an annoying protege, I apologize. I exist to annoy him, apparently.”

That did stir some faint memories of the Fifth Talon muttering about a recruit causing nothing but trouble. His tone had never been properly angry or even particularly murderous. It had always read to him as a similar energy he reserved for Illario. A sibling that needed to be scolded, but whom you loved. Now he had a face for the many complaints. The reverie was interrupted as her companion popped into his view.

“Um, I’m Bellara, by the way. It's nice to meet you. I think?” She seemed to want to say more, mouth opening before snapping shut as she scurried after the mage. “Do you really have poison on your lips, Rook?”

Rook’s eyes crinkled as a devious smile curled across her face. “Would you like to find out?” 

Her voice was low, almost sultry. Tempting. It was familiar. Viago was close with Teia, it wasn't a far leap to assume that the elf would have had contact with House Cantori. The casual seduction had Teia written all over it. The perfume also made a little more sense, the initial allure of the honeytrap. His assumption that she was trouble only felt more vindicated.

Bellara tittered away from her, half laughing and half nerves. “No! I'm okay. I like not being poisoned.”

“Shame, it's a fun one.” Rook hummed. “I can give you the rundown back at the Lighthouse. We have Venatori to gut and a legendary assassin to free.”

Knows of you. Likes the idea. Spite was prowling behind her, head cocked. What would. Poison taste like?

“Not as pleasant as you want.” He muttered, voice quiet and leaden feet finally following his odd saviors.

Taste like smells? So sweet. What is scent?

“Red berries and jasmine.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile on her lips. How loud had he said that? Turning on her heel, she walked backwards to face him.

“Offer stands for you, too.” Her voice was just as alluring as before, but she had dipped her head toward her chest, looking up at him through her lashes.

Cheeky! I like her!

He blinked blandly back at her, cursing himself for letting the demon bait him into this situation. “I'm familiar enough with what the Fifth and Seventh Talons may have taught you.”

She tilted her head to the side, mischief touching her features. “No curiosity for what their talents combined might create?”

Spite is! Let me talk. More fun.

“I am perfectly content as is.” His tone was flat, emotion scrubbed free.

Boring! Let me out! Let me talk. Spite was raking claws through his psyche, his shade looming before him as he screamed. Outoutout! You cage! You trap!

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked past her, trying not to think about the myriad of poisons she could sprinkle on his leathers at this distance. Dealing with the demon was exhausting enough, a second Teia would simply be too much. There was a quiet scuff of her boot on the rock floor as she turned back around. The silent speed that had her matching his pace shortly after was unnerving. She seemed on the verge of saying something when they finally emerged back into the facility.

A group of Venatori had been desperately trying to set up the wards again, the blood magic causing his eyes to ache. The two Crows were in motion instantly, his daggers almost leaping into his hands and a crackling orb sparking to life in hers. Lightning magic explained her speed. Bellara was a few seconds slow on shrugging her bow off her shoulder, each assassin removing a blood mage before she had an arrow loose. The smell of ozone filled the room, like the air before a storm. He had expected the mage to fight at a distance, but she peppered the Venatori with quick bolts before lunging forward with the mageknife. Her magic jolted through their bodies at the contact, their writhing forms easy prey for his blades. And then she was shooting off to swipe the enchanted blade at the next target, sweeping their legs and falling upon them with a ferocious stab.

It had been some time since he last saw a Crow mage in a melee. Watching her parry a bolt of energy back at the caster before letting loose a scorching ray from the orb, walking slowly forward as the magic ate the man alive, quashed any doubts he had about her training. She danced and dashed among swinging blades, hunted down any mage that dared to fire in her direction, and was careful to curve her dagger around his and Bellara's strikes as they navigated the field. She was skilled. By the time the Venatori were dead, he had a seed of respect for her taking root. He had been afraid the flippant energy had meant he'd be babysitting another Illario in a fight. He had been wrong.

Smells of blood. Metal and sharp. Powerful.

Wiping his daggers clean on the tunic of a dead mage, he watched her sheath her weapon and shake her hands. Almost like she was trying to regain feeling in them. When she caught his eye, she gave him another wink. He frowned, turning away to pluck the key for the door from a corpse. She followed two steps behind him, quiet for a moment.

“You don't like the tactic.” Again, not a question.

“I was never fond of Teia’s method. It is more my cousin's style.” He rested a hand on the pommel of a dagger. “I prefer being direct.”

“Oh.” There was a note of disappointment coating the word. “Teia took me for a ride. She promised it would be funny, but she meant for herself, didn't she.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, busying himself with unlocking the door. “What?”

“Told me to tease you. Said it would be hilarious.” Was she pouting? “Now I just feel like a jerk and like I made a terrible first impression.”

“Would you have preferred I swoon?” The door opened silently under his touch.

She made a noncommittal noise in her throat. “If it made you a little less gloomy, sure. Laughing would have worked, too.”

Gloomy? He imagined he would look a little worse for wear, but gloomy?

She wants. A smile?

Ah. That felt beyond him.

“Rook messes with everyone.” Bellara chimed in, hovering several steps behind him. It made him wonder how long it would take to slip a dagger between her ribs from this distance. A few seconds, just a handful of quick steps. “Usually means she likes you!”

“Should I be flattered?” There was an almost bright note to his voice as he led them through to the next dilapidated chamber, perhaps an overcorrection on his part.

“Only if she stays nice with it.” She continued, her steps gaining an almost bouncing quality as they walked.

“Don't give away all my tells, Bell!” The mage feigned injury, hand pressed her chest, but the wide smile betrayed her intent. “I'll only look cool and capable until we get back to the Diamond.”

“Oh, was Viago not done? He sure yelled at you for a long time already…” Bellara gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“He could berate me for a week straight and still have a bone to pick.” She shook her head sadly. “Such is my lot.”

The two continued their inane banter for a while longer, but he ceased to listen. Instead, he focused on the twisting pull of his would be phylactery. Normally its presence filled him with dread. It still did, as they drew closer, but there was a note of dizzying anticipation. The shedding of the final chain. Freedom. His steps quickened, pulling ahead of the two women. He led the duo toward his target, singular focus trained ahead. And then he stopped, staring at the wide chasm that yawned between him and a very enthusiastic stabbing. The path had collapsed at some point and he faltered. He didn't know the facility well enough to pick an alternative route, if one even still stood.

“Ah. Damn.” Rook muttered, chewing on her thumb. “I really hoped we wouldn't come back this way. I don't have a plan for this.”

Just walk? Path is right there.

“What?” He forgot to quiet his voice, too baffled by the suggestion.

Do you not see? Oh! A path. Just for Spite! Poor Lucanis. Needs help! The demon was definitely laughing at him. I can pull. The path through. Let me reach.

Rook had turned a confused eye to him and he groused under the gaze. “He says he can pull something through.”

“Who..?” She started, but he was already holding a hand out.

Spite had pressed itself into his body, the ghostly avatar layering over his skin. He felt the demon grab something, weighty and odd, and together they pulled. Phantasmal rubble sprang into being over the gap, an echo of what used to be. It felt draining in a strange way, an inkling that the path wouldn't stay forever.

“You can just do that?” The mage gasped.

“I'm as surprised as you.” He breathed before shaking his head. “I don't think it lasts, let's move.”

That seemed to light a fire under them as they quickly scrambled to the other side. The route grew more precarious as they went, large chunks of the facility sheared away from itself to form deadly chasms. Bellara had fallen silent, staring down at her feet as they shimmied along a crumbling wall. Rook for her part was almost trapezing along the rubble, lips curled faintly in a smile. She paused as they reached the next section of fractured flooring, head tilting.

“Demons.” Her voice was almost flat.

He stole a peek, sizing up the several prowling shades. “Zara’s pets. That’s what success looks like.”

She gave a hum at that before tossing him a wild grin. “I’ll get their attention. Looking forward to seeing you work again!”

Before either he or Bellara could object, the mage was vaulting over a broken pillar. Lightning crackled as her orb materialized, her mageknife rolling once in her hand. She took bounding steps, running the outer ring of the platform as her weapons streamed magic. The demons swarmed towards her like moths to a flame. Lucanis cursed under his breath, sliding down the slight incline to try and close the distance. Bellara had begun nocking arrows, firing into the mass from her vantage point. He wasn’t going to make it before the creatures reached the elf. Why did all his jobs go south?

He loosed a handful of throwing daggers, downing one demon and staggering another. That earned him a few more seconds. It might actually be fine so long as she kept running. Except she turned on her heel without warning, her orb shimmering into a second dagger as she lunged into the mass of monsters. She planted the two blades into the heart of one demon and then pulled. The air sounded like it was torn apart violently, a violet maw cut open with electricity and lightning slicing free. It floored several demons, easy prey for his daggers. As the magic fizzled away she was throwing out another spell, a carpet of thunder that sent her jumping backwards with a cackle. For a split second, the magic almost looked like a cloud of feathers before it too evaporated.

When the creatures finally recovered, most of them were dissipating back to the Fade. The stragglers went down easily to the dancing blades and patient arrows. He huffed as he pulled a dagger free from the steadily disappearing corpse under his boot. Rook was back to shaking her hands, bouncing from foot to foot for a moment. The sounds of rocks being displaced announced Bellara joining them on the lower platform.

“You,” he started slowly, pointing a blade at the mage, “are reckless.”

“But it tends to work.” She gave him a lopsided smile.

“Until it doesn’t.” He clipped.

“S’why I have you guys!”

“Rook…” Bellara cut in, her tone scolding.

The mage sighed, holding her hands up in surrender. “Fine, sorry. Proper plan before the next fight.”

“With any luck, our ‘next fight’ is Calivan.” There was a sharp edge to his voice now as he started to pick his way further into the facility.

She was silently at his side again with no warning. “Was there a specific way you wanted to deal with him? It is your contract, after all.”

“Oh, do Crows not usually work together?” Bellara asked, popping up on his other side.

Rook hummed, shrugging. “If you belong to the same House and your Talon tells you to? Then sure. Between Houses is more rare, but poaching a contract is frowned upon. Unless they super fuck it up, anyways. Besides just being rude and an insult, the buyer can use it to try and weasel out of paying which causes all sorts of issues. But since I’m here on a contract for the First Talon, I think we’re good. I don’t plan on trying to cash in on the Calivan contract either.”

“If you help me take him down,” Lucanis cut in quietly, “you would be entitled to the reward.”

She gave him a queer look at that, head tilting slightly. “Viago would likely take any gold I make. Besides, your whole thing is killing mages. I don’t want to get in your way.”

“And here I thought you had a fondness for attention.” He mused.

A wide grin slowly stole across her face. “Is the Demon of Vyrantium teasing me?”

“Surely not, I’m gloomy after all.”

“Bell, I need you to pinch me.” She extended an arm behind his back, causing every alarm in his mind to scream. “This has to be a dream.”

The sound of the other elf gently slapping her hand away with a laugh had him quickening his steps. They responded well enough if he played along, good to know. It kept them distracted, but that had its uses. He didn't fully trust having another Crow from an ostensibly rival House at his back, but he could only dedicate so much worry towards her right now. If Caterina had truly given de Riva the contract to rescue him, she was maybe safe enough.

He had a bigger target to focus on. Confronting Calivan had a few ways to play out. If they were lucky, he was holed up in a chamber with deep shadows and high perches. Dropping on the man from above to crush the air from his lungs as daggers bit deep would be ideal. Quick but brutal. Given the state of the facility, however, it was far more likely the mage would be in an annoyingly open area with next to no cover. Getting to punch him into submission had its allure, but it was messy. Unreliable. Dangerous. He did have a mage and ranged support, so a head to head confrontation would likely go better than usual. It made him uneasy, but a little trust would go a long way.

“When we find Calivan,” he started suddenly, voice even, “if he's in a place where I can take him down from stealth, that works perfectly. I think it more likely he'll see us coming a mile away with the state the Ossuary is in. Which means I'll likely be the distraction whether I want to or not.”

“I'll make sure to shock him within an inch of his life for you.” Her grin had a hungry edge to it this time, the job bringing a sharp focus.

“Helping with a Crow contract…” Bellara sounded almost in awe at the idea. “The Jumpers won't believe me.”

“We gotta find him first.” Rook hummed before she stopped suddenly, catching the edge of his leathers and tugging gently to have him follow suit. He almost wrenched it violently from her grasp, a year of bad memories leaping up at the touch. “Lots of Fade activity ahead. It's a mage at the very least, could be Calivan though.”

“Quick and quiet, then.” He murmured the little mantra, blades snapping into his hands as he prowled forward.

It was, unfortunately, not their target or his blood vial. Instead it was an underling trying to fend off loose demons. They simply waited for the mage to finish killing off the monsters before quietly approaching and putting an end to the Venatori. The next few chambers were just as disappointing. More demons and abominations to be put down to clear the path, the facility seeming to hold an obnoxious amount of them. The tug was growing more incessant and there was a sense of familiarity to the area. He'd walk this path many times on the way to the Venatori lab. His stomach twisted at the thought. That singular room held many horrors for him.

For us. Spite hissed.

There was a nagging worry as they entered the large chamber that functioned as a torturous lab. If they didn't want to break his phylactery, if instead they wanted to use it, would he have time to stop them? Would it be better to lead the way, forcing them to pass him to seize control, or hover behind them, daggers hungry?

He was playing and replaying the scenario in his mind as they took in the remains of the less fortunate subjects. When they quietly destroyed the many Venatori crystals locking them out, he was favoring the plan that let him bury a knife in each back with one strike. He let them walk in first, eyes watching their weapons carefully as they beheld the sizable phylactery.

“I’m guessing the monstrous vial is yours?” Rook offered weakly, trying to force a note of mirth into the words and failing.

His daggers slipped silently from their sheaths. “Destroy it and let's move on.” His voice was level, not quite emotionless, but peaceful. Encouraging.

“Should we-” Bellara started, but she cut herself off with a yelp.

The vial exploded without warning as Rook flung her mageknife at it. The loud shattering was the most beautiful sound he had heard in his life. She shifted a foot back, bracing, as the fiery laser leapt from her hand again. The blood concoction ignited, burning any lingering connection to a crisp. His daggers were sheathed in the next instant, eyes fixed on the mage. There was a familiar cold calculation to her features, the Crow focus brushing aside the lopsided grin. There was a deeper emotion buried in it, almost like a fury. That was interesting.

Free. Spite seemed to breathe the word. She freed us. She hated. The final chain. Why?

Maybe she knew something about being controlled like that. Maybe as a mage she simply had a dislike for phylacteries. Maybe the mere thought of dominating someone like that sat ill with her. He didn't have an answer for the demon. So he remained quiet as they boarded the elevator, focusing instead on carving his path to Calivan. Killing the man wouldn't make up for what had been done to him, but it would feel good. He'd take the scrap of positivity.

His mind turned back to planning, imagining sinking a dagger to the hilt in his tormentor. If they gave him the time, there were several places he could plant a knife before finally killing the man. A little payback would be nice. Some kind of retribution for the cruelty.

“So,” Rook's voice sliced through his murderous fantasy abruptly as Bellara seemed to huff next to her, “what's Caterina like, usually?”

Was she trying to fill the time? Couldn't she have asked anything else? He couldn't help the bitterness in his voice. “I've been gone so long, I fear I don't remember.”

She seemed to flinch, a quick hunching of her shoulders. “Right. Well… we’ll have you reunited soon enough it won't matter.”

The elevator thunking to a stop saved them both from trying to salvage the conversation. Rook led them down the crumbling hallway with quick steps, a sharp focus coming over her. She was almost darting forward, seemingly appearing on top piles of rubble to look ahead. She had pulled the hood of her leathers up to hide her shocking red hair as she scouted. An unhappy hum escaped her as she bounded back to them.

“Big open space. Might be some side rooms, but… we should be ready for a fight with little cover.”

Iron and salt. Screams and curses. Blood for blood. Kill Calivan.

It felt like Spite was clawing at the world from behind his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, neck cracking. “Time to work. Ready?”

Bellara swallowed heavily, but gripped her bow tightly in hand and nodded. “If he doesn't know Rook and I are here, then that gives us an edge.”

The mage flicked her mageknife into hand, the blade glinting as her orb crackled to life. “Quick and quiet.” It was unto a prayer for their work, her features sharp and focused.

“Quick and quiet.” He echoed before he stepped into the open.

The Venatori mage was waiting for them, in a sense. A ritual circle was carved into the floor, a permanent fixture to the chamber. He had been turning a slow circle, observing the runes, when Lucanis stepped into the open. The jailer clicked his tongue in almost disgust, an exaggerated shrug lifting his shoulders.

“Of course it’s you.” He spat. “Zara and her little jests. ‘He’s already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won’t this be ironic?’ We should have killed you months ago when the demon never manifested. Waste of time and effort.”

The Crow didn’t wait, daggers in hand as he sprinted towards the man. If the monster wanted to taunt, let him waste the air. The Fade fizzled as glaring red orbs sprang up around his target, forcing him to spend precious time dodging left and right. He caught a brief blur out of the corner of his eye as his knife lunged out. The blade caught against the mage’s staff, his offhand punching towards the man’s gut. The burn of magic in the air stung his eyes, his strike missing as the Venatori fade stepped away. The scream that followed from the mageknife biting into his back brought a ravenous grin to his lips.

Rook had used his initial rush to dart around the little piles of rubble and crumbling pillars. Calivan had positioned himself directly in front of her hiding place and she had wasted no time capitalizing on it. Her magic sparked along his body, shimmering as it pinged off the barrier so common to mages. Calivan spun with a snarl, swinging his staff towards her, but she tossed out her own spell. The carpet of electric feathers blinded the man as she darted back into the shadows.

“You made friends. Was the demon not enough?”

The taunt was met with two daggers swinging for his neck, the barrier cracking heavily under the dual strike. He snarled, a wave of red crystals erupting from under his feet that left a flaming trail. It forced Lucanis to leap backwards, daggers held defensively against a follow up attack that never came. An arrow cracked loudly against the barrier and it shattered as Calivan half turned with the strike, a red line cut into his cheek. Spite surged at the smell of blood, a fury and glee rushing through his limbs with such strength it caused his hands to shake.

Blood for blood! Screams and curses! Iron and salt!

The manic chanting caused his head to swim, his step faltering. It earned him a crimson bolt in the shoulder. The pain grounded him and he let the attack’s momentum spin him into a low crouch. A throwing dagger was plucked from his belt and loosed in the motion, gifting the mage a matching pain. Two more arrows arced towards Calivan, a zigzagging shadow rapidly approaching from behind. His angry summons sliced through the air, the force of the Fade bursting open throwing the two Crows back as a lumbering demon took the mage’s place. That… that was a problem. Lightning crackled along its body as it clawed into the physical realm. Lucanis took two steps back, assessing, trying to find the weak point, bracing for an attack. A familiar mad laugh reached his ears, his gaze stuttering over to Rook.

Her orb was streaming magic again, held aloft like a beacon as a wide grin split her lips. “Now there’s a challenge!”

She was taunting demons again. It turned on her with a starved hunger, blade lashing out. Lightning arced along her legs, the air burning with her magic and she seemed to blink around the strikes the demon aimed at her. Her cackle matched Spite’s own echoing laugh in his mind. She was weaving closer and closer to the demon before her orb seemed to snap out, snagging the demon’s blade mid strike. It flicked the weapon back into the creature’s face and it staggered backwards. Three daggers and a flurry of arrows descended in an instant, the thing screeching. The next exchange of blows it managed were weaker, scattered, and Bellara managed to bury two expertly shot arrows into its core. It died with the sound of dry wood cracking.

Victory was short as Calivan manifested where the demon had stood, a look of pure fury on his face. The shimmer of his barrier was back and as he fade stepped out of the way of more arrows, several copies of himself popped into existence. They all smiled with his sickening grin, but the gloating ended abruptly. Rook had lunged forward into the center of the clones, two magic daggers sparking. The air was rended, a loud cracking of lightning heralding the devastating tear she had used earlier. Calivan staggered, alone in the center of the room and cursing. The line of spikes he sent out with a furious growl did catch Rook before she could recover from her casting, sending her staggering over a pile of rubble.

Two more arrows thudded into the man before he could chase the downed Crow. He spun with a snarl, launching a barrage towards the archer. It was all the opening Lucanis needed. He was behind Calivan like a dark shadow, one dagger slipping easily between the ribs to puncture the heart, the other drawing a quick line across the throat. The mage sputtered, hand grasping uselessly at his throat before he crumpled. Lucanis let him slide off his blade with a heavy thud.

“The Crows send their regards.” Was all he offered, bending down to wipe the blood from his daggers on the rich robes of the Venatori.

Cold and quiet! Heavy chains, scraping metal, sharp edges! Silent and gone!

The demon's celebration felt like it was rattling his teeth. Bellara was sprinting to where Rook was struggling to sit up, the mage rubbing her legs gingerly. Her leathers were singed, but she appeared fine otherwise. She was wincing as the elf helped her to her feet. With wobbling steps, she joined Lucanis over the body.

“Well, one contract down.” A lopsided grin settled on her lips.

Lucanis nodded, his response drowned by Spite.

Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet!

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the demon manifesting at his side, to the point where he almost missed Rook's question.

“Lucanis? Are you good?”

Careful. They know. We're not right.

“You cannot see him. I had wondered…” His voice was tinged with weary curiosity.

“Alright, vaguely ominous. But more on all that later.” She waved it away. “I'm tired of the ocean, aren't you?”

An earnest laugh rumbled in his chest. “More than you know. Lead the way.”

She seemed to beam at his response. “Oh, does your plus one have a name or… title? How do demons like to be addressed…”

A wry smile tugged at his lips as they filed out of the chamber. “It's Spite.”

[always-a-joyful-note]

This might be a controversial opinion, but I don't blame Hanamaki Sumire at all for her actions. That's not to say that I don't hold her responsible or that I don't think what she did was horrible (poor Ryu), just that she was a vulnerable woman manipulated by people who didn't care about her (namely, Torao and Ryo). And it's always....interesting to see how in so many industries - but especially the entertainment industry - it's women who bear the brunt of the blame or hate when their wrongs are either the result of others manipulating her choices or "equally" (so to speak) as bad as the male entertainer who did something similar. Do I like Sumire? Not really. But do I think she was the bad guy here? Also no.

[svenghouly]

I love that at one point Harrow read the entire Noniad even though she hated it.

[ruvviks]

the way i need to write about roksana so bad

[strangeandinteresting]

I suffer every day for what. Girlish whimsy

u have something much more sinister going on

WAHOO HAPPY HALLOWEEN 1ST HERE'S TRUDES IN HER WORST END YAHOOOO

[woodsteingirl]

have i told you i will sometimes try and be annoyed that i have to do things like wow christine phantom of the opera never had to drive the car or go to ap psychology or memorize the parts of the eye. and then i feel bad because i don’t think she would. want me to say that so i have to stop what i’m doing because i will feel literally sooo bad if i continue….

[rahbid]

im thinking about mundane au jezebel again, that insane manic pixie nightmare ghoul

[orthoeatspaperclips11]

same guy btw

[ajaxgb]

Okay no I need to talk about the book version of Howl's Moving Castle. I love the movie but the book has such a different vibe and you, yes you, should read it.

Movie Howl is a soulful and quiet. Book Howl is a drama queen and Causing Problems and has a long string of jilted exes and couldn't shut up if you paid him.

Sophie and Howl drive each other up the wall at the beginning and it's really funny. Sophie and Howl are (despite themselves) very much in love by the end and they still drive each other up the wall and it's even funnier.

In the movie, Howl has been ordered by the king to participate in The War, and Howl is avoiding it because he is a brave conscientious objector. In the book, Howl has been ordered by the king to rescue his lost brother from the Witch of the Wastes, and Howl is avoiding it by any means necessary because he is a cowardly weasel who wants to stay as far from the Witch as possible.

In the movie, the Witch cursed Sophie because she was jealous about Howl speaking to Sophie for five minutes. In the book, the Witch cursed Sophie because Sophie had been doing surprisingly powerful magic for years without knowing it and it was actually starting to cut into the Witch's plans. (Sophie does not discover any of this until nearly the end of the book, but the reader can start to pick it up much earlier and the way Sophie's magic works is pretty darn cool.)

In the movie, there's a rumor that Howl eats the hearts of maidens, but this is implied to be nothing but nasty fearmongering. In the book, there's a rumor that Howl eats the hearts of maidens because Howl started the rumor so people would stop asking him to do wizard junk all the time.

The book lightly parodies a couple of tropes from Western fairy tales. In particular Sophie has internalized that, as the eldest of three sisters, her "destiny" is to fail so that her younger sisters will look cooler when they succeed, which is why she's so resigned to the hat shop at the beginning. (Sidebar: Sophie's sisters come up much more in the book and they're great.) There's also a really funny bit where Sophie attempts to operate a pair of seven-league boots.

In the movie, the fourth and final location that the magic door connects to is some sort of black void / mindscape / time portal dealy. In the book the fourth location is Wales, in the UK, on Earth, so that Howl can visit his family, because from Howl's perspective this is an isekai story.

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Locked Tomb series (Gideon the Ninth, Harrow the Ninth, Nona the Ninth, and others) by Tamsyn Muir

Endorsement from submitter #1: "An extremely fun, humorous romp! A heart-breaking, soul crushing catharsis inducing tragedy! A thoughtful piece on imperial structures and trauma. On queerness, Muir flawlessly and without announcement, cracks gender open like an egg and spills its disproven guts across the page. The Locked Tomb does it all also bones, bitch."

Endorsement from submitter #2: "Lesbian necromancers in space. So many fascinating, sort of fucked up sapphic relationships going on."

The Emperor needs necromancers.

The Ninth Necromancer needs a swordswoman.

Gideon has a sword, some dirty magazines, and no more time for undead bullshit.

Brought up by unfriendly, ossifying nuns, ancient retainers, and countless skeletons, Gideon is ready to abandon a life of servitude and an afterlife as a reanimated corpse. She packs up her sword, her shoes, and her dirty magazines, and prepares to launch her daring escape. But her childhood nemesis won't set her free without a service.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House and bone witch extraordinaire, has been summoned into action. The Emperor has invited the heirs to each of his loyal Houses to a deadly trial of wits and skill. If Harrowhark succeeds she will become an immortal, all-powerful servant of the Resurrection, but no necromancer can ascend without their cavalier.

Without Gideon's sword, Harrow will fail, and the Ninth House will die. Of course, some things are better left dead.

Fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery, humor, series, adult

The Javelin Program by Derin Edala (Time to Orbit: Unknown series)

When Dr Aspen Greaves signed up for the Javelin Program, humanity's first foray into colonising deep space, they expected to wake up to life in a thriving colony on a distant planet. Instead, they find themself five years away from their destination on a broken spaceship full of complex mysteries, dead astronauts, and a very unhelpful AI.

Aspen wasn't trained for any of this. But if they can't keep themselves alive, get the ship in working order, and find out what went wrong by unravelling a chain of mysteries leading all the way back to distant Earth, then neither Aspen nor the five thousand sleeping passengers in their care will ever see a planet again.

Science fiction, mystery, series, adult

[elumish]

I've been reading Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros, and it's gotten me thinking about how worldbuilding is multilayered, and about how a failure of one layer of the worldbuilding can negatively impact the book, even if the other layers of the worldbuilding work.

I don't want to spoil the book for anyone, so I'm going to talk about it more broadly instead. In my day job, one of the things I do is planning/plan development, and we talk about plans broadly as strategic, operational, and tactical. I think, in many ways, worldbuilding functions the same way.

Strategic worldbuilding, as I think of it, is how the world as a whole works. It's that vampires exist and broadly how vampires exist and interact with the world, unrelated to the characters or (sometimes) to the organizations that the characters are part of. It's the ongoing war between Earth and Mars; it's the fact that every left-handed person woke up with magic 35 years ago; it's Victorian-era London except every twelfth day it rains frogs. It's the world, in the broadest sense.

Operational worldbuilding is the organizations--the stuff that people as a whole are doing/have made within the context of that strategic-level world. For The Hunger Games, I'd probably put the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and even the existence/structure of the districts as the strategic level and the construct of the Hunger Games as the operational level: the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and the districts are the overall world that they live in, and the Hunger Games are the construct that were created as a response.

Tactical worldbuilding is, in my mind, character building--and, specifically, how the characters (especially but not exclusively the main characters) exist within the context of the world. In The Hunger Games, Katniss has experience in hunting, foraging, wilderness survival, etc. because of the context of the world that she grew up in (post-apocalyptic, district structure, Hunger Games, etc.). This sort of worldbuilding, to me, isn't about the personality part of the characterization but about the context of the character.

Each one of these layers can fail independently, even if the other ones succeed. When I think of an operational worldbuilding failure, I think of Divergent, where they took a post-apocalyptic world and set up an orgnaizational structure that didn't make any sense, where people are prescribed to like 6 jobs that don't in any way cover what's required to run a modern civilization--or even to run the society that they're shown as running. The society that they present can't exist as written in the world that they're presented as existing in--or if they can, I never could figure out how when reading the book (or watching the film).

So operational worldbuilding failures can happen when the organizations or societies that are presented don't seem like they could function in the context that they are presented in or when they just don't make any sense for what they are trying to accomplish. If the story can't reasonably answer why is this organization built this way or why do they do what they do then I see it as an organizational worldbuilding failure.

For tactical worldbuilding failures, I think of stories where characters have skillsets that conveniently match up with what they need to solve the problems of the plot but don't actually match their background or experience. If Katniss had been from an urban area and never set foot in a forest, it wouldn't have worked to have her as she was.

In this way (as in planning), the tactical level should align with the operational level which should align with the strategic level--you should be able to trace from one to the next and understand how things exist in the context of each other.

For that reason, strategic worldbuilding failures are the vaguest to explain, but I think of them like this: if it either 1) is so internally inconsistent that it starts to fall apart or 2) leaves the reader going this doesn't make any sense at all then it's probably failed.

[seaseren]

Ok I thiiink I have a backstory for Orion. Still some points I might change but

When Orion was 6 years old, an epidemic came to her home of Terncliff. When her family, who had never been fond of the imperials, fell ill, nobody dared help them. Orion tried her best to treat them herself, but one by one they worsened and withered away. She alone was unaffected, blessed with some secret resistance to the disease. To her young mind, however, it seemed like some cosmic mistake. When her elder sister finally passed, Orion gently laid out her family's bodies, set out all their favorite things, and then set the home on fire. People rushed to investigate, but she turned away, not daring to look back, and withdrew to the cliffs’ edge.

And she jumped. 

As she fell, just for a second, she looked back- looked back at tall flames dancing bright against a dark sky- and she heard a voice.

When the voice commanded her to hear, feel, and think, however, young Orion refused. Her despair had grown too great to be so assuaged, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was supposed to die with her family. And so the voice gave her a glimpse- just a glimpse- of the truth, of herself, of something to fight for.

When the sun rose Orion was found unconscious but uninjured at the cliff’s edge. If she knew how she had been so saved, she told no one. In fact, from then on she spoke little, but had such a strange air about her- well, such things are often expected of orphans. At the orphanage she was taken to she grew close to nobody, but threw herself into her own singular trainings, learning both archery and music with such a fervor few dared approach her. Many thought she aimed to join the imperial military- after all, why else would such a girl be so interested in combat? Indeed, on her sixteenth birthday she signed up for the XIVth legion- only to leave immediately when they arrived in Eorzea, her escape obviously predetermined. From there she made her way to Gridania, resolute and eager, ready to meet destiny.

[ridingtorohan]

Could you write how the crew would react to the reader saying something sexual out of the blue?

𓇻 ft. tulpar crew x gn reader

𓇻 content. nothing sexually explicit. pre-relationship for all of them.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Masterlist

It takes a few seconds for him to process it; it's interjected in the middle of the conversation so seamlessly that it takes Curly to even realize what you said.

"Let's try to keep this professional, alright?"

Later, when you walk away you can swear that you heard him let out a choked laugh.

Curly thinks it's amusing as hell, honestly, and is a little tickled that you're comfortable enough to make those kinds of comments with him. The captain. He's used to people toe'ing around him because of his status so this is a real breath of fresh air.

Grins really wide if it's sexual comments targeting him (like his looks, or something). But he won't reciprocate (yet).

However, saying it in front of the others is the definite way for him to shut it down fast. It's one thing if it's with him, it's another to do it in front of other people.

Misses those remarks terribly if you stop altogether.

The conversation dies right there with Jimmy giving you a dead man stare, eyebrows low on his face. "Seriously?" he'd ask with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. Otherwise, he doesn't say anything about it.

He pointedly goes back to the conversation before your ''rude'' interruption.

He definitely pocketed that for later.

The first time he does it is in passing, some kind of innuendo as he strides past, hands in his pockets as he makes his way to the cockpit.

He likes to see you get flustered or ansty though, so Jimmy will try his best to say it outright, to your face.

Absolutely does not care who overhears; you started it, so it's fair game, yeah?

It's rare for him to get flustered but he'll probably get pissy about it if you succeed and avoid you for a whole day, sulking.

Becomes a little aggressive in trying to one-up you afterward, but will smooth out once you reciprocate again.

Jimmy is definitely a little grouchy if you spurn him from making those comments in the first place. ("Really? After what you said?") But would eventually back down.

Anya is definitely caught off guard, her eyes widening and her weight shifting on her feet. "Oh."

She's a little used to unsavory comments directed towards or at her, but this is different. It's from someone she actually likes. And she can't quite tell if this is discomfort because it was unexpected (and in a good way) or if she wanted you to stop.

If nothing else, she's confident in knowing that you'd back down if she told you to.

Kind of cagey in general, but ultimately lets you say them, especially if you two have been friends for quite a while.

Generic or joking comments would go a lot further; she'd smile and indulge you, but not actively make them in turn. If/when she does, it'll be the most out of pocket thing that'll have you turning to stare at her. She's knowledgable, she just doesn't find it savory to make those kinds of comments herself.

Finds it super sweet if she ever makes you flustered. (Probably does it when she has to enact a physical exam of some sort, where she's up close, eyes locked. Definitely apologizes profusely afterward.)

Absolutely loves receiving the complimentary ones that are vaguely sexual. "Damn, girl, your hands are so fine, why don't you put them on me?"

Swansea just takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, the epitome of a disappointed dad. "That something you heard from Jimmy or Daisuke?"

He's not even phased, so you'll have to up your ante if you're trying to get a rise out of him.

Secretly, a little flattered that you said something like that to him. To him, it means that either you're comfortable enough to be yourself around him or that you're interested in him. A solid win-win either way.

Doesn't bring it up but does act more favourably towards you.

If he does bring it up, it'd be in a casual conversation, or right after you made another comment. Except he ramps it up to 100, and makes it the raunchiest, most sensual phrasing that you've ever heard.

Eyes you over whatever he has his hands on, amused smirk on his face, "If you're going to do something like that, kid, make sure to put your back into it."

Always wins if you try to one-up him. Swansea has game.

It's such an innucuous phrase that he doesn't even process it at first. "Uhuh." Then Daisuke's expression speeds through a myriad of realization, his jaw dropping. "Wait, what!?"

Absolutely flustered and shocked.

"Are you even allowed to say things like that?"

Either takes him forever to calm down or he recovers in 0.5 seconds flat. Depends entirely on what was said.

Might have preened to Swansea about you putting the moves on him, even if the comment wasn't directly related to him.

Definitely tries to tease you about it, even insinuating that you have a crush on him.

Tries his best to get you back for it but it's honestly a mix of awful pick up lines and botched advice from Swansea. Sure, he's had people make comments like that before, or flirted with him, but it's different when it's you.

Daisuke definitely becomes super giddy if you keep it up.

[prettyboykatsuki]

chewtoy | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dead dove: do not eat, noncon, humiliation, abuse of power / power imbalance, master / servant relationship, titles like master satoru, he's being Really Fucking Weird (sniffs u a bunch...rip), oral(f!receiving) 18+

✮ wc ; 2k (????)

✮ a/n ; horrible horrible man. can he leave me alone. extension of this

"The young Master is calling for you."

You try not to flinch. Aiko gives you a warm, summery smile and a soft nudge to your side. You can only assume this means you've succeeded and she doesn't sense your disgust.

"He's so fond of you," She ends her sentence with a wispy sigh. "Must be nice to have a rich, powerful man fawn over you a bit, right?"

You remain indifferent. She smiles again. You think she is infinitely more beautiful than you. Soft, bouncy hair and smooth skin. Her naive nature makes her shine brighter than one thousand suns. It'd be nice if the young Master showed interest in someone like her.

You put the dream to rest quickly.

"You shouldn't keep him waiting," She hums. It's so innocent. "Go on, don't let me keep you."

You don't tell her you wish she would keep you. She is also right that you should not keep him waiting. If he's summoned you to his chambers deliberately, that means he is already feeling impatient. Master Satoru never seeks you out unless he is in some kind of mood.

He's had this habit since childhood. You've never made him aware of it, and you don't plan too. One of the few things you help you know what to expect from him.

You nod her along, tell her to finish up work in the living quarters to which she agrees merrily. Her spirits are lifted by the prospect of the young Master showing you fondness. Some part of you wishes you could share in her joy.

A pit of dread makes your steps heavy, but your footfall is light and beautiful. You are poised and cool as you walk along the dark, dreary hallways that lead to the Master's office.

A door swallowed in shadow, a single light shining on the golden plaque with the young Master's full name. You knock twice, announcing yourself.

"You're here," He says. You try not to flinch. You're certain you do not succeed. You are thankful he cannot see you - or you hope he can't. "Come in,"

You open the door and step inside to his office - shutting the door behind you. Muscle memory guides you to your curtsy. You bow politely.

"Yes, Master?"

"So stuffy," His voice makes your chest feel tight with discomfort. Frustration ebbs underneath it, cuts like a jagged edged knife. "At least call me, Satoru. Our relationship is much better than that, I thought."

"I could never be so informal to the young Master," You say, and then concede. "But I will call you Master Satoru, if you wish."

"How obstinate," He drawls. You do not life your head to see the face he makes. You already know what it looks like. It's burned into your mind. "But I suppose I'll make do. Lift your head."

You lift your head, but do not look at his face.

"Come closer,"

You step towards him, your lungs pushing air out of you manually. Remembering to breathe evenly is a herculean task. He beckons you closer until you're within distance of his touch.

He glances at you. "Look at me."

You try not to hesitate and force your eyes forward. His eyes undress you. Pointed gaze falls along your features, outlines your every inch, and analyzes your face. You remain even. He hums.

His frivolity is missing. This is suddenly more frightening. His mood is worse than you thought.

"Lift your skirt,"

Your muscles tense as you try not to shake. You succeed. He lets out a soft breath before he drops down onto his knees. You do not let yourself make any sort of expression, averting your gaze. He stares long and hard at your clothed pussy.

You tremble. He assess you silently, eyes flitting up.

"Sit in my chair with your skirt over your waist. So I can see you properly and all."

You listen to his instructions mindlessly. The velvet of his chair and warmth of his remaining body heat touch your bare ass and thighs. Satoru turns to you, still on knees. His hand wraps around your ankles and slips your shoes off of you.

You close your eyes. Sudden intimacy makes you slink back.

"Look at me."

It is is a command. You let your gaze fall on him again and watch on in excruciating nausea. Your stomach twists violently at the fragility of it all. Slender fingers hook into your knee socks and pull them down along your calve until they're off. His gaze catches yours. He does not smile at you. His hand comes around your ankle again and lifts your leg closer to his face. His nose presses against the bend of your foot.

He inhales. You try not to react but you can feel your eyes go wide. Feel your muscles clench, your heart sinking. Iron fills your mouth.

He lets his nose nudge up against the top of your calf.

"Young Master,"

He stares at you. Irritation flits through his gaze. There's no getting out of this, no mercy. You slink back again. He does smile that time.

Your body prickles with unwanted heat at the sensation. He licks along your legs, biting the supple skin - huffing the scent of your sweat every time he goes along. His teeth sink perversely into your flesh, sucking until there's throbbing, marks against your calves. The color of an orchid, purple and red. Fear strikes in you like a match. His grip on your ankles moves to the back of your calves and squeezes tight. He repeats the process on both calves intently.

There's claim to this. You know this part of him. He is claiming you with vicious confidence. Something with deeper magnitude then lust. For you, he is desire and ownership and want incarnat. A testament of his own beliefs. You willfully do no make noise aside from a gasp or breath.

You don't know how long it takes until he's satisfied with the state both legs.

He moves up. Bites the soft flesh of your thigh. You nearly spit out another useless plea. Shamelessness makes up his every move. His tongue slides over every single inch of your bare skin until his noses brushes along your cunt.

He doesn't lick you there. Not right away. Again he sniffs, breathes you in deep and uncomfortable. It's violating in all senses of the word, his grip tightening on your thighs as he huffs your scent. You haven't bathed. You've practically been running around since morning, but he doesn't let up and breathes you in anyway.

You squirm at that point. Your face contorts so slightly and he's watching you for it. His face finally cracks a smile and abject dread makes your spine lock up.

"Mm," He emphasizes the sound. It's so loud in such a quiet room. "That's it."

You don't have the strength to say anything.

It's frighteningly abrupt and rough, the feeling of his mouth along your pussy. He sucks at your clit from outside the fabric and you gasp - suddenly helpless. It's not the first time, of course not. But it's never this... random. Never this rough.

Your back arches at the sudden motion, face breaking - and Satoru grips you tighter and forces you back into the chair. Forces his tongue against your clit and sucks hard through the cotton material. Your body betrays you in its reaction - nipples pebbling underneath your clothes. Nearly screaming from the sensitivity. Your lower body is all ache - hickeys and bruises and bite marks making you throb perpetually. Too much, too much, too much.

Shame floods your system as the first spike of arousal forces itself from you - your cunt floods, gushing with a sudden spike of want from rough treatment. The sound of him sucking you so hard and drenching it with his saliva echoes across the room. You're sure it's traveling into the hall.

"Master Satoru," Your voice is even but it cracks on his name. Tears form at the corners of your eyes - fear and shame mixing into desperation. "Satoru,"

He hums into your pussy and you shake. "What is it? What wish would you like your master to fulfill for you.

"Please," Your voice is hoarse. Bone-deep exhaustion is out done by adrenaline. "Not through the fabric, please. It's dirty."

He sucks again and you keen - nails digging into your palms as you throw your head back.

"Your Masters spit soaking your panties is dirty? How rude." He teases. The whimper leaves your mouth without permission. You wish this would end soon but even amidst your fog you know that is not more than a pipe dream.

He takes them off. Rolls them down your thighs all wet and drops them. You let out a sigh of relief before his nose bridges touches your clit again. Swallowing the sound, you look away.

"It's soaked," He says conversationally, "Your needy little cunt is making a mess of your Master's chair. Tsk, tsk - so shameful."

"I'm sorry," You croak, unsure of what else to say. "I'll clean it."

He laughs, seemingly alleviated from his prior upset at the state of your humiliation.

"I'm sure you'll do an excellent job," He rests his hand over the mound of your sex - using pointer and thumb to spread your lips apart and get view of your swollen little clit. He breathes on it. "But you're still begging me for my attention down here. Filthy pussy for such a meticulous maid. Do you know how wet you are? Did you miss me so much?"

You don't answer him. He goes on.

"I thought of you all week," His voice is soft. Tinged with affection, or something like it. "Ahh, dealing with higher ups is such a pain."

You stare at him. He looks back at you with a smile. You flinch. You flinch certainly. "But I can always take it out on you, can't I? This perfect, filthy, needy cunt. It'll only every belong to me and I get to use it to my hearts content. I thought of that suddenly then called you."

It's not just your cunt he's interested in. That'd be relieving if that were the case. If he only ever used you to vent his sexual frustrations, treat you like a personal cocksleeve. You think it might be better that way.

He's too fond of you for that.

The young Master treats you like a chew toy instead. He bites, licks, slobbers, and misuses you. He might hump you to chase his high from time to time, might throw you around for rough sex should the mood suit him. But he's not a clueless oaf, some classless barbarian who only feels pleasure from his cock.

His violation is something else. It's deeper in scent, richer in taste. It is born from his greatness.

He's smart enough to know exploitation and that's what gets him off most. He exploits you. Exploits your reactive body, exploits your stoicism, exploits your dedication to your duty. You're his chew toy because you are designed to be unbreakable. You are indestructible.

But you have the perfect amount of give. You flinch, sigh, and whimper enough to make your Master thrilled. You squeak and moan like you're heat addled when he plays with you enough.

To Satoru, you're the most perfect thing to ever grace his life. His favorite toy that he's bitten at since he was just a boy and grew so fond of.

No matter how much you end up in tatters, Satoru can't help but love you with all of his heart.

You get exhausted being thrown around. But you can't go anywhere, either. He's so watchful of you. He might go crazy and bite if you were to disappear.

"Cum for me," He says, sucking on your clit much more softly. He's gentle but exact. Knows the ins and outs of your body enough to send you racing towards the edge with an unimaginable speed. You gasp and shudder, holding onto his chair for your life as an orgasm shoots through like lightning through a telephone wire.

You cum. You cum hard, bruised and mind-broken and nauseous and you cum so hard something spurts out of you and makes the chair wet. The young Master is nonplussed of course, and laps it up like a dog drinking water.

"Ahh, much better." He's pleased as he stands up and then bends down to your height. His hand cradles the back of your neck with a pleasant sigh as he forces a cum-soaked kiss onto your mouth. "Just as I thought, you were just what I needed."

Utterly defeated, you pull away with a gasp. "...I'm happy to serve you, Master Satoru."

"Such a nice sentence from your mouth, true or not." He gives you one more kiss, to the crown of your head. Too tender, too raw. "Prepare yourself to service me a bit more, then."

[chaos-bringer-13]

I've seen a lot of people writing Danny as a space ancient and Dan and Dani as ghosts with moon and sun cores, being sort of parts, versions of Danny and therefore weaker. Now, consider: Dan and Dani are both powerful ghosts with really cool cores and stuff but Danny is just some guy™

Dan, who came from an alternate timeline and is kind of from the future but also not, is Clockwork's apprentice and will eventually become an ancient of time. He probably only agreed to have some lessons with Clockwork to understand better what happened to him, but he enjoys his apprenticeship now.

Dani, with her love of travelling, loves seeing all the different places the world offers to her, and that includes space and different planets and maybe even parallel universes, and she accidentally ends up being an apprentice of the space ancient. For now she's probably a baby ancient of freedom or something like that, but she might become an ancient of space in the future.

We can also have something like Dan having a core of destruction or Dani being the Speed Force if you want it to be dcxdp, or any headcanon of yours about their cool powers.

And then there's Danny. And yeah, everyone knows that he's super powerful, but also he's just some guy.

It can go different routes. Does everyone know that Danny is just Danny? Or do they think that with siblings (well, technically a clone and an alternate version, but whatever) so powerful, he must be even stronger? Is Danny actually something terrifyingly eldritch and ancient and strong, almost a god, but he just doesn't know himself? Or is he just really some guy?

Now, because it's obvious that I have a dcxdp brainrot, have a regular "JL summons/meets a powerful ghost" but its Dan and Dani, and they keep mentioning their original/brother who won a fight against them at some point. The JL is very concerned about Dan and Dani's godlike powers, and they can't imagine what Danny is like. And then they meet him (in his human form), and it's just a young adult in casual clothes, very friendly and helpful, with no evident powers. Imagine the confusion. Imagine Dan and Dani, radiating power, in their eldritch ghost forms, admitting that fighting Danny for real is the dumbest thing to do and not even they would succeed... And then there's Danny is jeans and silly t-shirt, waving shyly.

[ajortga]

blurred lines

pairing: wednesday addams x supernatural!fem reader

word count: 5.1k

summary: wednesday has always thought she was destined to live alone without love, that is, until you come along, with a few negative first impressions.

-

“En garde.”

You pull the mask over your face, blowing the bangs out of your face, positioning yourself as students gather around. 

“Prete,”

You face your opponent, both catching your breaths. It was the last round, the score was tied, seven to seven, and this round was the tie-breaker. 

Wednesday faced you, the mask covering her stoic face as she calculated her moves to do. She couldn’t lose to you. She wouldn’t let it happen. Sure she had lost, once. 

But the Addams never lose. It made Wednesday feel vulnerable if she did.

“Allez!”

Immediately, Wednesday lunges towards you, aiming for your stomach. You dodge her, moving to the side as you both begin to try and succeed. It’s silent, the occasional gasps and murmurs of who may win flooding around the circle.

After a few long seconds of dodging, grunting, and clashing sabres, you start to notice Wednesday’s tactics. She rotates clockwise each time she misses another hit since you take at least 2 seconds to get back up. So as you jump back from another lunge, you make sure to bend your knees as you charge diagonally.

The whistle blows as your sabre barely grazes her uniform.

“Halt!” 

You pant, taking off your mask as everyone gasps. You had just beaten Wednesday Addams. 

Gosh did it feel good to feel your hair breathe, looking around at shocked faces. Particularly the one that stood in front of you, taking off her mask and her eyebrows furrowing as the professor raises your arm, “Y/N wins the point, meaning she has won the match.”

Okay..

-

“That was so awesome!” Enid says, looking quite ecstatic. “Wednesday was like pow poom poom! But you were like, no, pow pow pow! You should’ve seen yourself! You were basically flying in the air!”

“It was not that dramatic,” you huff, giggling a little and walking to the quad with her, “I didn’t even want to go against her, I seriously feel like she despises me. I only went up because everyone started making me pressured to go there.”

It was true, when you first transferred to the school, something in Wednesday made her feel sick. You were a lot better than her in everything, and though you were the complete opposite of Bianca, whom always wanted to challenge her, Wednesday had the urge to prove herself.

It started when you answered Mrs. Thornhill’s question within seconds. A question that required at least a few minutes of calculating. She could swear she cracked her pencil in half as she immediately looked up with bulging eyes.

She didn’t know what the feeling was. She was always at the top of her class. It made her intrigued by you. And she’d kill anyone who said it was admiration.

Wednesday Addams did not admire anyone. It was a stupid word that had a stupid meaning. 

-

“She’s some sort of mastermind,” Wednesday grits, pacing around her room as Thing taps around her bed. “First, she beats me at questions, and now fencing? She’s asking me for death.”

Thing doesn’t respond, making Wednesday turn to him. “What do you want now?” He makes a gesture with his hands as it takes the girl to process what he means.

“You stupid pathetic-” She grabs Thing, shaking him.

“Weds!” 

Enid’s voice makes Wednesday immediately put down the hand, looking at her. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you’d be out shopping with your friends.”

The colorful short hair girl looks around, “Well, it’s been two hours, but I’m here now. And I brought a friend! I hope you don’t mind!”

Oh god. She’s gonna see the end of it. “Enid, one of you is already bad enough. How bad is it going to be if you bring a-” She turns around to see that the friend was you.

Oh.

“Wednesday, this is Y/N, Y/N, Wednesday.”

At this point, you both knew who the other was.

You look around awkwardly, giving a lopsided smile that didn’t really look like a smile. Was it nice to meet her? You didn’t know.

Wednesday’s eyes that stared into yours looked to the side, “I know. You’re interrupting my writing time.”

Enid, being next to you, immediately furrows her eyebrows. “You weren’t writing when we came in.”

“And why are you the judge of that?”

“We aren’t going to bother you.”

“Your presence already bothers me,” Wednesday says stoically, for some reason you felt like that was directed to you more than Enid.

You elbow Enid gently, “Let’s just go, we can crash at Yoko’s maybe.”

“Sure.”

As Wednesday hears the door close, a part of her that won’t go away itches at her, wishing that maybe she could’ve let you guys stay.

..

After your magic lessons and school overall, you always found yourself in the library. It was peaceful, filled with books, even random cats roaming on tables. 

By the end of each day, to say the least, you were burnt out. 

As you studied, you glanced at a plant near the window, slowly crackling. With no sun, how could it grow? It was gloomy here at Nevermore. 

You placed a bookmark on your book and pushed it aside, focusing on the plant. Soon enough, it slowly drifted towards you, and plopped on your desk.

..

The doors of the library slightly opened and closed as Wednesday stepped in. Her hands were filled with cases and files of the Hyde, and well, many people of interest.

Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t stand Enid’s pop music, so she resorted to the library, looking for a place to sit.

She turned left, went straight, turned a corner, then turned back when she was met with a familiar figure.

An “oh,” fell from her lips as she watched your figure studying the plant rather than your actual work. You brought it closer to you, and then she saw the brittle plant begin to grow back to life, turning into a blue flower.

Something deep inside Wednesday’s chest twisted–she should be hating you.

-

A few days later, Wednesday was in the middle of her investigations. It was evening, and she was in her dorm the whole day alone, papers scattered everywhere, an evidence board up, an exhausted Addams.

A click of a door sounded as the girl turned around to be met with you and Enid. 

“Weds!” The girl next to you hollers, “We’re having a girls night tonight. You should totally join, a sleepover, smores, study hall, gossip-”

“I’m going out tonight for the Hyde,” Wednesday says, flipping through the pages.

“The Hyde?” You ask, looking between her and Enid.

“Stay out of this,” she snaps.

You narrow your eyes, brushing the topic off as you look at the item behind her. “Is that seriously a decapitated hand?”

Thing raises his fingers at you, tapping on the desk he was on.

Immediately he feels himself be lifted up as you bring him closer, who’s currently floating. Wednesday tries not to watch but she turns to look at her companion that is now placed into your hands. 

Most people would scream, instead, you look at him closely. “Hello, little one. I’ve never seen a creature like you before. What’s your name?”

The hand makes a few gestures, before you nod slowly. “Thing,” you mumble, testing his name on your tongue. “Suits you, you make me want to stitch you a little hat for Christmas.”

You place him back down, but instead, he jumps on your head.

“He never did that to me before!” Enid says, laughing as Thing happily rests on your head.

Wednesday can’t remember Thing doing that to her either when she first met him.

She keeps attention on her work as she speaks, “So, Y/N. How heavy can you lift?”

“Um.. My arms can handle maybe f-”

“I meant,” Wednesday gestures with her hands.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know.” You respond, taking one of Enid’s books as it drifts towards you and flips through the pages, before putting it away. “Usually anything I try lifting is able to lift, but if I’m being honest, I’ve only lifted lighter things. When it’s heavier, it’s like you need to put more effort to lift, and if it’s farther it goes the same for that.”

Wednesday slowly nods, looking away.

-

In the midst of night, the braided hair girl, wearing a snood, explores the dark forest. She had to prove that the Hyde wasn't a figment of her imagination.

A soft rustling noise sounded in the distance as Wednesday listened. She walked a little faster, coming across a tree with scratch marks. She nibbled her lip, taking out her camera to take a photo, before placing it back into her bag.

The sounds of leaves crackling grew newer, and before Wednesday knew it, she was met with.. You and Enid?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Enid whispered, looking freaked out. You just looked around, looking like you were just there for moral support.

“I told you, I’m looking for the Hyde. Gosh, Enid, I thought you were the Hyde.”

“Do you seriously just go out at night with no sense of self-protection?” You ask, shivering. It was freezing out here.

“It’s for the thrill,” she responds, her eyes slowly relaxing as she sees your shaking form. “And did you seriously go out at night in the cold with no jacket?”

“Well I only dressed for where I thought I was going to end up for the night,” you groan, kicking a rock on the floor.

“You two should probably leave, it’s dangerous out here.”

“Then why are you out?”

“Because I’m looking for-”

“I know, but shouldn’t you at least be more careful?”

Before Wednesday could respond, a loud growl sounded in the distance, thumps getting closer and closer.

“Mierda,” Wednesday breathed out, taking you and Enid by the collar and dragging you behind the tree. “We need to get out of here, I think it can distinguish us, damn it, it’s your perfume Enid.”

You pull out a perfume bottle and spray it onto a piece of paper you had in your backpack. “Okay, I need you guys to carry me while I do this. It’s a little risky, but I’d rather do this than die.”

“I don’t think-” 

“Wednesday, let’s just do it,” Enid hisses as they both lift you up, Wednesday wrapping onto your torso as she sees the piece of paper fly away in your thoughts command.

Surprisingly, you were really light as Wednesday held you. And as the paper drifted farther and the Hyde chased after it, you suddenly grew exhausted. Where even were you again?

It was something you had struggled with, being able to withstand how far your abilities could go. And now that the item was far away and out of vision, your head began to pound and your eyes almost rolled back, like it was chasing the paper.

By the time the two girls carried you through the gates of Nevermore, your hand was twitching and you were close to looking lifeless.

“Y/N?” Wednesday shakes you, making you mumble the most incoherent noise she’s ever heard. “I think she’s tired out too much,” the girl says, carrying you inside her dorm. 

She placed you on the bed, but you were clinging onto her like a lifeline, your eyes fluttering in and out.

“Let go of me,” the goth says, and Enid sits by. Eventually, Wednesday is next to you, eyes pointed as she sighs. “Why did you do that? We could’ve made it out if you didn’t.”

Unfortunately, you were a little too tired to respond, shrugging in replacement. 

-

In the span of the next few days, Wednesday felt her feelings about you slightly shift. Was it in a good way? She didn’t know.

Mrs. Thornhill had moved seats, and of course, you were seated by her. 

At first, it had ticked her off, the way you looked curiously at the plants more so than the lesson.

Then she started noticing the way you looked intrigued in your notes, eyebrows knitted as you scribbled neat words on your notebook. 

“What are you writing?” Wednesday whispers, “She’s going over important information, Y/N.”

“The Declaration of Independence,” you say, smugly, before scratching your head as the girl gives you an unimpressed look. “She went through this yesterday, if I had a good pair of ears yesterday, then I won’t need them for this.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You turn to look at her as the bell rings for lunch. You stand up, walking to the doorway for lunch as she follows. “Why do you want to know?”

One of Wednesday’s eyebrows lifted, annoyed.

“Fine, I’m writing a letter to my older self.” You say, putting down your pen. “I like reflecting on how I’ve grown and I just talk about everything here, my favorite songs, people, things to do, goals I want to pursue by the next time I read it again, what I want to do in life, really anything.”

Your words weren’t what Wednesday thought they’d be as she blinks twice. She’s silent for a moment before she nods thoughtfully, “I see. That sounds.. Eventful. I didn’t think you’d be the writing type.”

You shrug, “Me neither.”

For once, you and Wednesday look at each other, a soft look on both of your faces.

Writing to your future self was stupid, she thought.

-

4/16

Dear Wednesday,

You attend Nevermore academy, you have been here for a year. And in that year, you have met many people, dare I say good ones for some? No. But you did meet some. I play the cello, I read. Is this boring enough? You met someone new. Her name is Y/N. She seems to beat you at everything, even the ones you thought you were good at. I feel almost annoyed, yet I can’t say much, considering the fact that she had tired herself out to save Enid and I. You like classical music, not Enid’s pop ear-bleeding ones. The less words, the better. As much as I love academics, I feel a sense of dread attending classes knowing I’ll be beaten. Where’s the fun in that?

6/24

Dear Wednesday,

You still like classical music, I must say nothing has changed. The case of the Hyde is still a mystery to be solved. Pugsley had visited, I’m thankful that little one has finally been aware how to fend up for himself, although I always do have a few tricks up my sleeve if he needs them. The month of the Poe Cup is arriving. The black cats had won last year, but merely because of our tricks. I’m almost shocked to say I’m excited, of course, not as close to watching horror movies. Of course not. I sometimes wonder if Y/N would join, would she be completely against it, then cave in like I once was? Or would she be the one to ask? Oh what could I be saying? I wonder if she would join the black cats at all. 

6/27

Dear Wednesday,

Y/N is on the black cats, I’m not excited. Though I do think she will carry the trophy for us all. I have faith in us three. 

7/2

Dear Wednesday,

We won the Poe Cup for the second time this year. She was the star of the show, she’s fast. We ask her to to poke a hole on a boat, she pokes 3 that even we didn’t see. We expect her to row her paddle fast, she somehow does, along with using 3 tree stumps. She’s a mystery to be solved. I’m carrying my mother's legacy, is this the start of a new streak?

10/5

Dear Wednesday,

The weather is growing colder, the seasons are changing and Jericho feels like a crisp breath of air. Y/N had written me poetry. But as the week progresses, she seems to be hiding a secret from me I can’t figure out It feels raw. Sincere. I’m learning the cello piece I overheard her talking about. Well, it’s not meant for the cello but we’ll make it work. She and Enid have been my company during nights when I’m searching for the Hyde. Nights where I’m alone, they fill the dark, and my sorrows have gone. Suddenly, the blank ideas for my novel have vanished. I just can’t figure out why. 

10/13

Dear Wednesday,

Today is my birthday. And I think I understand why I thought Y/N was hiding something from me. She had gotten me a gift. I’m not sure why it had made me smile in the moment but it did. She had crocheted me a black cat, I remember seeing a white one on her desk and I was so intrigued by it that I asked her what it was. Now I have one of my own. Maybe that’s why they call it happy birthday.

10/25

Dear Wednesday,

Y/N has been helpful with our search for the Hyde, I think I’m going to take her along with my searches at night so she can help me lure the creature. I’m getting one step closer everyday she tags along. Her and I search the forests of Jericho till 2 hours after midnight sometimes.

10/28

Dear Wednesday,

Something in my chest tells me that Y/N is growing more tired by the day. I’m starting to feel worried. I shouldn’t let her abilities get out of control, shouldn’t let her stay so late knowing that she’s probably 2 times more exhausted than I am. 

-

It was true, Wednesday had noticed that you began to feel drained out. 

At first, they were small things, not fully comprehending a conversation, a small yawn every half hour or so. 

But then Wednesday would see the bags under your eyes, your dozing off in class, missing out on Nevermore events. 

Yet you still came with her every Hyde search. You felt like wanted you to come so she could talk to you, and if it was, sleep was something you could push aside.

And before she knew it, you were at the wrong place at the wrong time when Wednesday was in her dorm, talking to Enid.

“She’s clearly tired, Weds, I think you should let her rest.”

“But I’m so close to finding-”

You peek through the door crack.

“She’s only tagging along on the searches because she wants to be with you,” Enid says, her voice assuming. “Don’t you think you should stay with her here for one night so she can recharge? I know you like being with-”

“Enid, your reasoning is incorrect.” Wednesday mumbles, trying to deny what Enid wanted to imply. “I’m solely focused on finding out who the Hyde is, and Y/N is the only person who can do that for me. She’s one of the only students in this school that can do it. I’m not taking her because of my preferences.”

But even Wednesday’s voice was unsure, because she felt that deep inside, there was something lodged inside of her that enjoyed your late night thoughts.

That wasn’t the case for you as you bit your lip as Wednesday went on. “I don’t see anything in her-”

Your heartbeat was erratic, anxious. You were so blinded by her that you couldn’t even tell she was using you. She didn’t even like you.

Before you could hear more, you slipped back into the shadows, silently promising yourself that you’d shut yourself from everybody tonight, from her. just like how you always would so you could be alone.

-

Wednesday knew something was up. The next few days went by in a haze. 

You would avoid her in the hallways, look at anywhere but at her during class, give her tight lipped; one response answers to her questions.

A day became a few, and Wednesday felt like she had done something wrong. She couldn’t help but realize how much she missed your stupid grin and the completely immersed look on your face whenever she was talking. 

You didn’t go out to help her search for the Hyde anymore. You didn’t know if she had even gone on her journeys.It seemed like most times when you weren’t in school, you were sleeping. But Wednesday never believed that was what it was.

Night approached, and soon enough, the raven haired girl pulled up her snood and crept out the gates of Nevermore. She had heard small pitter patters behind her as she kept her eyes straight forward. “You’re not coming, Thing. Not today.”

Thing makes a snap of protest, still following her and she stops in her tracks. “No, go. I don’t need your help, I can do this on my own.”

In the midst of the night, the Addams disappear into the deep ends of the forest, a sniffling Hyde not far behind.

-

“What the hell do you mean she went out alone? It’s like, the coldest of the month and she didn’t even bother to take somebody with her?” You stared Thing down, your voice hoarse from trying to whisper loudly.

You shouldn’t be worried, she could take care of herself. 

You just couldn’t get the stupid nagging feeling in your chest that something bad would happen. The same feeling that you felt in the afternoon that kept bothering you, the reason why you wanted to check up on her to find her gone.

“Well, Enid’s out with Yoko, and I don’t think anyone knows about Wednesday’s shenanigans except us.”

You walk out to the open balcony from Wednesday’s dormitory and look out. “What about we just go check on her? Not like I have anything to do anyway.”

Thing shakes his fingers incredulously. 

“You can tag along to make sure I’m okay,” you sigh out.

-

You were only wearing a sweater, minus the fact you were holding Wednesday’s jacket with you so you could give it to her when you saw her. You didn’t want to have her freeze to death.

“It’s a little creepier than I remembered,” you say to your little companion. “Darker, too.”

The rustle of leaves sound here and there, the air blowing right through your clothes as you shiver. You keep Thing closer, wrapping him in Wednesday’s hoodie.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, “you’re basically like any other naked hand and I’m making sure you don’t freeze either, I’ll be fine, got a tanktop under this.”

A very thin one.

The leaves rustling and skidding of footsteps grow closer, a heavy pant sounding in the distance. The breeze, you think.

You keep walking forward, “Wednesday?” The flashlight that you’re controlling, floating next to you skitters around each tree.

“Is it me, or do I not remember hearing other footsteps half the time we searched for the Hyde?” You joke, Thing now clinging onto you.

“Wait a fucking minute.”

The last time you heard footsteps that weren’t yours or Wednesday was when you had first seen the Hyde. 

You look down at the hand with a dawn of realization as the flashlight drops to the ground from your anxiety. And suddenly do you take account of the ground beneath you shaking as the Hyde approaches, its eyes tracking you in the dead of night.

Your wide eyes meet his as your feet take off.

No longer than 30 seconds later does a crying scream ring through the woods.

-

“What the hell do you mean she went out alone?” Wednesday yells, panicking, her heart going miles per minute as a worried Enid stands in the room awkwardly. Her hands trail through her cheeks, thinking, thinking. “I shouldn’t have gone out tonight, I should’ve known-”

Her snood was basically hanging off her shoulder as she tosses it to her bed and runs out to look through the balcony.

“Wednesday, let’s think this through, maybe she didn’t go into the forest-”

“Enid Sinclair, it’s 12:39 AM and you think Y/N and Thing would magically disappear to do something like go get a fucking sandwich?”

“I’m sure they’re okay, they’re together. And come on, you know that she’s been with you endless times before.”

“But she hasn’t came for like 2 weeks! I don’t even think I had gone out searching for the Hyde-”

“I think she’s still upset at you,”

“I know,” Wednesday says, sighing. She doesn’t know why you had gone out tonight, but she was worried.

After short moments of making quick decisions, Wednesday tugs Enid’s hand out of their dorm. “We need to go, I can’t lose her–them.”

..

It had been 10 minutes of searching and no sign of you or Thing. 

Gosh, where are you? 

Wednesday is frantically calling out your name, searching through each tree, her restlessness just growing more. Her eyes that were pointed straight around and ahead of her don’t take account of the flashlight. Her feet are just about to trip on till she actually feels herself tripping.

Her hands are filled with dead leaves as she squints in the pale moonlight, taking notice of a flashlight.

Your flashlight.

She holds it between her palms as she bites her tongue hard, forcing herself to move forward. 

After a few long moments, Wednesday’s wide eyes can be seen in the night as they meet your quivering body curled up against the leaves.

Wednesday doesn’t pay attention to Thing, who's laying atop of you and moving around frantically. She doesn’t pay attention to how badly you're shaking. She only notices how there’s a large gaping scratch tore against your chest that blood trickled out of.

“Why would you go out alone? It’s freezing,” Wednesday says, her voice higher than she could control, her vision messy.

Your hand comes to rest atop of your wound, “I could say the same for you,” you joke softly, but she isn’t rolling her eyes or showing any emotion. 

Instead, her lips are quivering and her eyes are searching all over you. You were wearing her jacket. She would’ve found it amusing, something that made her feel a little happy. But nothing.

“I just felt like I needed to know you were okay,” you say, your eyes drifting in and out. 

“I thought you were dead,” she choked out, picking you up as she realizes just how much blood you’ve lost. It was all over her hands. “Don’t do that ever again, I’m serious. Or else I’ll handle you myself.” The addams says incoherently, shaking the tears out as Enid and Thing follow close behind.

“Wednesday Addams actually cares,” you say, trying to crack another joke with a weak voice.

“Shut up,” Wednesday says, but her voice is raw, not stopping the tears that escape her eyes.  “Just shut up, it’s tiring you out and I can’t have you risking passing out.

She can’t shake the feeling that she’s losing you. 

After a few moments of silence, Wednesday looks back down at your closed eyes. “Wait, Y/N, I didn’t mean it, no please keep talking. You have to keep talking so you can’t go to sleep. Shit, please.” She turned corners, you were so cold. “If you die, I’m not digging a grave for you,” she rasped, trying to keep her demeanor, though it already had fallen.

She keeps shaking you until you make a confused noise, your blood all over her jacket.

Your eyes were half open as you gave her a half-smile. “You’re so bossy, Addams.” Your voice trails off, eyes hazy, not knowing where you were at this point anymore.

Wednesday clutches you closer to her, running past the gates of Nevermore.

-

The beeping of the monitor beside you served as the braided girl’s lifeline. Her hair was tousled, messed up, but there were more things important than her hair, anyway.

Wednesday turned away from it, looking at your resting face. 

“If you died, I would’ve dug a grave for you,” she said, her voice small. “I would’ve dug one and probably not even attend if it meant knowing that I had lost you. Probably would’ve sat next to it for days.”

You give her a silent breath, unconscious.

Thanks.

The next few days, Wednesday had read you her letters. 

“I feel like I should share them with you,” she said, not expecting a response as she flips through the pages. “You are the reason that I’ve started them.”

She reads the pages out loud to your sleeping form, like a night time story.

Her eyes trace each word she had written, ‘I don’t like people touching me. But Y/N makes me not so sure. Her hands are like a soft murmur of sweetness I’m not used to.’

‘She makes me realize how big of a heart somebody can have’

‘I learned a song for her’

‘I learned a poem for her’

‘I wrote a poem for her’

‘She’s like the sun, her personality. I don’t really know how much I need it until I come here all dead. Then she comes and it’s like everything is okay again.’

-

“You better heal faster,” Wednesday says impatiently, sitting next to you. “I said I was sorry almost thirty seven times, I just don’t like sounding stupid in front of other people, even as much as I want to.”

“I literally am dying,” you respond, her words cracking a smile on you nonetheless. You look at the black dahlias on your bedside.

Her hair was down, rolling her eyes. “Well you’ve wasted enough of my time.” She said, though she didn’t mean it. She’d take more days off so someone could look after you.”

“Oh, careful Addams,” you say, putting a hand up in front of you. “Someone might think you’re worried about me,” you whisper.

She takes your hands in hers–her hands are like a soft murmur of sweetness I’m not used to. “Well, I’m not. And if someone thinks that, you better make a piece of tape fly to their mouth,” she says, in denial as she turns away from you.

But you had already seen another side of her. The side that you knew always existed in her. The side that was vulnerable, the quiet weeps of worry when you were close to death, the letters that expressed her apologies.

“Well you already have one person,” you say, your little finger poking her chest. She huffs, but her lips twitch up, “I think you’re hallucinating, then.”

She was glad you were okay. Would she have been months ago? She didn’t know. Would she have crawled into your hospital bed and let you rest against her months ago? Maybe not. But she was now.

Somewhere between the blurred lines, Wednesday Addams had fallen for you.

-

author's note- this was meant to have a angst ending but unfortunately i didn't want people to be sad