#jenna answers

[jennilah]

You got some Hoffstrahm headcanons you'd like to share with us?

(Love your art)

maybe (◕‿◕✿)

(thank you!!)

ok first of all, I gave these men so many backstory headcanons that I dont think Ive ever actually shared

Hoffman:

I imagine him coming from a broken home, with a father that disappeared when he was young and a mother that struggled with drug abuse.

I imagine Hoffman growing up resenting her and people like her, which is why he thinks lowly of addicts

Let’s say Hoffman was in his early 40’s when Angelina died. He would have been a teenager when she was born.

I headcanon that Angelina was born to an unknown father, and was put into foster care after their mother passed away to an overdose.

I imagine a young Mark dedicating himself to learning law so he could fight to be Angelina’s legal guardian. And in the meantime, he’s already learned so much about law already, and he needs a job near the foster care and school district, so that leads him to the local police force.

He succeeds in obtaining guardianship, and so, he raised his little sister. His only family. He never really got to live outside of this shitty town and explore any personal desires. He was only ever doing what was best for Angie, and now that she’s gone, he doesn't even know what it's like to want something for himself. (Might as well start killin')

Strahm:

I imagine he’s so uptight because that’s all he was ever really raised to be.

I imagine he was an only child with two very strict parents who he could never seem to please. They pushed him ever since he was young. All he knows is working his hardest.

I also don't think he's just an angry, screaming asshole. If I can be real, I think during the interrogation, he was interrogating. Ever since first watching Saw IV, I always interpreted the start of that scene as Perez opening as "Good Cop," Jill shaking her head going "that's not gonna work on me," and Strahm stepping up to say "okay. 'Bad Cop' time, then."

And then he puts on his over-the-top, tough-guy, "I'm going to break you" FBI interrogation act.

Later when he's screaming and throwing things, it's because the situation has become 2000% more dire as people are dying out from under them as they speak, INCLUDING Perez, who he clearly cares deeply for. Things have become personal.

And, he's also irrational and just kind of charges into dangerous situations. (He was also very much led exactly where John wanted him, it was all orchestrated as part of his test from the beginning. Not just the cube and coffin.)

I believe he can be aggressive and have a short fuse, exactly as Perez says, but also as she says.. hes not some kind of coked up lunatic.

I think outside of his extremely stressful, high-stakes line of work hes probably... normal.

I imagine he's the type to bring work home and constantly mull it over. I imagine he had a wife that he slowly drove mad because he never paid attention to her, and his heart, admittedly, wasn't fully in it either. They split amicably, but he kept the ring because he's married to the job- no need to let anyone believe he's available and make the same mistake twice.

And he probably fidgets with it too. Yes, I'm in the "autistic Strahm" club.

So,

WHAT do you get when you cross an uptight FBI agent that never sat down long enough to relax for once in his life, and a depressed detective that doesn't know what to live for?

well. saw IV and V

but in my head... in alternate realities where small things were changed here and there...

Obviously this comes up in like, every single one of my fics.. but the way I imagine them working starts with them taking down a LOT of walls.

Strahm has his scowly outer shell that houses his soft heart that cares for people underneath

and Hoffman has a friendly, arguably flirty outer persona that hides how broken and lost hes become on the inside

in almost every universe I have them fall in love in, it starts with Strahm reluctantly showing some vulnerability in some situation or another, and ends with Hoffman looking at him and going "shit... I like him, and I want him, and I've never really wanted before..."

and either that goes in like a fun toxic yaoi route

or Hoffman's heart grows 3 sizes and he realizes in horror that he never had to do everything he's done. He never had to kill Seth. He never had to join a cult. He could have learned to be happy again, to be normal and fall in love with an endearingly grumpy FBI agent and live out the rest of his life with new desires, new goals, new ambitions...

but he went down the dark path. and he can't undo what he's done.

and in whatever universe i concoct, they work together to basically give each other something theyve always been missing. Strahm never knew what it was like to truly settle down with someone, Hoffman never tried to love before at all, and theyve both got so much baggage and personal issues and traumas...

but hey, maybe they can help one another. they cant get any more fucked up after everything theyve been through. They want this to work too, so they put in the effort. Its high time either of them experienced true happiness, and somehow, they found it in each other.

[theonethinginlife]

This isn't said much because how bad the crossover was written but, Carisi charged and put away one of America's prolific mass murders/ criminal mastermind in history 😱. He really has come a long way from being that green detective back in 2014.

Of course in order to find him, they had Professor Rollins to profile the criminal to help narrow him down and find a way to get him to surrender and shut down the site. Because it was thanks to her skills and analysis that figured out that his mother was his weakness and the police were able to use that to their advantage as something for Carisi to charge with.

Now that's gonna be an interesting lecture to her students. Showing a real life example of criminal profiling and how much it affects in a investigation. (And a bonus to praise and brag about her husband putting away a big bad villain away behind bars.)

I'm so proud of the development both Sonny & Amanda have done over the last few years--that's one of the things that's so special about a show that goes for as long as SVU does--you get to see the characters really grow into themselves.

[genesis-of-the-between]

You changed your url and pfp. I almost unfollowed because I didn't recognize you.

This is like if Phineas and Ferb were hired by Dr. Doof to capture Agent Perry, only to realize right before they activated their convoluted capturing invention that it was Perry, their friend and platypus, whom they were about to capture and they let him escape because they care about him

LMAO THIS IS HILARIOUS (also I know nothing about p&f lol)

[letorip]

helping tara through an asthma attack?

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby

“as long as you’re with me, you’ll be just fine”

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: after tara’s date ghosts her at a party and tara forgets her inhaler, you help her through her asthma, and in the process reveal how much you really care for each other

warnings: angst at first but quickly turns to fluff, mentions of asthma, small medical crisis, confessions and kissing, for the most part, fluff

word count: 2.8k

A/N: a very adorable and small oneshot i got to write! thank you for the request, it was greatly appreciated and im sorry i only got to finish it now! i cut down a lot for time's sake but i did get it done, so sorry iff it's shorter, i left more irrelevant bits out

*also, i am english and know little to nothing about new york, but i did my best

===+++===

===+++===

She wasn’t doing a thing that you could see except sitting there on the stairs, leaning on the bannister, holding the universe together.

Parties were many things, but you had never considered them beautiful. Tara Carpenter was what made them beautiful. Grabbing you tightly by the hand and tugging you onto the dance floor despite your protests, brushing the hair from your clammy forehead when you had too much to drink, and, even now, frowning at the bottom of the staircase. That was beautiful. It was so beautiful that calling it a crush didn’t feel like enough.

She doesn’t see you until you clear your throat from the other end of the foyer, leaning on the doorframe. It’s almost empty, most people squeezing into the kitchen and living room on the other side of the house, and you can hear Jump Around muffled through the walls.

“Looking for me?” she asks, a grin forming. It’s infectious, but Tara’s an infectious person: anything she does, she makes you want to do it too.

You smile back. “Always,” you nod, shoving your hands into your pockets and crossing the room to set yourself down next to her. Neither of you say anything for a minute, watching the few people go by, Tara picking at her nail polish and fiddling with her cup.

"Is this (Y/n)-code for wanting to leave?” Tara says after a while, nudging you gently with her knee. You shrug. You’d do the right thing always when it came to Tara. No matter how much fun you had been having, her frown came first, and you’d be damned if you didn’t try to lift it. Staying at the party longer would only keep reminding her how she had been let down again.

“It is getting kind of late," you murmur. She scoffs, shifting away from the railing and resting her head on your shoulder, nuzzling herself into your neck.

"It's only 12.” You can feel the vibrations of her voice against your body, warm and human. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you leave while the party’s still young?”

“A kind one,” you snort. “I’ve got a bed calling my name.”

She hums, pretending to think on it for a second, and then nods. “Five more minutes.”

You say okay and sit back in silence, letting the background music wash over you both. The clinking of bottles and laughter from the other room is loud, but mostly, you can hear her breathing against you, slow.

Tara lifts her head from your shoulder, taking a sip of her drink. “I think he’s a no-show,” she mutters after another minute, staring down into her cup and biting her lip.

“Yeah,” you nod, giving her a sad smile and bumping her with your shoulder. “What an asshole.”

It lifts her a little bit for a momentary smile that flickers in your direction, but it falls away again. “He was a really nice asshole. Something about me ‘deserving more’ and seeing ‘the real’ me.”

You hum at the sincere line said before by all too many insincere people. Tara was always the real her, and it was part of what made her so… her. Even her attempts to hide her wounds only made them more visible. To suggest otherwise was to mean he hadn’t known her very well. “It was the guy from the karaoke bar, right?” you ask.

She nods, eyes looking a little misty. You remember him well— reeking of alcohol and jostling her shoulder harshly while they sang Copacabana off key and miraculously off beat. You hadn't liked him much then, though you never did when it came to who Tara had moved onto. You hated him now, for almost making her cry.

"I guess someone told him about the attacks," she mumbled. "He said he didn't 'want to be next.' Funny part is I don't either."

"He's just a knob," you say, shaking your head. Then, you remember a particularly special piece of information you had been holding onto for the few weeks she had been talking to him. You lean into her ear, smirking as you whisper. "Though from what I heard, he didn't have a particularly large one."

It finally manages to pull a giggle from her, and she smacks you on the leg with a brilliant smile, the one that always makes your heart beat a bit faster. "What a perverted thing to say," she chides, rolling her eyes, but she still so clearly finds it funny.

"Coming from you, that's super rich," you tease. "Your imagination's gonna get you a passport to hell one day."

She smacks you on the arm again. "Come on, we should get you home, you've clearly had too much."

"So all I've got to do to convince you it's time to leave is make dirty jokes?" you grin as she stands, turning to you with an outstretched hand. You take it, letting her pull you up from the staircase.

"Nope," she replies, popping the p. "I just think it's nice out tonight."

"Yeah right," you say, walking towards the mountain of coats, grabbing her pink puffer one from the pile and then your own heavy jacket. "It's cold as hell."

"To you, you big baby," Tara teases, ditching her cup on the nearby mantle. She still zips herself all the way up, shoving her hands into her pockets, until she looks down. "Shit."

You furrow your eyebrows, turning around from zipping up your own. "What?"

"My shoe's untied," she groans. "And I already zipped this damn thing up." You roll your eyes. She could easily unzip it and do it herself, but you know she doesn't want to.

"Just ask already, slick."

She's beaming at you again and you suck in a breath at the way her brown eyes always seem to twinkle, even in dim lights. "Tie it for me?" When you don't move, she clasps her hands together mockingly. "Please?"

"And we have a winner," you grin, bending down. She's wearing her beaten-up white Converse, and you tie it quickly, double-knotting the old, weathered laces. "Y'know, for the holidays, I'm getting you a new damn pair, these things have definitely seen better days—" you stop in your tracks when you look up. Tara's eyes are watching you with an odd expression you can't place, in a way you've never seen her look at you before. "What?" you ask.

As quickly as it flashes, Tara shoves it away, shaking her head. "Nothing, nothing." She herself seems surprised, blinking a few times as you stand back up. "We should go."

"Okay," you shrug, shoving your hands into the pockets of your pants. Tara leads the way out through the propped-open front door, right out into the cold. Tara lets out a cough, out into the air, and it turns to a condensation cloud in the cold.

New York is already icy, gearing up for winter, and the trees have shed their leaves to become small, barren branches. The house party wasn't that far from your flat or Tara's, which was part of why Sam was so okay with the both of you going. The only person more protective of Tara than you was Sam.

"So, how'd you find that out about him?" Tara asks, coughing, taking your arm in hers. She always said you were freakishly warm to the touch, but right now, it was probably a plus.

"I told you we have class together, right?"

Tara nods, her breath a little wheezy. "Yeah?"

"I talked to this girl, Ada, in that class, and she said it was true. I didn't ask how she knew, though, but she really laid into him for being an asshole."

"Hm," she hums. "And you didn't say anything about it?" You know she's teasing, but you shake your head.

"You seemed excited about him, and you can make your own choices. Plus, I didn't know if you'd really care, to be honest." She doesn't say anything back, but that weird look is back on her face, so you avert your own eyes, feeling a burning on your cheeks.

"Thanks," she whispers. "You always trust me more than Sam does."

The both of you walk about another block before Tara speaks again. "I'm hungry," she says, coughing into her hand.

"I've got food at mine?" you suggest, the cold night air tickling at the roof of your mouth as you speak. The tips of your ears are freezing, as is the back of your neck, and you shiver after a particularly harsh gust of wind. It's unforgiving, in that way, and the wind barrels down the tall streets, chilling people throughout the winter. Tara coughs again and you shoot her a look.

"This cold air is really messing me up," she says with an eye roll. "I'll be okay, let's just get home." You send her another wary glance but turn your attention back to the city. You and her pass a few high rises with people in the warm windows.

"Must be nice to be indoors right now," you grin. Tara smirks right back at you.

"Maybe we should've just stayed in and watched some movies."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, now who wants to take my suggestion?"

"Yeah, well, now I've got the bath calling for me," she says, unlinking your arms to adjust her jacket. "That and Love Is a Losing Game and the block button."

"Poor baby," you tease. "Must be nice having a bathtub."

"It is," she nods, still fiddling with the zipper and pulling it down a little. "I can have all the wine and bubble baths I want." She's still coughing, struggling through her words.

"Greedy," you laugh, walking on ahead. You get only a few steps before you notice Tara isn't following you.

"Hey, what—" When you turn around, you can see her eyes wide, and she wanders towards the curb, plopping herself down on the freezing pavement and clutching at her throat.

"Shit," you rush, quickly coming over and kneeling down in between her knees as she continues to cough. "Shit, shit, shit." Her eyes are wild as she struggles to breathe, and she grabs your hand tight, squeezing it sharp with her nails. "Tara, what's happening? Is this an attack?"

She only manages a small nod, coughing awfully and trying but failing to take in a wheezy breath. You swallow the lump in your throat, looking around for someone, anyone, but the street is deserted. "Where's your inhaler? Where is it?"

Tara's nails dig into the skin of your hand in between her coughing, drawing small crescent moons of blood. Her other hand goes to her jacket, lifting up the bulge over her chest that is her interior pocket. You nod, trying to unzip it, but for some reason, it's not coming down.

Her eyes are full of fear and the brimming of tears as she struggles to breathe, and you mess with the zipper, trying to pull it down in the cold. "God fucking dammit, it won't—" you try to explain, yanking on the damn thing, which continues not to budge. Her own fingers reach up to try and get at the zipper, but you beat her to it, harshly ripping it open.

Her medicine bag falls right out, and you open it, dumping everything out onto the pavement and picking up her small blue inhaler. She sends you that weird look again as you shake it for a few seconds, handing it over. She takes a wheezy breath out and places the inhaler over her lips as she shuts her eyes, breathing in as deep as she can. You wait nervously as she holds it in her mouth, before finally letting out a much easier exhale.

Tears are pricking the corner of her eyes, and you raise a soft hand to gently brush them away with the pad of your thumb as relief washes over you. She's breathing and she's okay, and that's all you really care about.

Tara's hand finally drops its grip on yours, and though your hand is stinging in the places she drew blood, you pay it no mind. You turn your attention to her medicine bag, picking up the bottle and bandaids you dumped out as she waits and takes another puff. You don't say anything, just silently start picking up her things and putting them away, zipping up the bag.

When it's in order, you give her a gentle smile and put the bag back into her jacket, plopping yourself down next to her as you wait for her to let you know she's okay. After another puff and about another minute, her breath is slowed, and the fast beating of your heart begins to slow as well.

===+++===

Tara doesn't say much, staring out onto the street in total silence as she takes deep breaths in and out. You watch her with a worried expression, tensing every time she lets out a cough, but it's quickly pushed away as her lungs relax. Even after twenty minutes go by, you both remain there, sitting in silence, your eyes never leaving her face, except for the occasional passing car.

After long enough, she scoots a bit closer to you, letting her own eyes find yours. "That was scary," she whispers.

"Yeah," you nod. "Sorry about... well, your jacket. I think I might've broken the zipper. Guess I'll have to get you that for the holidays too—"

She raises her hand, brushing some hair back from your forehead, her fingers lingering for a moment and then brushing themselves down your cheek. You freeze at the touch of her cold hands but do not pull away, feeling her trace your jaw and then lower, her hand stopping against you just below your collarbone, right above your heart. She's so close you can hear her breathing, feel her warmth and how it fans out across your cheeks.

"Tara—" you breathe, but before you can finish the sentence, which wouldn't have been particularly coherent anyway, she gently presses her lips against yours. It's soft and gentle, her lips slotting against your own in a perfect match. Before you can even process the divine sensation or try to give anything in return, she's pulling away, squeezing her eyes shut and apologising.

"Sorry, sorry, I must've gotten it wrong, I just, well...," she starts. Your mind is reeling at a thousand thoughts a second. "It's just that you're always there for me when no one else is, and I guess I—"

But this time, you're the one to cut her off. You lean forward, not even caring what else she has to say, instead kissing her back hard. She groans into it, her hands cupping your cheeks, holding you against her. It's magical, she's magical, and all those moments of wishing it was you she was kissing are gone because you are the one she's kissing.

Your hands slip around her waist, holding her against you as your lips move together in sync, the breeze gently moving against your skin. "I love you," she says against you, pulling you back in. It's softer than your hungry attack, but you cherish it more, letting her pull away and rest her forehead against yours. Once more, the cold is tickling at the newfound warmth you feel.

She pulls away from your lips but not from you. "I think I thought love was supposed to be this grand, tight battle. It's what my life was, some big battle. But not you. You're as easy and helpful as breathing. I love it about you that you love everyone else, too," she whispers. She reaches up placing a kiss upon your forehead. "Get it?" she laughs. "Breathing?"

"Too soon," you scoff, shaking your head. "I've loved you a long time, Tara," you reply, feeling your cheeks flush. "Through the assholes and the cowards and the people who wanted me. I've loved you. It might be chronic, I think I always will." You're so damn warm it's antithetical to the freezing chill that attempts to throw itself at you and Tara, only to be batted off by your hands upon each other.

She lets out a soft smile, putting her head back on your shoulder, only this time, it's your other one. "Maybe I should almost die more often if it means I get to have you."

You shake your head, leaning it against hers. "That's not funny," you scoff, and she rolls her eyes at you, gently prodding you in the side. "Besides," you smile. "You can have me any time now, you dork."

"That sounds nice," she hums against you. "But I still want pizza."

"Do you want to come back to mine? I think I have one in the freezer."

"Hm," she murmurs, then nuzzles deeper. "Five more minutes."

As easy as breathing, together.

===+++===

really struggled with the ending speech but i kind of liked not really having one? it's just kind of understood. no nice-guy 'it was me all along' or 'i'm sorry i didn't notice you sooner.'

[huskyscc]

can you do a drabble where jenna and reader have these domestic moments? like having a grocery list together etc. thanks in advance!!

a/n: of course i can! i hope this is what a drabble is because this is new to me and the only definition I could really find, (a short story with 100ish words), so I hope this is what you meant!! but thank you for requesting 🫶!!

kiwi love

pairings - jenna ortega x gn!reader (no pronouns specified)

wc - 100

warnings - none

summary - a grocery store list with a special request.

masterlist

“babe, where’d you put our grocery list?” you ask.

Jenna glances up from the couch. “uhh… the fridge?”

you grab the list, looking it over. you can’t resist a giggle at one of the items, obviously requested by Jenna.

“3 containers of kiwis?” you sneer playfully.

you jump when you feel Jenna’s head on your shoulder, turning your head. she smiles at you.

she leans in, pecking your lips softly. "don't forget them!" she says as she gives you one last peck before turning on her heels.

you chuckle, grabbing your keys as you leave with the list in hand.

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt. 46

Summary: Everything must come to an end. But ends just mean something else is about to begin.

Word Count: 7.5k Warnings: blood, graphic violence, swearing, death, delusions, hallucinations, uncertain realities Pairing: Wednesday Addam x Reader (Masterlist) A/N: Jokes, you get it early cause my fiancee finished reading all of it. Enjoy

The forest was ethereal in the pale moonlight shining down from the nearly-full moon. Leafy shadows covered the ground in a pattern that was unrecognizable yet no less hypnotizing. Twigs cracked underneath your feet, creating nothing more than a slight vibration stretching across your skin. It was invigorating.

Each step left a reddish tint to the ground. You paid it no mind; your mind was focused on one thing and you were going to reach it. After all, you couldn’t leave Wednesday alone with your parents forever. They were nothing if not thorough, and the thought of them questioning her alone left an acidic burn in your stomach.

“They’re just up ahead.”

You hummed in the affirmative, feet continuing to tread down the non-existent path. Up ahead, the stars shone down upon what looked like an endless expanse of fog and cloud. A sea above the ground, created just for you. The sight alone would have brought any sensible person to their knees in amazement at the creation.

Not you. You wanted to find Devon and Casey; they were missing family dinner.

Massacred, bare feet stood at the edge of the cloud water. Toes wriggled like they would on the sand. If you simply pitched forward, you would swim. The exercise would have done your wings some good, they always benefitted from a good swim.

“They’ll be here soon.”

Of course they would, why wouldn’t they? No way would they miss out on a family dinner. Wednesday was already enjoying the festivities, and soon Devon and Casey would be doing the same. A big, happy family. Something to envy, to admire. The entire house would be filled with nothing but love. A warm house. A home.

Some sort of growl sounded behind you. There was no point in looking; nothing could hurt you. Nicky would keep you safe, because that was his job. It’s what he did. He was nothing if not the perfect big brother, and he would keep you safe and let you go back home. Any fear you previously harboured was pushed out by the protection he had wrapped around you.

A single twig snapped behind you.

“Ready to-”

-a crack echoed in your ears just before everything went dark.

—---

Wednesday knew the first things to become cold were the extremities. The blood pulled back from the far recesses of her body to preserve the organs encased within her torso. The lungs would pull in the slightest amount of oxygen, just enough to prevent the body from suffocating outright. Sweat would extrude from the pores and eventually, she would lose consciousness.

Her extremities had long since grown cold.

The blood pooled beneath her was no longer warm; it was quite sticky. A red syrup coated her fingers like a child after a hearty breakfast. It was less sticky around the finely sculpted handle sticking out of her stomach. Her fingers weakly traced the handle. Across the ridges and patterns that, if her blood-loss-addled brain was correct, created the perfect carving of a corvid. The beak alone was evidence.

She remembered what your mother had told her at the gala. “Everyone she loves gets hurt,” your mother said. She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face Wednesday. “Or dies.” Not once had she ever believed such a thing. Yet there she was, rapidly bleeding to death as you remained unaware. Hopefully unaware, at least.

“Poetic.”

Wednesday blinked once; she was loath to open her eyes. The possibility of death, shockingly, was weighing on her. Each laboured breath was harder to replace. Would it be cold? Everything was cold, of course, but this felt different. Frigid; painful. The type that blurred the line between freezing and a white-hot inferno. Excruciating and cleansing, awakening every atom of her very being.

“I’ll give it to the little psycho.” Her eyes were shut; the voice was somewhere close. “She has good taste in women.” She took a ragged breath. “You’re even pretty when you’re dying.”

The intonation of the words collided with a nerve within her chest. Instead of the freezing inferno she had been thrust into, a spark of warmth pooled around the little droplet of recognition. It was small, yes, but just large enough to grasp in the darkness that was enveloping her.

“Come on, darling, open your eyes,” the voice said with the slightest hint of laughter. “You’re dying, not deaf.”

It was a dumb thing to say. The joke in itself was horrifically unfunny, and yet she couldn’t help but follow the request. Small specks of light filtered through the haze as her eyes readjusted to the reality of the situation. In the fog, she saw you.

“Stop smiling,” you said in a voice that wasn’t your own. “It’s intimidating.”

Wednesday blinked only once, clearing the haze away. You were no longer standing over here, replaced instead with someone whose nose resembled yours. Kind eyes that were ever so slightly darker than yours were paired with a pallid complexion and thick brows. He had your hair.

“Much better,” he said. “Blood becomes you.” A pause. “Sans the dying part.”

She inhaled once; it rattled in her chest. “Here I thought you would be the more serious of the two.”

“Oh please,” he chuckled, “it’s a learned behaviour.” His still-fuzzy frame shifted until the face was closer. “Nurture over nature, and all that.”

Even before asking she knew the answer. “Did she stab me?”

“Oh absolutely.” Not even a hint of hesitation. “It looks pretty clean actually.” Ghostly fingers hovered over the edges of the wound; she couldn’t feel it. “Did you teach her this?”

“Last I recall, that was you.”

There it was. “Huh.” Nicky’s mouth quirked to the side much like yours. “I suppose that’s true.”

His hand rested over hers. A simple gesture really; the best a ghostly spectre could manage. It was different from how Pugsley treated her. Of course, it was different. They were Addamses, the only true way to show sibling affection was through great acts of lethal violence. There was no grander form of love.

Nicky’s hand (she imagined) was soft. Warm. Gentle in its ministrations, his pointer finger tracing the edges of the wound with the utmost care. She remembered you telling her he had always patched up your hands after climbing. How effortlessly loved you must have felt.

Wednesday watched your movements as you started cleaning the new raw spots on her hands. If you hadn’t pointed them out, she never would have noticed. Well, surely she would have known eventually, but you had picked up on it immediately. The alcohol wipe you used stung, but Wednesday refused to let you see her wince. You cleaned and started bandaging them as if you had done it a million times before.

You showed your love in the same way.

“Has she ever stabbed you before?” He asked as if it was a calming conversation over a hot cup of tea.

Wednesday huffed. “I believe this is a first.”

Nicky hummed. “Perhaps she’s just being vengeful.”

Her brows raised at the sentiment, and Nicky shrugged.

“This is payback for shooting her in paintball,” he said. “It’s the same spot and everything.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Pulled you in for a kiss, too.”

Wednesday studied you for only a moment more before cupping your jaw with one hand and pulling you down into a kiss. As expected, you gave in immediately, sighing gently and grabbing her by the waist. You smelled of dirt and trees, but somehow it still smelled precisely like you. Almost as if you were born with the smell.

“I love you,” Wednesday whispered against your lips. Whether on purpose or not, you whined almost inaudibly before kissing her again.

Your hands gripped her tighter, refusing to let her pull away even by a fraction. And at the moment, Wednesday was living for it. No one was around, it was just the two of you, and you tasted of her coffee from the walk over. You tasted familiar and like you belonged to her. It was the small moments that solidified Wednesday’s belief that she would never wish for anyone else but you. She reached her free hand out to your hip, mirroring your grasp on hers.

*splat*

You grunted and stepped back quickly, your hands instantly going to your stomach. While you refused to look down, your eyes trailed down to the paintball gun in Wednesday’s hand. The very same one that had been on your hip only seconds ago. With wide eyes, you finally looked down at your midsection. Pulling your hands away slowly, your jaw fell when you saw the paint now staining your shirt and hands.

“You shot me,” you said incredulously.

“You believed I wouldn’t,” Wednesday said with a slight tilt of her head. “That was your mistake.”

“But you still love me, right?” You asked.

She didn’t answer you, just gave you the smallest smile and turned around to walk off. You were smart, brilliant even, but you had too much trust in those you loved. If she needed to shoot you a hundred times that day to get you to be a little more self preserving, then so be it.

The look of mock-betrayal on your face was rather appealing.

Rage bubbled in her stomach around the now-warm steel at the thought that he might be correct.

“Please know I’m kidding,” he said with a light chuckle. When he met her eyes, he quieted. “Mostly.”

She couldn’t decide if she wished he was kidding or not. If he wasn’t, it would mean you had committed one of the most intimate acts of violence she had personally been victim to over… a game. A game that involved paint, and mess, and chaos, and no real stakes involved.

This… this was different.

“Don’t get lost on me now.” Nicky’s voice cut through the fog encroaching upon her mind. “You’ve gotta help her out one last time for me.”

Her fingers were cold. “I thought that was your job.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t die for her.” A pause. “Poor choice of words.”

“You think?”

“Something pushed me out a long time ago. I had a semblance of a foothold until a few months ago.” Wednesday opened her eyes - she was unaware of closing them in the first place - and looked into Nicky’s cold, tired, familiar eyes. “I can’t help her anymore.”

Oh.

Oh, that knowledge would kill you.

Had you known your connection with Nicky had been dwindling over time? Your mania at times would seem indicative of the awareness, but Wednesday was fully under the impression that if you had known, you would have shattered, mind and soul.

Perhaps that was what happened.

A shallow, rickety breath left a deep ache in her chest.

“I don’t think I’m capable of helping anyone,” she said.

“What? Why not?”

Wednesday forced him to hold her gaze.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” she huffed, “I’m dying.”

Nicky’s head tilted in that adorable way yours did. So far it looked painful, and yet the eyes were filled with a sparkling curiosity. A clear indication that you were thinking through what you had seen or heard. She could have rested easy seeing the familiar gesture.

“Oh,” he said cheerfully. “I can fix that.”

He sounded like you.

Wednesday’s entire body flinched at his spectral touch. One cold hand slid directly under hers while the other grasped the hilt of the dagger. Her jaw clenched, fully preparing for the pain that would shoot through her body again when the blade was pulled back out.

He gasped. Wednesday jumped, sending a twinge down her spine.

“I forgot my little speech,” he said. Her brows furrowed. “It’s in the ghost handbook, you know.”

Her confusion turned to frustration.

“You’d better hurry,” she threatened, “before I die and haunt your wandering soul until we’re both exorcised.”

“God you’re intense,” he mumbled before straightening up. “It’s the typical forewarning, you know. This is irreversible, I shall become unseen by all but you, I shall henceforth reside solely within your own mind, etcetera, etcetera.”

Wait.

“No.”

“Now let’s get- did you say no?”

It was increasingly difficult to focus her eyes on any one thing, but she knew the look Nicky was giving her. Bordering on frustration but not quite. A look you used to give her often, back at Nevermore. Back before things started rolling downhill and refused to stop. Before things changed. Forever.

“You said it yourself; you can’t save her like this,” he said with the smallest tilt of his head. The first gesture that looked entirely like him.

Wednesday was already shaking her head as best she could. “She can’t lose you.”

“We both know she’ll never move on on her own.” A light, humourless chuckle. “If anything, I’m holding her back.”

Silence settled over the room like a fresh blanket of snow. How could you be expected to move on if you hadn’t properly grieved? Having one of the few people you relied on be ripped away from you without warning was no easy task, even Wednesday knew that. Yet the object of your grief and misery was-

-oh.

“Last thing we ever talked about was me leaving her. Turned into a stupid argument.” His eyes grew cold. “And I never did a good job at keeping her safe, no matter how hard I tried.” 

Wednesday’s chest tightened. 

“I didn’t want to leave,” Nicky said softly, “I wasn’t ready.” He sniffled. “But she’s not ready either.”

“It will break her,” was all she managed to say.

“She’ll be okay,” he said, his quivering lip morphing into a smile. “She’s lost damn near everyone but you.” He waited until she opened her eyes again. “As long as she has you, she’ll be okay. You’re the best little sister-in-law I could’ve hoped for.”

Something wet fell down Wednesday’s cheeks. She refused to accept what it was.

Her body jerked when he pulled the knife out.

A serene look filled his face as he looked back over at her.

“Take her home for me.”

Wednesday’s eyes fell shut at the flash of pain in her abdomen. It pierced deeper than the knife, spreading out like needles along every inch of her body. A scream sealed itself in her throat, refusing to come out. And then, in the next instant, it subsided. The pain became warm, and she could feel the blood rushing back to her fingers and toes. It stung, but only for a moment. Then there was nothing but comfort. Peace.

Air rushed painfully into her lungs. She dared to open her eyes, and the scene was the exact same. Your parents’ bodies were strung like puppets, and the mess on the floor was almost dry. But no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find Nicky.

Can’t get rid of me that quickly, his voice echoed in her head.

A small huff through her nose was her only reply. Of course he wouldn’t disappear for long. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the disgusting sensations of sticky, half-dried blood on her clothes and hands. It could be a problem for later.

Get ready to walk, Nicky said, I know where they are.

A vision of a cliff seared itself to the inside of her skull. It was a foreign landscape of half-dead trees and no moon to guide the way. But the path was clear. Shaky legs carried her to the door, and she didn’t look back.

It was time to bring you home.

—---

Being knocked out as often as you had in your short life prepared you for the throbbing pain in your temple. Dull, just enough to spark life into a migraine. Perhaps if they hit you just right, your eye would blacken and you could garner some sympathy from Wednesday.

You could, however, proudly declare to have never been kidnapped before. At least before that moment. Though, you weren’t entirely sure the situation could be classified as a kidnapping. You weren’t tied up, you weren’t locked anywhere, and-

“-You’re not alone.”

Your head tilted at the voice. It sounded like Wednesday, if she had an accent. You didn’t think you had heard it before. Had you? No, absolutely not, you would’ve remembered that much. Were you going crazy? Well, crazy-er?

“My name is Goody Addams,” the voice said. “Someone asked me to stay with you.”

Well, how could you say no to Ghost Wednesday? Seemed like a no-brainer to you.

Casey and Devon were sitting across from you, a fire directly between you. It was too warm, teasing the edges of its designated area, lifting sparks up into the air to disappear amongst the stars. Your eyes followed a single spark, watching it’s entire life from creation to death. An entire life cycle in the span of seconds.

“Still nothing more than a child.”

Your head snapped, sending a jolt through the already painful ache of your temple. A… thing appeared behind Casey and Devon. The perfect silhouette of a human, tall with broad shoulders, but you couldn’t discern any features. The face was nothing more than a black shade surrounding two eyes. The lightest grey outlined the iris, but it was overshadowed by the iridescent white on either side. It was terrifying and yet, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“I’m sorry, love,” the silhouette said calmly, “I doubt you recognise me in this form.”

Hypnotised. You were utterly hypnotised as the silhouette shimmered like the fake water on a hot pavement. It started at the head, creating waves until it went past what you were able to see. Slowly, the black void started to display the most muted of colours. Each second produced brighter colours until you were looking at-

“-Joel?”

Your voice sounded broken and crackly. Quite frankly, it was the least of your worries when you were looking at Wednesday’s past fling. He looked the exact same as you had always seen him, minus the nerdy glasses. Behind the lack of glasses were the eyes of the silhouette but… that wasn’t right?

Your brain ached.

“Do you know how difficult it was to find anyone from your girlfriend’s past-”

“-Fiancee,” you said instinctively. It was unnecessary.

Not-Joel looked at you for a moment before smiling kindly. “Congratulations.”

There was nothing else for you to say.

“As I was saying,” he said, “your fiancee is exceptionally solitary. It was pure luck to have run into him out on his campus one evening.”

“You’re not Joel?” You asked.

“I-” he cut himself off. His head turned, looking every direction before finally back at you. “Did you not see my form before this?” The head turn morphed into a full body twist until he was looking at Casey and Devon. “How hard did you hit her?”

Casey shrugged.

“Didn’t think it was that hard,” Devon answered.

“Darling, are you daft?” He asked as his body swung to face you once again.

You mimicked Casey’s shrug. “Sometimes.”

Not-Joel looked at you with hollow eyes that set each nerve in your body alight. It left your soul wishing to jump out of its flesh prison. Since that wasn’t possible, it resorted to tapping your heel against the packed dirt floor.

“I believe I know the answer,” he said slowly, “but do you know who I am?”

You almost said “Joel.” Wouldn’t that have been embarrassing? This man already thought you were stupid, you didn’t need to prove it. Instead, you shook your head.

“You ask a lot of questions,” you said instead.

The human void looked at you with a tilted head. It was uncanny coming from the person you thought you had known. But without Joel’s eyes, he just looked… haunting. You imagined he was what a black hole would look like if it was anthropomorphised. He was lethally alluring, pulling you in while leaving you filled with nothing but unstoppable dread.

“Allow me to ask a few more,” he said. “Do you recall the accident?”

Panic flowered in your chest, growing until it overflowed into your stomach and throat. Rubber wheels screeched against the road. Metal crunched. Creaking wood crashed to the ground.

“Hang on, kid, we’ve gotta get the door.”

“Where’s Nicky?” You asked. Your tongue felt heavy, like lead.

“Gotta get you first,” a man’s voice said. “Stay still.”

“So you do.” His voice floated through the delirium. “How about the family you both ruined?”

One blink. You looked back up at the silhouette that no longer resembled Joel but was once again the humanisation of a black hole. The gravitational pull of starry eyes left a sinking feeling in your stomach. A sour taste formed in your mouth.

“What family?”

His smile was just as startling as his eyes.

“The family in the other car.” The smile disappeared. “The one you hit.”

No. No, there hadn’t been a collision. You remembered perfectly. Painfully. The car was going down, Nicky swerved, you hit the ground. Nothing went in slow motion, your life didn’t flash before your eyes. You saw light, then nothing. But not once did you remember ever hearing anything about another family.

“That brother of yours was quite the psychic, wasn’t he?” He asked. You couldn’t see his feet, but his eyes drifted closer until they were even with yours and staring directly into your soul.

“We killed them.”

Your entire body jerked as your eyes squeezed shut. Nicky wouldn’t have said that, not to you, not ever. But that was his voice…

“A wife and two kids,” Nicky’s voice continued talking. “Pretty hefty price for a birthday, don’t you think?” Your eyes squeezed tighter. “I mean, sure, I died too, but it’s still not quite even.”

With your eyes shut, you heard something stepping on twigs, circling behind you. You didn’t care; you wouldn’t dare look.

“Sure, you lost your brother, but you got off pretty easy,” the void whispered near your ear. “Then I saw he finally passed and it was glorious.” A shiver ran down your spine. “Then I bumped into you - well, you bumped into me - at the funeral and it was a cakewalk from there.”

“A monologue is very unbecoming,” Goody said.

More shifting. His breath hit the shell of your other ear.

“Your mind was so malleable it was almost boring.”

The shiver stopped midway down your back. The funeral? That was so long ago. After being released from prison you had done your best to block it all out of your mind. Flash images of the day flicked through your mind like a slideshow. 

Meeting Casey and Devon.

Nearly murdering your father.

Wednesday admitting she loved you for the first time (which left a hot tint to your cheeks).

Nothing about any of those events led to you bumping into someone. Sure, there were plenty of people there. Far too many, if anyone asked your opinion (“They didn’t,” Goody said). It was possible you had bumped into someone, but the memory eluded you.

The void shimmied and shifted until he looked like nothing more than an older gentleman. A gentleman in a rather nice suit and a look that made you uncomfortable. He looked a bit like the man in the corner at Nicky’s-

-You inhaled harshly.

“Excellent job,” he said before returning to his original look. Shape? Form? Evolution? “It was so easy to get the three of you-” he swept his arms out to include Casey and Devon “-in one place.” A stupid smile half-formed on his lips. “I even got your stupid vampire friend too.”

All of you? What was the psycho even talking about? He had said a whole lot of words that amounted to nothing. Of course all of you had been there, it was Nicky’s funeral. Where else would you be?

“You poor thing,” he said, “you really are daft.”

Even with everything going on, you were still offended.

Offense turned to abject fear as he shifted again and you were staring into terrifyingly familiar eyes. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he looked at you the same way you looked at yourself in the mirror. The only difference was his eyes didn’t glow.

“The first murder was to get your attention,” Not-You said. (Do I really sound like that? You thought. “You do,” Goody answered). “The other two were to start a trend.”

“Third murder since school started,” Wednesday answered, her eyes still glued to the television.

“Most of the murders from thereon were me,” they continued. (He? Me?) “A few were from these two.” A gesture to your two still-silent guests. “But the real fun came from watching you.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” you said instinctively. Arguing with yourself really wasn’t as awkward as it should have been.

“Wrong,” they said before stepping forward. “Your good buddy Mack was your first, and the nightmares you had were delicious.”

You remembered the nightmares; they never left. Following Mack down a dark alley. He talked to you, he always talked to you. You stabbed him. Again and again and again and again. His eyes always looked back at you in confusion before going dim and he collapsed onto the pavement.

Tears pricked at your eyes.

“The frat boys, on the other hand, were easy, you were already drunk.”

“Two young men were found murdered this morning,” the cop said with a raised brow. His hand tightened around the gun. “Witnesses say you got into an altercation with them during the party.”

“You lost no sleep on that one, which was a shame.”

They stepped closer.

“You didn’t kill your therapist, much to everyone’s surprise,” they said with a shrug. “I figured that would be too obvious.”

“Stop listening to them,” Goody pleaded. You ignored her.

“The irritating lawyer whom no one will be upset about.” Their head tilted. “I’ll admit, I almost killed him myself just to shut him up.”

No. No, you hadn’t killed him, you had left him exactly how you found him; drunk and misogynistic. Sure, you had considered it, but you hadn’t done it. The letter opener had remained exactly where it had been, you hadn’t-

“-Your parents were also tempting.” They bent down to look you in the eye. “But I’d never wish to take that satisfaction from you.”

Wind rustled through the leaves.

“I didn’t even have to prompt you for that one,” they said. “You were downright mad all on your own.”

No. No, they needed to stop talking.

“Your mother makes an excellent puppet.” Stop it! “And your father looks stunning with wings.”

A scream built pressure behind your sealed lips. You squeezed your eyes shut; you couldn’t stand the sight of your own eyes.

“And then there was poor Miss Addams,” they whispered directly into your ear. “I can’t imagine how it must feel.” Hot fingers brushed along the back of your neck. “Surrounded by a massacre.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Goody demanded.

Their fingers snaked around your neck.

“Dying at the hands of your lover.”

Your head snapped back until it connected with something that released a wet crunch. Some form of strength helped you stand and turn until you were looking at your own bleeding face. The nose was crooked and rivulets of red poured from the nostrils.

You looked kind of sexy covered in blood. Is that how Wednesday saw you? She needed to raise her standards, it was macabre. How could she even stand you? (“A question for another day,” Goody said).

Their eyes narrowed as they took a single step forward.

“I swear I’ll hit you again,” you warned.

“You little-”

-crack!

Your entire body jerked as splintered wood flew through the air. Shoes scuffed through dirt across from you. When you opened your eyes, Casey and Devon were standing, looking toward the imposter that was slowly slipping back into a void. He crouched down, hands covering his head.

Behind him, Wednesday stood with a broken branch held high, ready to strike again.

You exhaled harshly.

“What if that had been me?” You asked hysterically.

Wednesday looked at you with wide, unblinking eyes.

“It wasn’t.”

“That’s not even remotely what I asked,” you argued.

The void groaned.

“We’ll talk about this later,” you said.

Wednesday nodded once. Her eyes remained locked on yours. There was something dark crusted around her face and hands. Her clothes look stiff and awkward, like they had been over-starched during the last washing. Dying at the hands of her lover. No. No, you wouldn’t think about that quite yet.

A gun cocked behind you. Wednesday looked over your shoulder before you could turn around. Devon held a rifle to his shoulder, aimed perfectly at your head. Casey stood off to the side, looking only at Wednesday. You moved to stand between them, but Devon’s rifle followed your every move.

“You, my dear,” the void said to Wednesday, “have been a thorn in my side from the beginning.”

“You’re more clever than I thought,” she said just as quickly. “I never suspected a doppelganger.”

Doppelganger? Wasn’t that just another term for an evil, psychic shapeshifter? Honestly, not to sound racist, you were starting to hate psychics. They needed to be more mindful (I’m so funny, you thought) about their abilities. This was getting out of control.

“And you’re far more resilient,” he replied. “Here I’d hoped you were dead.”

“It takes more than that to kill an Addams,” she said.

“Ah well,” he said with a shrug. “All the better for me, I suppose.”

Your feet had rooted in spot. He effortlessly reached over and grabbed Wednesday by the jacket collar, pulling her until she was held tightly to his front. She didn’t fight back. Skin ripped apart beside them, and Casey soon disappeared only to be replaced with a giant wolf. Not quite a werewolf. “A shapeshifter,” Goody filled in for you. “Keep an eye on him.”

I’m a little overwhelmed at the moment, you thought back. She was silent, but you could feel the dissatisfaction radiating from her.

“You brats aren’t going to ruin another thing for me,” the void said. You watched his hand reach into his pocket. “Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to watch me kill your fiancee, the way I had to watch you kill my family.” 

When he removed his hand, it held a shimmering blade.

“Then, I’ll have you kill the two imbeciles,” he gestured to Devon and Casey. “And then that family of misfits because I want you to suffer how I suffered.”

The blade rested casually on Wednseday’s neck.

“I want you to grieve how I grieved. I don't want you to feel a single ounce of peace for the rest of your long, miserable life.”

“I didn’t kill them,” you said. “I didn’t kill any of them.”

“I’ve seen your memories,” he said. “You distracted Nicholas. Who else’s fault could it be?”

You found the courage to step forward. “It wasn’t-”

-Pain spiderwebbed across the inside of your skull. It throbbed against the side of your skull as you fell to your knees. You hadn’t heard him move, but through the stars swimming across your eyes, you saw Devon placing the rifle back against his shoulder. 

“You used to be more…” the void exhaled harshly and waved his free hand at nothing, “spunky.”

“Don’t give in.” You ground your teeth together. “She knows you’re better than this.”

He shimmered again, and you found yourself looking at Yoko.

“It’s pathetic, actually,” Yoko said. “Pretty sure Nicky would be ashamed.”

“A poor imitation,” Wednesday said. The real Wednesday; her mouth moved. “Yoko’s words are far more venomous.”

Yoko smiled. “I never could get the vocal mannerisms right for you youngsters.”

“She’s 70-odd years old,” Wednesday retorted. “You seem to struggle with getting your facts correct, as well.”

Your head hurt.

“What can I say,” Yoko said before being replaced by Joel. “Guess I should stick to what I know.”

“I’ll admit,” Wednesday said, “you almost match him.”

Joel laughed. A deep, hearty laugh. You watched the blade scrape against Wednesday’s neck, leaving the faintest dark tint on her skin. The moon shone down at such an angle that the steel glinted in the pale light.

“I actually believe I’m going to miss this one,” he said. “Of course you will too but,” he shrugged, “karma can be a bit unkind, wouldn’t you agree?” The knife hung limply in his right hand, yet comfortably situated on Wednesday’s jugular.

“Don’t touch her,” you spat. A gun cocked behind you.

“Or what?” The doppelganger asked with a tilt of his head.

“Don’t let him know your next move,” Goody said boldly.

“Just don’t,” you said.

“Or what?” He asked again. “What are you going to do?” You blinked; your father was in his place. “Kill us again?”

Your chest ached. Whatever was inside was choking your heart like a noose. You wanted to close your eyes; the wings you had apparently given him still dripped with blood.

“Stop,” you begged bleakly.

Wednesday’s eyes were wide and locked with yours. Or they would have been if you weren’t glued to the shimmering edge of a lethally sharp knife. Your palm itched as grass, dirt, twigs, and leaves dug into the bruised skin. Each breath rattled in your chest, which already felt unbearably heavy on its own.

Another blink.

“You don’t have the gall,” Now-Eric said with a shrug.

“Please.”

“Don’t beg.”

You couldn’t help it. The words tumbled from your lips like a leaky faucet. Your eyes never strayed from the glint of steel against Wednesday’s pale neck. He could do whatever he wanted to you, it was your fault all of this had happened. Your fault people had suffered and died. Your fault anyone was even in this predicament in the first place. Your fault-

“I knew you wouldn’t,” he chuckled humorlessly.

“Don’t let him be right.”

“A coward like your brother.”

A single flick of his hand.

Wednesday gasped.

Everything went silent. The owls hidden in the canopy of branches above you had ceased their endless torrent of questions. Every cricket orchestra in the area had halted their glorious crescendo, their last note hanging in the air. The dark pearl of liquid raced oh-so-slowly down Wednesday’s neck.

He cut her.

He made Wednesday bleed.

He made your fiancée bleed.

“Vengeance is always acceptable.”

You blinked once, opening your eyes to see the look on his face. Passive. Confident. Foolish. For the first time, his eyes sparkled. He looked at you with indignation and a joyless smile. Slowly, he pulled the knife another fraction of a centimeter across Wednesday’s skin.

Dirt forced itself into every crevice underneath your nails as you pulled your body forward. Your arms wrapped around his thighs in a picture-perfect rugby tackle (Ilona would be proud, you thought. “Who’s Ilona?,” Goody asked). Cold fingers briefly brushed against your tattered elbow before you both hit the ground. His knees bent at the contact, driving harshly into your chest and forcing the breath out of your lungs in a quick huff.

A sharp pain blossomed on your left cheek, snapping your head back. Your hands scrambled against dirt, clothes, glasses, before they found a stable surface to push against. One of your fists managed to hit a patch of skin, but not as hard as you would have liked. Rubber soles of boots settled perfectly on your stomach. There was no time to brace before they pushed.

Your back hit the rough ground. Something snapped; could have been a twig, could have been a bone. Whatever it was couldn’t have been too bad. Or you were simply distracted by the throbbing of your face, you weren’t sure. Or maybe you were dead, that was a possibility that you shouldn’t have been placated enough to consider.

You were probably dead.

The night sky was stunning.

“No sightseeing now.”

Claws pierced your sides, hooking through the flesh and pulling down until your wings and back scraped across the jagged ground. You bit your tongue hard. The beautiful night sky was replaced with a monstrosity of a wolf. Oversized canines hung mere inches from your face; you had to go cross-eyed to get a good look at them. Hot slimy drool dripped onto your cheek.

Where was Wednesday?

Those horrendously large teeth snapped. The sound it created was like a gunshot by your ear. It echoed as a ringing in your ears, blocking out every other sound. Your vision swam from the horrible sensation, but the scent of drool and flesh stuck in your nose.

You snapped your teeth back at the creature. The noise you created was far less intimidating, but the wolf still flinched, pulling its head back until its snout was just out of reach.

It growled once and snapped its teeth at you again, catching flesh.

Your throat ached from the scream. Warmth was dripping down your cheek and into your ear. It itched.

“He’s looking at you.”

You opened your eyes to look into Nicky’s face.

“I’m not mom and dad,” Nicky said, finally turning his head to look at you after rounding another bend.

“They left too,” you said softly, your bottom lip quivering. To your right, the trees thinned as another ledge appeared. 

“How many times must a wolf bite before you learn your lesson?” He asked. “I believe this is the third.”

Each inhale coaxed the claws deeper.

Metal clacked against metal.

The smell of death oozed from the wolf’s snout.

“I might just let him kill you,” Nicky said, “if only to finally get you out of my hair.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Nicky reinforced.

The wolf snarled.

You closed your eyes and braced for the bite.

A gunshot.

A harsh whimper.

The claws ripped themselves down your sides before pulling away at the hips. You bit your tongue. When you opened your eyes, the wolf was on the ground a few feet away, limping on its front left leg. The void looked to your side.

Wednesday held the gun.

“This is past the point of revenge,” she said. “It’s reached cartoon villain levels of vengeance.”

The void twirled the dagger in his hand.

“I should have killed you years ago,” he said.

He took a step towards her.

“Stop him.”

Every fibre of your body screamed out as you jumped up. You threw yourself at him again, arms wrapping tightly around his waist. His hand pushed against your face. You didn’t let go. A sharp pain radiated from the base of one of your wings. Someone screamed. You pushed and pushed and pushed. Feet scrambled against the dirt.

The ground disappeared beneath you.

Wind whipped around the both of you. Those hands that had once pushed you away were now holding you close. You unfurled your wings. A scream erupted from your lips as they ripped back, unable to keep shape long enough to catch the wind. They couldn’t catch you.

You looked at the face opposite you. One blink and his eyes met yours. Something carved out a hollow cavern in your chest. You hadn’t been able to meet Nicky’s eyes before you careened over the edge of the cliff.

His eyes flashed to the road before coming back to you. “I love you, I’m not just gonna-”

-headlights-

“-Nicky, look out!”

White, galaxy eyes in Nicky’s face held you captive when your back hit the first tree branch. His hands released their grip on you. He slipped out of your arms as you both crashed through the trees. Each branch felt harder than the last until you broke through.

All air was knocked out of your lungs when you hit the ground. Your wings ached beneath you. Something felt broken but, with everything else that hurt, you couldn’t pinpoint what.

Nicky coughed beside you.

You should both be dead.

You wished you were dead.

Neither of you dared move a single muscle. Something - many somethings - could be broken. Each laboured breath created a creaking feeling inside your chest. Your nails dug into the dirt, grasping for anything to hold and ground you in the present. Through the pain, you only thought of her.

“Are you going to join?” Wednesday asked as she stood beside you, looking down at the body with a joy that you rarely if ever saw.

“I’ll just be your assistant,” you said with a nervous chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your experience.”

Another shallow inhale.

“I told you about that girl I like, right?” You asked. The chair creaked underneath you as you pulled your legs up and crossed them. “The goth girl that looks like she wants to murder everyone, except it’s kinda hot? I was thinking about asking her out again.”

Your left wing twitched lifelessly.

“Go to the dance with me.” Wednesday said. It wasn’t a question. You didn’t seem to care.

“I’d love to.” You grabbed your backpack and started leading her out of your room to finally head to class. “We can work on your romance skills next time.”

The branches above you spun in slow circles, framing the near-invisible moon.

She hoped you ignored the shaking in her hands as she lifted your hand up, only millimeters from her lips. Only a fraction of a second of hesitation, and she brought your hand up the rest of the way. Her heart was pounding out of her chest as she left a single, lingering kiss on your knuckles.

Barely audible ringing morphed into a thunderous roar.

“Dammit, Wednesday, just tell me-”

-she couldn’t take it anymore. In a single moment, she did everything she had sworn she wouldn’t. Her hands gripped your collar tighter and pulled you down until finally, finally your lips crashed ungraciously against hers. It wasn’t pretty; there was nothing romantic about it. It was rushed, sloppy, too hard, and your lips were unbearably chapped.

But by god if it wasn’t perfect.

Each star faded out of view.

“I have a plan for later, I promise,” you chuckled as you held the ring out to her. “But now I’m kind of excited.”

Something stuck in her throat to prevent her from voicing a similar opinion. Instead, she simply held the ring out for you to take as well. Your smile was almost contagious, leaving her with spiders in her stomach. An almost forgotten feeling, but she wouldn’t wish for anything else.

Surprisingly, by some grace of the Addams ancestors, both rings fit perfectly.

“So do I get to be an Addams now?” You asked.

Wednesday will be okay, you thought as your eyes drifted closed. She would be taken care of. Your Ma and Pop would keep her safe and loved. The Addamses were full of so much care it was almost painful. She would be okay.

You took one last big, shaky inhale.

“Look out!”

Your eyes flew open.

The blade reflected the glow in your eyes. You pushed the hand that was holding the knife, directing it away from your throat. It sunk itself into flesh, leaving a wet, slick sound to echo in the silent forest. Warm blood cascaded down, covering your hands and neck.

Nicky’s wide eyes looked back at you.

No no no no no no “No no no no.”

His body slumped to the side, landing directly by you. The screaming pain in every nerve in your body dulled to a mindless numbness. You pushed yourself just enough to hover over him, dirty, broken, bloody hands hovering over the knife embedded in his chest.

You wanted to say you were sorry. You mentally pleaded to whatever god was above to let a single sound come out of your mouth. Instead, you just looked down at him. His lips were uttering an inaudible prayer much like your own.

Dull eyes struggled to meet yours. His lips moved again, and you leaned closer to hear.

“I win.”

Nicky’s final breath hit your ear.

You inhaled sharply once. Twice. Quicker. More rugged. Each breath leaving a bigger ache in your chest until all you could do was scream. Scream until your throat was sore and you tasted copper in your mouth and you couldn’t scream anymore.

And still, you couldn't hate him. He was right. He won.

His body stayed in place while you pulled and crawled your way to the closest tree. Sitting against it pressed bark into the open wounds on your back. You didn’t care. Nicky’s body was laying only a few feet away, and each breath hurt more than the last.

“It’s not him,” Goody said.

You ignored her.

Blood dried on your skin until it was thick and flaky. Your body was stiff by the time the sun finally started to rise. The light glinted off the blade embedded in flesh.

“Cara mia?”

You never once removed your eyes from the body.

“Devon called an ambulance,” she said. “They’ll be down soon.”

The words meant nothing.

Her ice cold hand rested gently on top of yours. You let your eyes slip closed and finally, finally look away.

“I love you.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

In the distance, sirens.

[gothmoes]

Astrid deetz x fem!reader

R is a ghost who is indebted to beetlejuice due to him helping her and cash in the favor by having her help him

she stuck in the old deetz house and is used as a messenger and tell him everything that going on *but she really wants to scare scaring Lydia’s “boyfriend” away cause she see right through his nice guy act.* She takes a liking to Astrid and keep an eyes on her which cause Astrid to feel like smth or someone is watching her

She join Lydia to help her after hearing about Astrid being in the netherworld.

*though R’s friendship with beetlejuice is both mutual but also being frenemies and mean spirited toward to each other. Think of the “he push me down the stairs” or them being annoying siblings *absolutely hates when the creepy baby beetlejuice and has the urge to kick it every time it bites her ankle to spite him*

I kind of like the idea of her doing a self-sacrifice and taking beetlejuice back to the netherworld but also has to tearfully say goodbye to Astrid. But end up coming back as human *wether if it’s marrying Astrid or switching with a living person*

But I also kind of like the idea of beetlejuice not being gone *given the fact that Winona Ryder mention that she ships beetlejuice and Lydia. Astrid and Lydia agree that r and beetlejuice are not to be left alone unsupervised*

R- totally worth for a cute girl like you. 😒but serious you are one dumb girl. Why did you believe ghost boy you know for a day over your mother!?

Astrid-😠 *ready to throw smth at r*

R-😘 also your dad gave me his blessing on dating you but he also gave me the shovel talk

Went to see it and love but one thing that suck was the ac in the theater near me wasn’t working so I watch it with the room hot and stuffy🥵🥵 *but totally worth it*

But during the I knew there was something off about the character Rory like how can you ask someone to marry right after her dad wake ceremony/funeral service!?

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝟏]

❥ Astrid Deetz x fem!ghost!Reader

❥ wc: 2k

❥ warnings: none

❥ author’s note: thank you for this request. as soon as I saw it in my inbox, I knew I had to write it. unfortunately, life got in the way, so I didn’t have the chance to get to it immediately, but here’s a little something to kick things off. this is a sort of prologue/part 1 (out of what will be a total of 2 or 3 chapters). it’s a little wordy for my taste, but I feel like it was necessary to set the scene for what you can expect for this story. next part will be coming some time next week.

❥ additional note: this is canon divergent from the movie. while the movie took place within two or three days (if I remember correctly), this fic will span across five to seven (still working out the kinks), and it’s important to note that Astrid has been aged up to 17, as opposed to her canon age of 16.

You are not quite sure why he insists on meeting you here, in his fake therapist’s office behind his real one, but he does. 

Three times a week, well after his designated “Couples Counselling for the Dead” appointments every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday (because he doesn’t work during the weekends, “Work/life balance is essential to me.”) leave, an invisible force plucks you from your post at the abandoned Deetz’s residence. 

It’s incredibly annoying. You can more than transport yourself through the plane of the living into the netherworld, and vice versa, without his “assistance”, but he ignores your complaints every single time.

You are then deposited unceremoniously into the cracked leather chair of human skin in front of his desk. Immediately, whatever good mood you may or may not have been in is sucked out of you, like the room itself is a soul sucker. 

With his unrestrained powers, one would think he’d be more inclined to renovate the place a bit. Maybe he thinks the drab and depressing atmosphere of the dimply lit and dusty storage room will intoxicate you into your second death, duplicating your debt to him. You doubt it works that way, but you don’t dare voice your thoughts. You’re afraid of being right.

This is where you find yourself today. Again.

You straighten up in your seat, breathing a deep sigh discontentedly. You'll need your wits about you to get through this meeting.

“Beetlejuice,” you greet flatly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“There she is! My sister from another mister, back from the world of the living.” 

Beetlejuice rises out of the seat with a dramatic clap of his hands and comes around to lean against the desk, facing you. He opens his arms grandly as though he were asking for a hug. You stare at him, unamused and unmoving. 

“What?” he lowers his arms in mock hurt. “No hug for your big bro? Ouch. That’s cold.” 

You roll your eyes at his childish antics, not in the mood to entertain him. You were having a wonderful time messing with the neighbour’s dogs back home. Humans placed so much trust in their pets to protect them from the unseen. It had quickly become one of your favourite pastimes to torment the annoying pair of huskies that kept up the entire neighbourhood at night. 

“Alright. I get it. You’re all business, no fun, you know that? I think you could learn something from dear ol’ Bob.” Beetlejuice gestures through the blinds toward the office space on the other side of the window, where Bob and the other shrinkers are dutifully taking calls. He’s upset for all three seconds before breezing past his dismay as though it never happened. 

“Anyway, I called you here because I have some good news. Charles is dead, and Lydia is coming home to me! Can you believe it?”

You arch a brow, leaning forward slightly, and a wicked grin curls Beetlejuice’s lips, exposing his mouldy, rotted teeth. 

This is news. 

In all the five years you’ve spent haunting the Deetz, formerly known as the Maitland, residence, you’ve never actually seen the family in person—or, phantasmal person. 

Not anyone besides Lydia anyway, whose photo Beetlejuice keeps on his desk at all times and who you have seen out in the wild a handful of times during the rare occasions Beetlejuice required your assistance in tormenting her. 

You obviously knew who the family was and what they looked like; newspapers continued to be delivered to the home every morning, and various members of the wealthy Deetz family often made the covers. Even without those current updates, you still had multiple photo albums and framed pictures carelessly discarded in the attic to study in your free time. 

“Interesting,” you murmur, a smile creeping up your face. You smell chaos on the horizon. As a human, you were never much for trouble, but with fragments of your soul slowly fading and Beetlejuice’s constant presence over the last years, chaos now seems to nourish you in the way food used to. “And what does this mean for me?” 

“I am so glad you asked, girlie!” 

Beetlejuice snaps once, and the scene around you changes instantly. The office walls disappear on all sides, and the floor opens up beneath you, swallowing you both.

When you blink again, you’re standing in the middle of a hoard of dressed-up teenagers. You are now wearing a ridiculous costume of a caricature you are unfamiliar with, while Beetlejuice is still wearing his pin-striped suit. Everyone passes through you without a second thought.

“Really? This?” you huff, sending the old man a scathing glare. “What the hell am I even wearing?”

Beetlejuice wraps an arm around your shoulders and brings you into a half hug, following the crowd into what seems like some sort of courtyard. You wrinkle your nose and nudge your face in the opposite direction of his. You’ll never get over how moss covers his skin and roaches crawl over him. 

“It’s Halloween season.” He replies cheerily. “Just thought you’d want to blend into the crowd and not stick out like a sore thumb, you know?”

“No one can even see me,” you grumble with a roll of your eyes. Your gaze sweeps across the heads of the flesh bags in front of you, then toward the stone building. “Wait… Where are we?”

Beetlejuice stops you by some iron gates, letting the teenagers pass you. “Why, this is my daughter’s school!” He grins, then turns to point out toward the courtyard. “And right over there is my beloved bride-to-be!” 

You follow the direction of his finger and sigh, your eyes fluttering closed in irritation. 

Sure enough, Lydia Deetz is only a few metres away, sitting on a stone bench in front of a fountain. At her side is who you can only assume is her daughter, a much more grown-up Astrid Deetz from the photos you’ve spent hours parsing through back home. She’s facing away from you and is facing her mother, but Lydia is in clear view of where you are. They seemed deep in earnest conversation, with Astrid’s voice rising irregularly. 

“Astrid Deetz is not your daughter, you freak,” you repeat for what must be the nth time. “Just because her father passed doesn’t mean she needs a new one.”

“Tomato-tomato.” Beetlejuice sighs dreamily, waving your words offhandedly. “Once I finally wed my woman, Lydia, she will be. I’ve come to terms with having a kid in the house. We’ll be a perfect family!”

“Right.” You shake your head, changing the subject before you get another migraine. You cannot explain to him why his delusions will never come true again. You just can’t! 

“So, why are we here, and what’s the plan?” you prompt impatiently.

“Oh, I just wanted to see Lydia and our daughter again.” 

You resist the urge to bash your head into the stone walls of the school. 

“The plan,” he rubs his palms together eagerly, turning to face you with a horrific smile, “is that you will scare away that placeholder of a flesh bag that hangs around Lydia. He’ll be coming to the house along with the Deetz’s, and you know I will need some alone time with my old woman.” 

“Riiiight.” You eye the bio-exorcist in front of you suspiciously. The plan seems simple enough, but nothing is ever simple with Beetlejuice, which makes you wary that there must be more he isn’t telling you. “And where’s the guy?”

Beetlejuice cranes his head, jabbing a finger toward a vehicle parked in the courtyard where a tall man with sunglasses is pacing around, a mobile phone attached to his ear. 

“Ew, him?” You’re not often surprised by things any more. Beetlejuice has taught you to expect the unexpected, but this time, you visibly recoil. “Lydia Deetz is with that man? I can tell he’s an ass just by the way that he stands.”

“He started as the manager of her show,” Beetlejuice growls, lips curling with disdain. Even his roaches scatter irritably beneath his suit. “Can you believe that? She is way out of his league.”

The irony of his words is not lost on you, but you bite your tongue to peer back at the Deetz women. Your eyes widen, and you turn back swiftly, ducking your head. Most people can’t see you, but Lydia Deetz is not most people. She’s the one person whose eye-line you’re supposed to stay out of. It’s in your contract. 

Fortunately, this ridiculous disguise Beetlejuice put you in has done its job. You doubt Lydia can focus on anything that isn’t Beetlejuice’s loud stripes. She seems to be extra sensitive to his presence. 

“Uh, BJ?” You jab your elbow into his side, gesturing with your chin back toward the Deetzs. “Lydia is looking over here. I think she just saw you.”

Beetlejuice spares a look over his shoulder to confirm and grins mischievously. He did that on purpose. 

“Time for us to go. We ought to get you home so you can receive my girls later.” 

Lydia is rubbing her fist furiously into her eyes when Beetlejuice snatches your arm, and the scene around you changes again. 

A second later, Lydia looks up again, eyes wide and mouth agape. She shakes her head, unable to make sense of the sighting even as Astrid angrily gets up, gesturing wildly in front of her. 

You’re standing by the attic window when the Deetz’s sleek black Tesla rolls into the driveway. 

Beetlejuice is long gone at this point.

By now, the sun has long hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. The sky turned a lovely indigo as the moon illuminated the rolling hills behind the home. The moonlight makes the house seem ghostly glowing with its pure white exterior and elevated height on the hill. 

After Beetlejuice brought you back home hours earlier, he instructed you to keep an eye on Lydia and do whatever possible to keep her boyfriend away from her until he could return.

“I have nether-world business to take care of,” Beetlejuice had told you, rolling his shoulders smoothly. “Left Bob in charge, it’s good for his self-esteem, you see, but you know how it goes. Without the head honcho,” he gestured toward himself, “the family business will fall apart. I’ll probably be back in a few days. I’ll let you know if plans change. Take care of my girls, will you?”

Then, he disappeared in a plume of black, smelly, probably toxic smoke. A flyer for his bio-exorcism and newly established match-making cupid business fluttered to the ground in his wake and landed at your feet. 

“Ew,” you muttered to yourself upon reading the flyer. “Who’s going to fall for that?” 

You tossed the page behind you with a roll of your eyes, letting it land wherever, and waited. 

And waited. 

Waited. 

Until finally…

Delia Deetz leads the two younger Deetz women through the door, letting it fly open noisily and slam against the interior wall. 

From what you’ve heard, she never did have much respect for the residence, even after all of the interior changes she made throughout the years. 

You cringe, feeling somewhat bad for the house. It’s not the same as the one you grew up in with your parents, but you’ve become attached to it nonetheless. 

Can anyone blame you? It’s been almost exclusively yours for the better part of five years. 

Astrid brings up the rear of the three women and slams the door shut behind her, making the door rattle in its hinges. You can feel its vibrations even up here in the attic. You click your tongue disapprovingly. The lock to the front door clicks shut as the tall, dark-haired man you’d seen earlier with Lydia at the school clambers up the porch to rattle the doorknob. 

You bark a laugh, watching the ridiculous man go around the side of the porch to knock on the glass windows, desperate to get someone’s attention from inside.

“Interesting,” you note to yourself, biting your lip mischievously. “It seems like Lydia can’t be bothered with her so-called boyfriend. And Astrid clearly dislikes the man. This should be fun…” 

You step away from the window just as the door opens, and the male scrambles inside, the different voices of the women inside carrying out into the night. 

[avocadoraisin]

politely slipping you a note.with pallas cat hoffman written on it

ive seen other people draw him as a pallas' cat and i must say, I agree

[jennilah]

for the ask game: tinycas. i know the story is done and everything but it will always love on in my heart and you will always remind me of it /pos

wahhh!! I cant BELIIIIEVE how many people from that era have stuck around, through every wacky new interest ive gotten into

but gosh, its been almost 6 years since i wrapped up that blog, which felt like a lifetime ago. and I remember it was not easy to run!!! but I was really proud of what I accomplished with it

it wasnt an official comic per se, but it almost felt like it. like, a sunday "funnies" in the newspaper type deal to try to keep up with, while also kind of somewhat maintaining a coherent plotline with different arcs and developments and stuff.

for YEARS!!

in college lmao!! (for the most part)

storytime...

omg. enough time has passed. some people were outrageously entitled and made running that thing STRESSFULLLLLLL sometimes! Thank god I let most of it roll off my back!

i remember someone once accused me of... idk.. lying? because I announced a small hiatus for finals or something, and I committed the crime of playing Undertale instead of drawing more Tinycas. LMFAO (during a christmas or spring break or something too)

but, the funniest series of anons i ever got that I showed all my friends, was 1 person completely incorrectly assuming the ending of the finale (of the blog) before it was even posted, and got pissed at ME for what they THOUGHT i was going to do.

they thought Cas was gonna stay small forever as some kind of moral lesson. because the ending was queued out in parts to make it a bit of an "event" with cliffhangers, every day, they would send a new paragraph-long Anon being like "I swear to fucking god if you go through with this plotline..."

and I couldnt just respond and be like "fucking chill, thats not the ending I wrote, havent you heard of suspense? just be patient" without vaguely spoiling the ending for everyone.

and the day BEFORE THE GRAND FINALE REVEAL THAT CAS WAS, AS THEY HOPED, RETURNED TO NORMAL SIZE, they were like "Sigh... You really are going to keep him small... I'm so disappointed in you... I'm leaving right now and never coming back"

and they did not, in fact, ever come back to apologize for being a nitwit LMAO

Anyway. I really do consider TinyCas to be a positive impact in my life, but oh my goodness do people get rabid when they feel like theyre owed something. even if its a completely free passion-project by a college kid

[theonethinginlife]

Just realized that Carisi must of felt little awkward at Jesse's 2nd b-day party. Cause you know, given the timeline where 19x08 was, the date was close 😳. My headcanon is Rollins kissed him on his cheek when he was the last one to leave the apartment. And by the next day everything went back to normal 👏

......And then in a few years they get married and are happily expecting a new baby and their family will be 5 people and a dog ❤️

and GODAMNITT CAN PEOPLE MOVE ON FROM INTENT!!!! (Saw your post on Twitter and felt the need to share my feelings as well on the topic with you, but in a general matter on what happened since then)

Like what Fin said at the end of the episode in 24x20:

"This heartbreak thing, you'll get over it. And if you live your life right, you're going to get your heart broken more than once." - a very good life advice

Carisi got over his heartbreaks in 19 & 20, and he still got the girl in the end.

Rollins got over her rape, learned to love herself and accept her feelings to let herself love and be loved by a nice guy who stayed by her side no matter what. She got over her heartbreaks in 21 & 22 and still got the guy in the end. (she knew about Nicole and was hiding the pain without question, that's my headcanon)

It's the part of life to go through hardships and heartbreaks. That's the price of it. It's harder to live, but easier to die. And honestly, not every love story can be all sunshine and rainbows. And Rollisi has gone through a couple of hardships and still got their happy ending and that was build on trust and respect they have for one another from 6-7 years before that day on the Hudson.

The truth is all that hate should be placed on Chernuchin for all that pain in Season 19 & 20. He's the ONLY person I'm blaming. He ruined Rollins in 19x18.

I'm sure Sonny had a lot of moments like that, because Amanda definitely liked him and was giving signals that she did without really knowing she was doing it, because her understanding of what to do for a healthy relationship was so warped.

We definitely would've gotten canon Rollisi earlier if Chernuchin hadn't come along, and the thought haunts me sometimes--though I adore how they got together in canon.

[spaghettiposts]

How do you feel about men writing for Jenna Ortega?

I feel like I don’t care. In short. I don’t care what your gender is, you’re writing amazing products and I’m eating them up. That’s what matters to me. I don’t like the idea of gatekeeping, and in the words of Chef Gusteau; anyone can cook. And believe me, the men are cooking 🔥🔥🔥

You can’t stop writing, it’s an art, why would you want to? It just brings us back into their full circle of problematic hate. Repressing someone for creating beautiful content isn’t valid whatsoever. Hating on someone without a reason besides “they just ruin everything.” Isn’t a valid reason. If you’re gonna hate on someone, you better have a good reason for it and not generalize the selected target for your hate.

I see this problem where women complain in the fan fiction committee that men over sexualize characters and the hypocrisy could not be more insane. I, a woman, constantly see characters such as the aforementioned Jenna, Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff being oversexualized CONSISTENTLY by my own community of women. Therefore I don’t see it as a valid reason when every time I look at the x reader tags I see the kinkest shit ever, written by a woman.

Your brain is built to understand when a problem is a real problem. Men wanting to read fanfiction or write it, is not a problem. If you can’t understand that, it’s just a skill issue atp 🤷‍♀️

[letorip]

can u give us a summary of kiss with a fist 4 without spoiling?

lol... here's a spoiler

kiss with a fist [iv]

"you smashed a plate over my head, then I set fire to our bed"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: just as things begin to complicate even more between you and tara, her life becomes even more complicated

warnings: blood, angst, curse words, kissing, borderline sexual content

word count: 4.2k

A/N: i contemplated doing this in so many ways and i ended up thinking it was just funnier if i answered with the literal story. so... it was at least funny to me. it's shorter than normal, just because i didn't want to split up an action scene that'll take place next time, so expect a much longer part next time.

===+++===

===+++===

You didn’t like police stations very much, and you weren’t exactly doing a good job of keeping it hidden. Your knee bounced against the dusty linoleum in a quiet tapping noise, and although you yourself couldn’t hear it with the endless amount of phones ringing and shouting down the hall, Tara clearly could.

Her head rested on your shoulder, where you had slumped, and she placed a hand right upon your knee, stopping it from bouncing anymore. Her dark eyes looked up at you. “You’re making me even more nervous.”

“Sorry,” you rushed, quick to pull your knee away from her hand.

Tara frowned, looking back down to the tiling. “Of course this had to happen.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What do you mean?” She shrugged, and you had to nudge her gently. “Tara?”

“Nothing,” she murmured. "Just Sam's license and her getting attacked at the bodega... I wasn't there, (Y/n)."

"You couldn't have known," you said, frowning at her. "Everyone thought all the 'Stab' shit was over."

"Yeah," Tara scoffed. "Mindy always says lightning doesn't strike twice, but I'm starting to wonder if that's really true."

"Or maybe it's just a crazed copycat. There's no way of knowing it's actually after you yet."

"That's not what Sam'll say." She had an uncharacteristic look of defeat in her eyes that you hadn't seen before. Tara was a spitfire, even to Sam. But she looked beside herself, wallowing against the soft fabric of your jumper. "Sam'll say that Ghostface is back. That we need to leave."

"Maybe she's right," you shrug.

"Maybe," Tara said. "But I don't want to go. I don't want to leave. I want to live, but... if it's not him, I can't just keep living my life on the run from whoever's chasing me. That means Amber won."

"Amber?"

"Yeah... Amber. Amber Freeman. She was my, uh, girlfriend."

"Oh," you frown. Tara's dark eyes looked up at you, nervously watching your reaction.

"Yeah... and she was Ghostface."

"Oh," you repeated. Tara never spoke about her much, and neither had the rest of the core four, really. It had never really dawned on you to ask, just because it seemed important to Tara, and for the longest time, what was important to her wasn't important to you. "Are you still nursing that wound?" you asked.

She smiled, but it did not reach the corners of her eyes. "Sometimes. It feels weird since she almost killed me, but there are times I really miss her. Grief demands to be felt, and all."

"Even if it's a murderous psychopath?" you asked with a smile.

"Yeah," she snorted, turning her head on your shoulder. "Even if it's a murderous psychopath." Then, she grew serious. "We should probably talk about last night, right?"

You froze, swallowing what felt like a lump in your throat. "Uh, now?"

"Well, it's just, I kind of felt something... I don't know. I know we said this was fake and all, and I don't know if you have your eye on anyone else right now," Tara began to ramble, "so if you do, don't feel pressured to agree to anything. I know I kind of made a messy situation out of this, and I don't even know where to go--"

But she was interrupted by the door down the hall opening. It was loud enough that your attention was pulled towards it, and through it came a woman with a stack of files in her arm. She smiled warmly at Tara, walking right over, and Tara seemed to recognise her, sitting up in her chair.

The warmth on your chest where her head had been was gone in an instant, and you would have been lying if you said you hadn't selfishly begun to miss it.

"Tara, right?" the woman asked with a smile, and Tara nodded, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and an underlying suspicion. But the woman just gave her a gentle smile.

"Kirby," she said, extending her arm out for a handshake. "Kirby Reed. I used to go to high school with Sam, and now I'm with the FBI."

Your eyes widened. If the FBI were now involved with the case, it was definitely not a good sign. You felt Tara's hand go to yours, squeezing it. If you were to ask her about it, she'd likely say it was to calm the nervousness you hadn't been able to hide on your face, but you knew that it was to steady herself, if anything.

"FBI?" Tara asked. "So it's really him?"

Kirby frowned. "I'm hoping it's some copycat, but from what I've seen so far, I'm not too sure. Is Sam still back there being questioned?"

Tara nodded, grimacing. "Apparently, both of us are people of interest. Our roommate's dad is on the case."

"Well," Kirby said, "I'll see if I can help him." She turned to you. "And who's this?" she asked.

"Uh--" you started, but Tara shook her head, interrupting.

"--(Y/n) isn't involved," she glared, defending you with a ferocity in her voice.

Kirby gave you a look over. "Are you sure? I don't mean to disrespect either of you, but are you sure you can trust them, Tara? It's never who you expect."

Tara nods. "I know they're not Ghostface. (Y/n) wouldn't lie."

(Y/n) wouldn't lie. The sentence made you sick to your stomach. You could see Calvin in your mind, laughing at how you got yourself into this situation. Alisha would've found it funny, too. You swallowed, standing up from the chair. You smiled weakly at Tara. "It's okay, Tar. I'll go home... just let me know if you need to leave... for the... uh, arrangement, or whatever."

She nodded, mouth drawn into a line. "Yeah... see you later... Duck," she said, trying equally as hard to smile. You turned around, walking out.

===+++===

You had pretty much collapsed into bed, the moment you got home. It had been an exhausting few hours, what with finishing your model and then rushing with Tara to the police station. Your final class of the semester was later in the day, so you would take any sort of sleep you could get.

And the sleep you took, waking up a few hours later with mussed-up hair and a final to get over and done with. You grabbed the model and your backpack, heading for the train station, and finally checking your phone for the first time in a little while.

Little Shit (do not pick up): mindy wants everyone at the park later, after your final

Little Shit (do not pick up): good luck with that, btw

Little Shit (do not pick up): also we should still probably talk about last night i didn't get to finish earlier

You gave a thumbs-up to the first message, and quickly typed back a thanks, before tucking it into your pocket. The critique was boring, but you couldn't help but feel yourself swell with pride when your professor complimented the small amount of green space you had put within the actual walls of the building. It had been Tara's idea, and you reminded yourself to thank her later. Now all you had to do was go to Mindy's weird meeting, and you could begin your break.

The group was sitting on a group of benches near the green, with Mindy hovering over them, her arms crossed. When she saw you coming, she raised her eyebrow at you in suspicion. You rolled your eyes, coming to sit down next to where Tara had saved you a seat.

She sent you a small smile when you did, weaving your fingers together. You knew that to the group she was just doing it because you and Tara were allegedly a couple, but just to you it felt like so much more than that.

And it made you feel a little bit sick, again.

"How'd your final go?" she asked, and it made your heart stop for a moment, the way her warm brown eyes looked in the soft sunlight. You shrugged, but could not stop the smile spreading itself on your face.

"The professor liked your idea."

"Really?!" she asked, sounding super excited, and you nodded. "Well now who's silly, for telling me it was a bad idea?"

"Well because it is a silly idea, genuinely who would think of that."

"I would. It isn't silly, it's cool."

"I'm afraid cool doesn't always work, Tara."

"It did this time," she said smugly, sticking her tongue out at you. You rolled your eyes, knowing but not hating that she'd be gloating about it for weeks.

"Lovebirds, cut the chit-chat," Mindy shot, glaring in your direction, and Tara huffed in annoyance but begrudgingly turned towards her. "Now, as terrifying as it all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time."

"Mindy," Sam chided, arms crossed over her chest.

"Right, sorry," she said. "The way I see it, someone’s out to make a sequel to the requel."

"What’s a requel?" Anika asked, leaning forward as if trying to understand her girlfriend's antics. You didn't know either.

"You’re beautiful, sweetie, but let’s hold questions to the end," Mindy teased.

From next to you, Tara looked more worried. "Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro, but Stab 2 took place in college…"

Sam tensed. "So you think the killer’s copying the second movie?"

"Like a homage!" Chad suggested, looking proud of himself. The rest of the group shot him a look. "What? You all I know took French, it should not be a surprise that I know that word."

"Just a little bit," Tara teased. He sent her a small smile, one that you knew came from his massive crush on her. It only made you feel a bit worse about the both of you.

"That’s one possibility," Mindy said, nodding at the suggestion. "Heroes now in college? Check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and/or body count?" she looked at you, Ethan, Quinn, and Anika. "Check, check, check, and check."

"I really don't like this," Ethan said.

"But it can’t only be about Stab 2," Mindy continued. Tara's eyebrows furrowed.

"Why not?" she asked.

Mindy had a glint in her eye. "It would make sense if this were just a sequel. But we’re not in a sequel, because nobody just makes sequels anymore."

"So what is it?" you asked, deciding to bite on her theory.

"We’re in a franchise. And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise," she replied.

Sam sighed. "I had a feeling."

But Mindy wasn't deterred. "Now, rule one: everything is bigger than last time. Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count; longer chases, shoot-outs, beheadings- you gotta top what came before to keep people coming back."

"Beheadings?" Chad asked, taking notes.

Next to him, Ethan looked rather lost. Quinn and Anika looked just as confused. You were glad you weren't the only one lacking a real understanding of how the core four operated. They had earned a right to be a little nuts after surviving Woodsboro, that you knew. But the whole thing seemed a bit conspiratorial.

"Rule Two, whatever happened before, expect the opposite. Franchises only survive by subverting expectations; if the killers last time were whiny snowflake film nerds with Letterboxd accounts instead of personalities, you can bet the opposite will be true here." It was hard to absorb these things laid out as facts, and you struggled to follow Mindy's train of thought, sending Anika a wary glance. She just shrugged.

Tara noticed your confusion, sending a small squeeze to your hand and mouthing the word 'later.' You nodded, turning your attention back to Mindy, attempting to do your best to listen.

"And Rule Three, no one is safe. Legacy characters are cannon fodder at this point, usually brought back only to be killed off in some cheap bid for nostalgia. Sidney’s smart to sit this one out, but it’s not looking too good for Gale and Kirby. And that’s not even the worst part."

"There's a worst part?" You asked. Mindy nodded, smirking.

"The worst part is franchises are just continuing episodic instalments designed to boost an IP, which means the main characters are completely expendable now too. Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson, Ellen Ripley, Jigsaw, Tony Stark, James Bond, even Luke Skywalker all died so their franchises could live on. That means it’s not just the friend group, any of us could go at any time, especially Sam and Tara."

You sent Tara a wary look at the suggestion, leaning harder against her. She tried to send you a small smile to comfort you, but it did little to stop the thought coming to your mind. You were cursed, that much was true from the sheer amount of grief that seemed to permeate around your family. It was a bad idea, to get so close to Tara, and that you knew. But it didn't stop the fact that you had a near electric desire to do so whenever she was nearby.

"Wait, any of us? Am I in the friend group?" Ethan asked, beginning to panic. "Am I one of the targets? Am I gonna die a virgin?"

"Um," Mindy started, blinking. "Weird overshare, but at least that brings us to our current suspects." Her gaze steeled over.

"Ethan. The shy dorky guy who no one suspects, because he’s so shy and dorky." Next to him, Chad shot him a more assessing glance.

"Why am I on the list? Because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate?!" Ethan asked, raising his voice.

"Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could have fixed it to get next to us," Mindy shot back, crossing her arms in increased suspicion. She turned to Quinn. "Quinn. The slutty roommate. A horror movie classic."

"Sex positive," Quinn corrected, "but thank you."

"And how did you come to live with Sam and Tara?" Mindy asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I answered their ad online--" Quinn started, and Mindy scoffed, raising her hand up.

"Say no more, you’ve already implicated yourself enough. 'Ad online,' good lord."

"Mindy, it was an anonymous ad, and you know we vetted her, plus her Dad’s a cop," Tara interjected.

"Tara, Tara, Tara," Mindy said, shaking her head. "Cop Dad? That's a great cover. Don't you get that's how these movies would work? Speaking of, while we're on Tara," she continued, turning to you.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi (Y/n)," she replied, smiling. It dropped to a frown. Tara's grip on your hand tightened. "(Y/n). The enemies-to-lovers, quippy 'annoyance' one of our main characters has incredible sexual tension with."

"Ew," Sam shuddered.

"Ew indeed," Mindy agreed. "Never trust the love interest." She looked over to Anika, who was smiling at her girlfriend. "Ever." Anika's face fell.

"Okay. So we’ve got our rules, and we’ve got our suspects," Sam huffed.

"Wait- what about the rest of you?" Ethan interrupted.

"I mean, I think it’s safe to rule out the four of us who went through this last year in Woodsboro," Mindy shrugged.

"Agreed," Chad nods.

"Um, not agreed. Maybe the trauma of what you went through caused one or more of you to snap," Quinn suggested, playing with the nail polish on her fingers.

"Or the fame you got from the killings made you thirsty for more! Ethan jumped in again. "And, let’s be honest, some of those theories online about Sam are--"

Tara sends him a death glare. "Don'y you fucking dare finish that sentence."

"He’s right, though. Face facts. If we’re all suspects? You’re all suspects," Anika shrugs.

You sent a wary look around at everyone and then another look back down to Tara, wondering which one would hurt her, and just how you'd be able to stop it.

===+++===

That night was the first night in a while nothing was expected of you, but you couldn't find it in yourself to actually relax. Mindy's monologue about how royally bloody fucked everything was now that Ghostface was officially back had set you a bit on edge, and part of you couldn't help but blame yourself.

You had thought the curse would get left behind in Nebraska, when you left, but it seemed maybe you had taken it with you, packed with your belongings. Maybe it was now affecting the person you had wished to protect from any harm. It still felt miraculous, just how Tara had wormed her way from your shit list to deep within your heart. Maybe that was the curse. Someone who could make you so annoyed could also make you feel like your heart was skipping beats.

You coped with the extreme worrying through a cooked meal and TV binge, flopping down on the couch and turning your ringer on, in case you were needed. You knew that Sam and Tara were likely preparing for the worst, and you also knew that you had been included on the list of suspects.

Maybe none of them rightfully believed you had it in you, but you also knew that even being a possibility meant that the core four had to keep you at arm's length for a while.

Or, at least, that's what you figured they'd do.

Right as the episode you were watching began to roll credits, you heard a hard knock on the door, freezing. Mindy had said something in a text, telling you to be cautious of opening doors when no one was scheduled to come over. You shot a wary look to your magnetic strip of knives, hanging over the hotplate. If you were just fast enough, maybe you could grab a knife or two, if Ghostface busted the door in. There was usually a phone call, wasn't there? Then why--

"(Y/n)?" Tara called, giving a hard knock. You felt your cheeks flush. Oh. You dashed to the door, not wanting to leave her on the step for too long.

When you opened it, you could see that Tara's own cheeks were flushed, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

"Did you run here???" you asked, raising your eyebrows.

"Uh...maybe," Tara said, suddenly finding the hallway outside of your flat much more interesting.

"I thought Sam would have you under lock and key," you teased.

"I snuck out..." Tara said, cheeks flushing again, but this time not from the run.

"Oh, so I'm harbouring a criminal?" you joked. Tara rolled her eyes, groaning.

"Can I just come in?"

"Do you trust me to do that?" you asked, curious. "I understand if you say no, believe me I get it. If I had been attacked or anything, especially by my girlfriend, I wouldn't trust anyone for a long time..."

Tara watched you ramble speak, eyes wide and dark and beautiful in the dim hall light. "I trust you... and I, uh, want some small amount of normalcy, like it was at the lab. Before everything got so weird, you know?"

You nodded, stepping aside for her to enter and then freezing. "Wait, Tara, what happened to your hand?"

You hadn't noticed until now, but her knuckles on the other hand had been bruising a dusty purple colour, still red at the edges. You let the door shut behind you, turning to her hand and holding it up in the lamplight of your hall. "What happened?" you asked, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

Tara's cheeks flushed again. "I punched a bitch," she said flatly. Your eyes widened even more, and Tara was quick to shake her head. "Just Gale Weathers. She wrote, uh, a whole book on Woodsboro. Called Sam a bunch of bad stuff. She actually was outside the station with the news and stuff when Sam was questioned earlier today... so I punched her."

You snorted. "Judging by your hand you definitely got her."

"Oh absolutely," Tara scoffed, as if she was offended by a possibility that she hadn't.

"You should probably ice it," you said with a wince, looking at the bruised skin. She scoffed again.

"What're you, a doctor?"

You shrugged, leading her into your kitchen. "I was going to be."

"Oh," Tara hummed.

"Yeah... took one introductory class and realised I hated it. It sucks too, because I gave my parents this whole speech about how I wanted to be a doctor because of our family, and I dropped the profession about a month or two later afterwards."

"Is that why you and your dad don't talk much?" she asked. "Is he a doctor?"

"No," you said, shaking your head. It was an amusing suggestion. "About as far as you could get from it, actually. But no, it isn't why we don't really talk." You didn't say any more on the subject, even though you could tell that Tara was curious. "We should really get you iced up, your hand is swollen, I can't believe you didn't show me this earlier."

She rolled her eyes. "You're acting like my parent again."

"I'm just worried about you, Tara," you said, shooting her a meaningful look. She was staring up at you with those damn eyes again like you held her heart in your hands. "I mean, come on, let's just put a bag of ice on it or something, or--"

But before you could finish what you were suggesting, Tara interrupted you, throwing her arms around your neck and standing up on her toes. "Is this okay?" she whispered, voice low. It flooded your ears and squeezed the air from your lungs, just how close her lips were from yours.

You can't help the small nod, or the way you're probably dumbly staring at her mouth right now, but her eyes are warm and inviting, and your hands find their way to her waist, palming at the exposed skin of her cropped shirt with your thumbs. "I've, uh, kind of wanted to do this for weeks," Tara admits with a small grin. The words spin around and around in your mind like you're on some carousel of thought.

If you could have formed words, you would have told her the truth: you had wanted to kiss her since she walked in the room and you saw her for the first time. But you can't. So instead, you crash your lips onto hers.

Tara doesn't hesitate even a little bit, wrapping her arms around your neck and falling off her toes as she kisses you back with fervour. You follow her down, working your lips against hers as her hands give up on your neck and instead move to spread themselves out on the warm apples of your cheeks.

You're taken over by some other, hungry entity entirely, and you lift Tara up onto the kitchen counter, into the exact same place she was sitting when she asked you for help with this stupid scheme. It doesn't matter now, you're too lost in her lips. You feel her tongue push past and into your mouth, and her hands travel up your back to spread out against the back of your shirt and pull you against her.

You can't help the groan that escapes your mouth, and you feel Tara's teasing smile against your lips as she breathes in your smell. Your hands are still on her waist, sliding up so that your thumbs gently brush against the bottom of her bra. She shudders at the sensation, opening her mouth wider, and you can taste the lingering cherry of her chapstick on her lips.

Neither of you is especially sure how long you stay there, but when you finally have to pull away, you're scrambling for air. You lazily let your forehead rest against hers, catching your breath and struggling to stay on your feet. Tara lets her hands wander from your back into your hair, exploring the planes of your body for the first time, and you can't stop the small comment that worms its way from your mouth after.

"Exploring the merchandise?" you ask with a teasing, breathless laugh. Tara shakes her head, finally opening her eyes and looking up at you with that same damn beautiful look.

"You should come stay with me and the others. It's safer that way," she says, becoming worried again. Her hands rest on your cheeks and she kisses you again, softer, but just as meaningful.

You painfully have to shake your head. "I can't, you know that."

"I won't be mad if you leave town," she says. "I won't hold it against you."

You smile. "I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere, Tara."

She nods, processing it, before crashing her lips back onto yours and tugging at the bottom of your shirt, but you catch her hands before she can tug it over your head. "No, Tara- Tara wait."

"I want you," she says.

"I know, but we should wait," you say, hands on the side of her thighs. "Wait until it's over. Right now, Ghostface is more important."

"He gets everything, (Y/n). I just want this. I want you. I know we did this whole thing about fake dating, and I know it wasn't real, but I realise that I want it to be. I just want you."

There's a burning in your stomach, burning for her, and you pull her in for another kiss. Only to be stopped by the sound of your door creaking open.

You freeze and so does Tara at the noise. "(Y/n)?" she asks, trembling. "Did you lock your front door?"

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN catch you all next time for a big ole action sequence and a whole bunch of drama

[theslasherwife]

Jenna!!!!!

here's a jenna doodle i never posted :)

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.3

Summary: You've got detention, and Wednesday decides to pay you a visit.

Word Count: 3k Warnings: swearing, mentions of injury Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist) A/N: This is simply a repost. The original part 3 disappeared somewhere, but here it is once again!

There was still an ache in your shoulder when you sat down in your phytotoxicology class. It was decently scabbed (which was beyond itchy) but the actual joint was sore. You had hoped it would ease up a bit over the weekend, but to no avail. Hopefully no one had really noticed your stiff movements. But hey, at least you were left handed.

“You look miserable,” Wednesday said as she sat to your left.

“Shut up, Addams,” you mumbled.

Enid sat behind the two of you, her eyes glued to where your hands were resting on the desk. If you just moved your hand a few inches to the left. And if you could talk just a little louder so she could hear, that would be great. She needed to know what you two were talking about. If it wasn’t about a date then she was going to scream. She just wanted you both to get over yourselves.

Class went on as usual; Enid was forced to bear witness to you doodling in Wednesday’s notebook, completely interrupting her notes. In turn, Wednesday would add rather… violent attachments to your initial drawing, and the cycle would continue. She couldn’t see your face, but your shoulders would shake with silent laughter every few doodles. You were both so close.

“Miss Y/N?”

Your head snapped up, turning toward the front where Miss Thornhill was standing with an expectant look.

“Adonis vernalis,” you said proudly without hesitation.

“Not even close,” Miss Thornhill said with a smile while everyone failed to stiffle their giggles. “See me after class.”

“Aw man,” you mumbled as you slumped back into your seat. All that pep in your step had been washed away.

Quite frankly, Enid thought it was hilarious.

She rushed to catch up with Wednesday as you stayed behind to talk to Miss Thornhill. For such a small person, Wednesday could move really fast. It was starting to become an issue because Enid was not dressed for jogging across campus. God, why couldn’t she just slow down?

“It seems it’s impossible to get away from you,” Wednesday said when Enid finally caught up; she slowed her pace anyway.

“Did you-”

“-No, and I’m not going to,” Wednesday interrupted.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Enid pouted.

“You were going to ask if I have asked Y/N on a date, and the answer is no.”

“Then I give up,” Enid said as she threw her hands into the air. “You two are far too stubborn. Enjoy the friendzone.”

She stalked off, trying not to smile to herself when she noticed Wednesday had stopped walking. With any luck, her plan would work splendidly and you would both be together before Parent’s Weekend in a month. It may have taken her a little longer than planned to come up with such a genius idea, but it was going to be worth it.

——

It was truly a beautiful day to be outside. Overcast skies, a cool breeze, potential for rain. Not the best day to fly, but a wonderful time to walk around. Maybe you could stop by the lake, tease the monsters below the surface. At least you would if you weren’t stuck in the greenhouse.

Miss Thornhill was truly, and you meant this with the utmost respect, a bitch. So maybe you didn’t pay attention in class, and maybe you got a bunch of questions wrong. But that’s what she got for calling on you in class. Had you raised your hand? Had you given any indication whatsoever that you knew the answer? No. So really, this was on her.

And now you were stuck in the stupid greenhouse having to jot down sketches of each plant, their scientific name, and what symptoms they cause if ingested or inhaled. You had only finished maybe a third of the greenhouse and it was already midafternoon. You were never going to be done with this stupid detention.

You didn’t even like plants.

“You look miserable.”

“There’s more than one way to greet a person, you know,” you said without turning around.

Wednesday slid into your peripheral like a wisp of smoke; she always moved smoothly even though she appeared so rigid. Her coat hung off her small frame, and the snood Enid had made her only accentuated that by swallowing what little of her remained. She was reminiscent of the little kids at the park in winter; their parents had bundled them up in the warmest clothing they could find in the house.

“Just let me finish my detention, Addams,” you mumbled as you jotted down another sketch. It wasn’t half bad, actually.

For better or worse, Wednesday stayed silent as you moved around the greenhouse, assigned sketchbook in hand. There was no doubt you were getting 90% of the names wrong, and you were just writing “it’s bad :(“ under the list of symptoms at this point, but you didn’t care. This kind of detention was stupid. Besides, it was a Saturday; you should’ve been out getting coffee or harrassing everyone at Pilgrim World, not sitting in a humid greenhouse practicing your art skills. But no, now you were stuck here and- oh that plant is pretty.

“Don’t touch it,” Wednesday said rather quickly as you reached out to touch the flower.

“Why not?” You asked in indignation, finally turning around to see her. Oh, she’s cute.

“It’s a foxglove,” she answered.

“Wednesday,” you sighed, “if I knew what that meant, I wouldn’t be in here on a Saturday afternoon.”

“It’s toxic to birds.” She rolled her eyes at your incompetence.

“Oh, well thank- wait.” You narrowed your eyes at her and the smallest movement at the corner of her mouth. “I’m not a bird and you know it.”

“You can never be too sure,” she said without hesitation.

“Oh, you’re a prick,” you huffed out. You had to turn back to look at the plants again so she wouldn’t see your poor attempts at not laughing. “Why are you even here?”

“I brought you this.”

She brought me something? You thought. Well know she was just getting desperate if she was going to be bringing you things. You set your sketchpad down on the table, in front of the foxglove that Wednesday claimed to be toxic to birds. What had she brought you-

“-What is that?” You asked once your eyes landed on the small bag in her hands.

“Birdseed,” she said. “It’s a bribe.”

“That better not be for me or I will get offended,” you said, switching your weight to your other foot and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’re going birdwatching with me.” She rolled her eyes but held the bag out further for you to take from her.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” You asked.

Wednesday Addams did not blush, that was a well known fact. Not a drop of colour would be found on her cheeks, ever. But that didn’t mean she was emotionless; you could tell when the stretch of skin over her cheeks and nose turned a little darker. It was the closest to an uncontrollable show of emotion as she was ever going to get.

And you were absolutely living for it.

“Are you coming or not?” Wednesday asked, completely ignoring your question for clarification.

You wanted her to admit it was a date. Wanted her to swallow her pride and say the word “date” because it’s just what you needed. There was no way in hell you were going to ask first, not when she had always been so clear about her thoughts on what a waste of time relationships were. “Look at my parents,” she had said one night, “limited because they can’t go anywhere alone.”

But you needed her to call it a date. Your hopes were embarrassingly high and you just needed her to say that four letter word. It could only be once and you would be happy. If she called it a date once and then never again until the day you died, you would be content. Just say the word, you thought to yourself as she finally turned her head back around to face you.

“Fine,” Wednesday sighed, “I’ll go on my own.” She turned around and started walking away.

“Wait!” You called after her. She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

You looked around frantically for the rest of your things. What if Miss Thornhill showed up and realised you were gone? And worse yet, what if she realised you sucked at detention? She was going to tell Principle Weems and then you would get another scolding. But pass up on a date with the Wednesday Addams?

Shit.

“You’re a bad influence, Wednesday Addams,” you huffed once you finally caught up to her and you both started walking out of the greenhouse.

You missed the small smile on her face.

——

For all intents and purposes, Wednesday did not like you. If anyone dared to ask, you were nothing more than a thorn in her side, and not in a good way. No, you weren’t as energetic and colourful as Enid, but you still smiled too much. You cracked too many jokes and made yourself too accomadating. Any normal person would have been embarrassed.

No, Wednesday Addams did not like you.

She did not like the way you had talked the whole way to your preferred spot in the forest. “It’s a bit late for birdwatching,” you had said on the walk over, “but it’s overcast, so it might be fine.” She did not like the way you actually took your harness off and ruffled your feathers. Or the way they puffed up a little, “because it’s cold,” you explained with a shrug and a blush on your neck. Then there was the way you were sat still as a statue, birdseed scattered around, just waiting for some birds to stop by.

No, she didn’t like you.

There were absolutely no feelings in her void of a soul when a bird finally did appear, standing directly in front of your outstretched hand. The gentle smile on your face was completely moronic. You would make an excellent side character in her book; the same character that would get herself killed off in the first chapter. Wednesday could see it now; you would be too focused at the park and would get yourself put on a hit list simply because you were an easy target.

She wouldn’t be caught dead watching your feathers ruffle when more birds appeared, flocking around you. Or listening intently to what you were saying to them, holding full conversations as they hopped around and picked at the birdseed you continuously scattered. No, she would not join you on the ground, she was just fine sitting with her back to the tree. And no she didn’t want to feed the birds, this is an outing for you, she’s just the chaperone.

Her cold, black heart did not stutter when the light caught your skin just right and illuminated the nearly-healed scrapes and bruises from your incident last week. Wednesday had always loved the colours of a bruise. The angry red reminiscent of a wound, or the healing yellow-green that was nearly the same as the colour of a waterlogged corpse. Although they didn’t look quite as stunning on you. For one odd reason or another, seeing the bruises and cuts on your skin, or the apparent stiffness of your joints brought no joy to her.

There is no way in heaven or hell that she would admit she watched you the way her father watched her mother. Watching your every move, from the rise and fall of your chest to the twitch in each individual feather. The way the veins on your forearms stood out when you lifted a bird up or the eyelash that now resided on your cheek that she so desperately wished to wipe off for you. Or that your small, airy little laugh made her feel like an arrow had impaled her heart and mind and soul, painfully tethering her to the tree she was leaning against.

No, she was not her father.

And no, she did not like you.

——

You looked like a little kid sitting in the chair on the other side of Larissa’s desk. With a bowed head and hands folded tightly in your lap, you reminded her of the young children in normal schools who got sent to the principle’s office for something they hadn’t done. Except you very well had done what you were accused of; maybe that was why you looked so guilty.

“Miss Thornhill told me you’ve been struggling in class,” Larissa started off. “You’re struggling to focus.”

“I’m just not any good at it,” you said with a shrug. You still weren’t looking up.

“She also told me you had been given detention last Saturday,” she continued; you sunk further into the chair. “And you were nowhere to be found when she went to check on you.”

“Wow, that’s wild,” you said with a huff. “She probably needs to check that her perscriptions are up to date,” you said, tapping your finger to the corner of your eye, “might need a better one.”

“Did you skip your detention?” Larissa asked, far softer than she would be with any other student.

“I didn’t “skip” detention,” you started. “I was there until around 3, I think that was punishment enough.”

“What came along that was more important than your detention?” Larissa continued to pry.

“A date,” you said so quietly that she almost couldn’t hear you.

“A date? With whom?” She asked with a small smile and in the gentlest voice she could offer you.

To most, it would be an inappropriate question. No one wanted their principle to know all the juicy details of their personal lives. But Larissa knew you both had a… slightly different relationship. She knew you struggled, you had been a student at Nevermore for nearly eight years; she knew what damage your personal life had inflicted upon you. For eight years she had been able to provide some sort of comfort, a surrogate parent of sorts, and she was doing her best to give you that space to be a normal teenager with a normal parent.

You had talked with her about these things before, it wasn’t like she was implying something out of nowhere. Larissa had been your shoulder to cry on through all of your family woes, your frustrations, your first heartbreak. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise for her to ask, even though you had initially been sent to see her because you had evaded your justly-deserved detention.

But instead of your usual excitement, Larissa noticed a glaze cover your eyes and your arms wrap tightly around yourself. She had seen you like this multiple times; you still refused to see a therapist about it. And as much as she wanted to go to you and comfort you, previous experience had told her you needed to feel it all before coming back to the present.

“Y/N?” She asked quietly, leaning over her desk to get closer to you without invading your space.

You blinked once, slowly, a single tear falling onto your quivering bottom lip. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip before your eyes opened. The haze took its time in fading from your usually sparkly eyes, but you looked up at Larissa as it diminished. One shuddering breath in, a shaky breath out, and your body fell into a relaxed state once again.

“Wednesday Addams,” you choked out around the sobs that you were shoving back down your throat. Your eyes flickered away from her at the admission.

“What did you both go do?” Larissa asked with a smile that you definitely saw this time.

There was a hesitancy on your face; your lips were parted slightly as if you were about to speak, and your eyes shone brightly, but the slight tilt of your head gave you away. You weren’t one to outwardly share your emotions, but your body langauge always gave you away. It brought a joy to Larissa that she had never understood was possible before you had come around.

“Well, she bought some birdseed-,” you started, immediately going off about the entire date.

Larissa leaned forward, completely enthralled with your tale. The way your hands gestured this way and that, the movements eloquent in their own right. Pianist’s fingers, she recalled. The inflection in your voice a mirror of your younger self, back when you had less worries. You’re excited, she thought with a soft sigh. You haven’t been excited in years.

“-and then Miss Thornhill saw me and sent me straight here,” you finished with a huff, clearly out of breath.

“Will you go on another one?” Larissa asked after you had caught your breath slightly.

“Well, I think it’s my turn to ask next,” you shrugged; there was a sparkle in your eye. “So yes.”

“Then you’d better go prepare.” Larissa sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “She set the bar pretty high, don’t you think?”

“Might find an autopsy she can watch,” you mused aloud as you pushed yourself off the chair. The stiffness of your injury had yet to ease, Larissa noticed as you essentially limped over to the doorway.

“Oh, Y/N,” she called out once you were halfway out the door.

“Yes ma’am?” You asked, leaning back into the office.

“You can make up your failed detention on Saturday,” she said with a smile that only got bigger as you groaned.

“This place is a fucking prison,” you grumbled as you walked away.

Larissa sat back in her chair and looked over toward the fireplace. Maybe, she thought, Addams won’t be so bad afterall.

[hislittleraincloud]

She posted a pic of her meeting David Byrne on her IG story

This one?

[karihighman]

SMITTY VS. RACOON 🦝🤣 who would win?!