Anagrams

[ the fanfiction that inspired this artwork ]

Morticia's hand doesn't move to reach the handle.

The car door opens anyway. Not quickly. But steadily. With assurance.

A small smile creeps to the corner of her lips, eyes closed as if in light meditation.

"Are you always accompanied by such... inclement weather conditions each time you choose to revisit this place?"

The voice enters the suede and brass-buttoned interior of the car’s body first. Followed by a gently extended hand, wrist adorned with a slim, black leather wristwatch. The square, polished silver face, similar to that of its owner.

Morticia's eyes lift open, sliding toward the world just outside of her metal carriage. To the voice just beyond the door's frame.

She slips a pale hand delicately over the extended palm. The ticking of the wristwatch keeps time with the raindrops drumming against the roof of the car.

"You speak so ill of it," Morticia smiles softly, her body exiting in one slow, fluid movement of black and silk. She fully rights herself, dark eyes peering up to meet the steely blue ones of the impossibly tall woman beside her. Her fingers still rest —hovering— within the woman's palm. Surprisingly warm against the cold bite under the damp air.

"I think it's a perfect day for a reunion."

The tall woman, fitting hardly beneath the large umbrella grasped in her opposite hand, sighs through her nose. It’s the sigh of someone who knows – with the only kind of knowing that comes from years of firsthand experience – that trying to disagree with this woman was a lost cause. As though years of her had made the raven-haired woman more predictable, and more infuriatingly so because of it. She did the least to hide the small smile that tugged at her mouth. She knew Morticia could see it anyway.

"Morticia," she nods, an acknowledgement rather than a greeting, decades in its making.

"Larissa." An equally small nod.

"Shall we?"

Morticia hums softly, her hand quietly slipping from Larissa’s and folding with the other in front of her as Larissa shifts her shoulder, just hardly, to put Morticia further beneath the umbrella’s cover.

They turn, both in unison, toward the climbing stone walls and twisting spires of the school; looking well like something from a gothic-era novel when placed against the dark grey sky and sporadic sheets of rain. The only thing truly missing is a jarring clap of thunder...

It doesn't come.

Larissa's fingers peel from the car door’s handle and find themselves ghosting near the small of Morticia's back —not touching— but simply... there. Like a breath being held. Guiding without touching. Bracing without tension. Civil by all appearances. Chivalrous, almost. The line that dares not to be crossed.

Still the same, I see, Morticia notices to herself, politely filing the gesture away so as to not draw any additional attention to it.

They begin their paces toward the large wooden doors, tandem sets of heels clicking damply over the cobblestones. The air feels tailored to such a scene: Crisp, unforgiving, honest in a way that only the cold can make bare. The rain doesn't seek to invade, but rather cloak. The density of the atmosphere dulls the outside world to a hush, like a conference room door shutting. Here, the world feels like it sits between cupped hands. The important and detailed things remain within while the rest simply stays out, somewhere beyond cold fingertips.

Larissa counts the steps without truly counting them. She moves with the assurance of someone who’s walked this exact path —from the front parking way, left of the fountain, up the twelve (thirteen if you count the unlucky half-buried first step that is certain to trip you if you walk up the rightmost side instead of the left), to the ancient wooden entrance doors that welcome visitors with two cold gargoyle knockers that haven’t actually been used as functional pieces of equipment in at least 20 years— thousands of times.

Her final two strides are slightly longer, using the full length of her legs to step just barely ahead of Morticia without breaking pace. She reaches the large doors first. Without missing a beat, she pushes down on the ancient handle to sweep them open. All while maintaining her natural height, the exact tilt of the umbrella over Morticia, and her own orientation out of the fall of the rain. There is not a single misstep or pause. Clean. Fluid. Professional.

Morticia enters, her head nodding subtly, courteously. Still the same. She waits until she has crossed Larissa to smile inwardly to herself.

Larissa holds the door – and her breath – as Morticia passes. Her height, she thanks, keeps her head higher and out of Morticia's line of sight. It is here, in that small blind window of space, that Larissa lets herself feel it:

The contrasting temperature of the outside air and that of Morticia's body near her. The smell of her – something ashen and woodsy with a hint of ancient herbs. Lavender or rose, usually. Morticia had always smelled like she had either stepped out of a recently-performed seance, or a centuries-old romance novel flower shop. In Larissa's experience, it was very likely for both to be true. 

She watches Morticia move, like the smoke of a gently blown candle. Graceful. Ethereal. Untouchable. Her dark hair, trailing like trickled ink down her shoulders, bleeding into the black of her dress. A shadow taking physical form.

She dares not to glance toward Morticia's face, though something in her chest and behind her eyes claws for her to. 

But Larissa knows. 

She's had her face memorized for years. She doesn't need to look to know the soft porcelain of her skin, or the darkness that swims in her eyes like an invitation to the abyss. Or the red of her lips, like the blood of an oath. The soft curl at their edges when she smiles. Like the curling of rose petals... The taste—

Larissa swallows hard. 

Then blinks even harder. 

Her fingers tighten on the handle of the umbrella and she quickly, without missing a beat —thank God— returns to the world around her, giving the umbrella a single, stern shake to rid its surface of any lingering water droplets before folding it closed.

Morticia doesn't stir at the sound it makes. The sharp snap of the material, almost as sharp as the line of Larissa's posture. She turns slightly, politely. Waiting for Larissa to finish with the umbrella and the door and the smoothing of her tailored coat collar. Morticia gathers the sights of the school around her: The unchanged architecture, the ancient smells, the way sound travels, skitters, and hides in between the stones of the walls, like secrets to the light.

But mostly, she gathers the sight of something else. 

Someone else, rather.

She watches from the corner of her eyes, shaded partly by her hair, as Larissa's long fingers work the umbrella into place. The way they glide with precision and waste no movement where it isn't needed. Two folds of the fabric. A single snap of the reining strap clasping into place. The soft click of the handle receding into its position of retire. Not a single ounce of anything is wasted in her motions. Controlled. Precise. Yet, delicate.

So... very... delicate…

They move to tuck the umbrella under her arm. Then to her hair. That platinum, perfectly manicured hair, twisting in soft swirls like piped buttercream in the tone of sunlight against her rich, sky-blue eyes. Morticia was never one for the taste of sweets anyway, but she wouldn't hesitate to make an exception for—

Her thoughts stop. Eyes far off, suddenly snapping into the present. She lifts her chin, a soft clearing of her throat.

Larissa hears it and looks up, suddenly aware of something she can't quite place. Morticia speaks to push past whatever it is she, too, can't seem to shake.

"All set, are we?" She says with a betrayingly innocent smile.

Larissa pauses, quickly cataloguing her thoughts into new order. "Yes," she says with a final smoothing of a non-existent crease on her coat front. "My apologies. This way."

Rigidity returns. Structure in place. Business as usual. Everything is fine.

Except...

Somewhere in the small space of Larissa's body passing beside Morticia's there is something there. Something slower. Something deeper. They both feel it like static, though no part of them actually touches the other. 

Morticia can feel it in the way Larissa adjusts her pace, slower than she knows the taller woman is capable of carrying herself. 

Larissa, too, feels it in the way Morticia seems to lean in, just slightly, as though at any moment she will pick up a conversation they'd been having for years – though no such one has occurred, at least not aloud.

They say nothing, however. Acknowledge nothing. Like always.

Still the same, they both concede to themselves.

A/N:

i know there is an entirely different visual audience for reading-based versus image-based art, but i just want to say that i appreciate everyone so much for the positive reception of "Habits." truly, it means the world and inspires me to want to share more of my writing (trust me, there are plenty more by the tune of Morissa if you are interested). i know my works aren't polished, but i genuinely thank everyone that has taken the time to look at my drawings or read my writings.

@the-new-nightmare-of-homophobes

Those that wanted to be tagged:

@selfdoubter

@cellulited-bean

For once, there was no tiny body wedged between them, no tiny limbs splayed out trying to make sure she was touching both of them even in sleep. No adorable, but bossy toddler shaking them awake and demanding her pancakes and "coffee". 

Sunday arrived soft and unhurried, the soft and warm light of morning slipping through Larissa's pale curtains in golden riddons that fell across the thick duvet that hid a tangle of limbs beneath it. 

Morticia was the first to surface from sleep. She didn't open her eyes immediately. Instead, she simply lay there, enjoying the security that Larissa's arm around her waist provided, the peaceful rise and fall of her soft chest beneath her cheek. She took in her first deep breath of the morning, the smell of Larissa's skin taking over her senses in a way that made her heart warm. 

She tilted her head up just enough to look at her. 

Larissa was deeply, beautifully asleep. Her platinum hair was a disaster, half flattened against the pillow, a few curls falling across her cheek and neck. Her lips were barely parted, her breathing slow and even. Morticia's eyes caught the deep purple bruises that bloomed across her neck and shoulders, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she mentally patted herself on the back for her beautifully possessive works of art on the blonde's body. 

She pressed her lips to the center of Larissa's sternum, letting her lips linger against the warm skin. 

Larissa didn't stir.

Morticia smiled against her skin. She shifted onto her stomach, moving carefully as not to disturb the arm still resting on her back, and began to press slow, idle kisses across the blonde's chest. 

She took her time. It was Sunday morning, there was nowhere to be and no one but themselves to care for till evening, and she intended to enjoy every slow second of the day. 

She worked her way to the soft curve of Larissa's left breast, lips ghosting across the soft skin until she reached the peak, and with a glint of something wicked behind her sleepy eyes, closed her teeth around a stiff, peachy nipple. Not hard. But not gentle either.

The sound Larissa made was small and surprised, a soft, sleep-rough noise that escaped before she could catch it. The arm on Morticia's back tightened reflexively.

"That hurt," Larissa murmured, her voice low and thick with sleep.

Morticia released her. She pressed one perfectly innocent kiss to the spot, then lifted her chin to look up the length of the blonde's body.

"Did you like it?"

There was a long pause, then one blue eye cracked open. It slid down to find her, slow and drowsy, taking a moment to focus. The corner of Larissa's mouth curved before she closed both eyes again and tightened her hold around the brunette's waist. 

"Yes."

Morticia's smirk widened. Larissa's eye crinkled.

They both dissolved into quiet giggles, the sound soft and muffled in the warmth of the bedding. Larissa's low and sleepy, Morticia's a little breathless as she tucked her face back against the blonde's chest to hide how pleased with herself she was.

Larissa's hand moved up to her hair, slow and clumsy with sleep, fingers combing through dark waves in long, unhurried strokes.

"Menace," she said fondly, nudging her thigh between Morticia's legs to pull herself impossibly closer. 

"Mmm." Morticia pressed a kiss to the center of her chest, settling her cheek back against the warm skin. "Yours."

The room was quiet after that. Just the distant sound of birds outside the window, the soft drag of Larissa's breathing evening back out, and the golden light inching a little further across the duvet. Neither in a hurry to start the day. 

Their entire weekend had been like this, a blissful private world contained within the walls of Larissa's apartment. They had barely left the space, content to spend hours exploring each other in every sense. They memorised  the sensitive skin that made the other gasp, the touches that drew delightful shivers to run down their spines. They shared quiet and intimate conversations that wove their lives even tighter together. 

It had been exactly what they both had needed after weeks of stolen moments and constant interruptions from a very cute, but very demanding toddler. 

They lingered in bed for a long while before eventually dragging themselves from the soft, warm sheets they had been tangled in for hours. 

Over coffee and a simple breakfast (if you could still call it breakfast at 1 pm), their legs entwined under the small kitchen table. The easy contentment of the afternoon slowly gave way to something quieter and heavier. 

Larissa watched as Morticia traced the rim of her mug, the way her eyes drowned in the dark, bitter liquid. 

"Talk to me, darling." Larissa's soft voice pulled her gently from her thoughts. The corner of her pale, unpainted lips curved into a soft smile at how observant and attentive the blonde was and had always been with her. 

“This weekend has been perfect,” she said softly. “Just us, finally getting to explore what this is without anything or anyone between us. But now that's over… I keep thinking about what lies in the future…" She brought the still-warm mug to her lips and took a small sip. "For the three of us.”

Larissa reached across the table, covering Morticia’s hand with her own. “I'm ready and excited for what the future holds for us, and I know you are as well.” She paused, her thumb stroking gently over Morticia’s knuckles. "But I can see you worrying."

Morticia met her eyes. “I feel guilty sometimes. Gomez and I tried so hard to give Wednesday a stable family, even when we both knew it wasn’t right for us." She let out a heavy sigh, digging her elbows into the table. She let her forehead rest against her open palms, a dark curtain of hair obscuring her face. " And now here I am, happier than I’ve been in years, already imagining you as part of our everyday life. It feels selfish. Like I’m rushing something that might confuse her.”

Larissa’s expression softened. "Wednesday made sure I was a part of both of your everyday lives since her little Mary Janes made contact with the school grounds." She stood and rounded the table, pulling Morticia up into her arms. “You’re not selfish for wanting to be happy, Tish. " She brought the brunette's arms around her waist and her own hands up to cup her cheeks, fingers gently playing and pushing away strands of dark hair from her cheeks. "Wednesday… she already treats me like I belong to both of you.” Morticia leaned into her, arms wrapping around Larissa’s waist. "Which I am." 

A small smile played on Morticia's lips, resting her chin on the blonde's chest. “I know. But she’s only four. She’s already so possessive of you, of us. What if she feels like she’s losing part of me to this relationship?”

Larissa exhaled slowly, her own vulnerability surfacing as she rested her chin on Morticia’s head. “I worry about that too. I’ve never done the parenting thing before. What if I’m not enough for her? What if I do the wrong thing and she resents me one day for taking up so much of your time and affection?”

Morticia pulled back just enough to cup Larissa’s face with both hands, kissing her softly, reverently. “You already are enough. She trusts you. She loves you, almost as fiercely as I do.” A small, fond smile curved both of their lips. “We don’t have to have all the answers today. We can figure it out together."

“Day by day,” Larissa agreed, her voice thick with emotion. She pulled Morticia closer, kissing her deeply, slow and full of promise. “I love you, Tish. And I love her. I want the three of us. Tantrums, jealousies, and all the beautiful chaos.”

“I love you too,” Morticia whispered against her lips. “And I’m not letting you go. You’re stuck with us now.” 

The afternoon slipped away in a comfortable silence and occasional touches. As the time for pickup drew near, Morticia glanced at the clock. “I’ll head down. You finish getting presentable for the public,” she teased, pressing one last kiss to Larissa’s lips.

Larissa laughed softly. “I would have been ready if someone hadn't wanted to share the shower." 

A mischievous little glint swept across the brunette's eyes, her bottom lip catching between her teeth. She shrugged her shoulders before slowly swaying out of the bedroom. "I don't remember anyone putting up much of a fight about that." 

Larissa rolled her eyes and turned back to the vanity to finish getting ready. "I'll be down in a few minutes." 

Morticia descended the stairs and stepped out onto the front steps of Nevermore just as the familiar black hearse rolled up the long driveway. The car had barely been put in park when the back door opened, and a tiny dark shadow came barreling toward her.

“Mama!” The toddler launched herself into Morticia’s arms. She caught her easily, hugging Wednesday tight and breathing in the familiar scent of her daughter’s hair.

“My darling girl,” Morticia murmured, pressing kisses to her cheek. “I missed you so much.”

Wednesday's tiny fingers trailed into her mother's hair, letting the strands glide between the chubby digits. She gently brought her forehead to her mother's, resting there for a blissful moment before pulling back. "I missed you, too." 

"Did you have fun with Papa and Mr. Thing?" She bounced the toddler once in her arms, adjusting her. 

Wednesday nodded, her eyes trailing from her mother's face to her hands playing in her hair. "I got to visit the cem-tary again. Papa got me a new shovel, and I got to dig up graves! They had bones in them, Mama! Real ones. Mr. Thing helped me find a whole skull, but it was only a squirrel one. Lurch made-" Her sharp gaze fell straight on Morticia once again. "Where's my Rissa?" 

“Right here, little bat!" Larissa’s warm voice floated from the top of the steps.

Wednesday’s head snapped up, and her face lit up with pure delight as she spotted the blonde descending toward them. “Rissa!” She wriggled wildly in Morticia’s arms, reaching both hands out. Larissa hurried the last few steps and took her, pulling both mother and daughter into a tight embrace.

“Welcome home,” Larissa said softly, kissing Wednesday’s temple before meeting Morticia’s eyes over the toddler’s head with a look so heartfelt and warm that any worries Morticia had in that moment melted away.

Wednesday pulled back just enough to look between them. Her sharp little eyes were narrowing thoughtfully. “Did you miss me?”

“Terribly,” Larissa answered, turning her gaze back to the tiny terror in her arms, eyes crinkling at the edges at how genuinely happy she was to have her little family back in her arms. 

“Good.” Wednesday nodded solemnly, then wiggled to be put down so she could grab both of their hands. “Papa said grown-ups need special time sometimes. But I’m back, so you have to share with me again.”