Cold water lapped at their boots, their footsteps temporarily etched into the sand before the tide washed it away as two figures walked along the shoreline. Strange to be at a beach in winter, but it was equally welcoming; they were the only people in miles to be seen. It made Meave feel like they were on a different planet, a different plane existence; Somewhere where heroes and villains didn’t matter, somewhere where neither future nor past could touch them.
From the corner of her brown eye she watched her companion.
Tall and hulking, Touya was an intimidating figure beside her. Bundled up in a puffer jacket with his hood still on, a mask covering his jaw and mouth and a pair of wide sunglasses hiding the rest of his face. The jingle of the metal on his boots almost made her think of bells. Meave couldn’t tell if the sound was of funeral or wedding bells?
She had memories of running along this very beach with him when they were children. If she let herself, Meave could see those past versions of themselves, those little ghosts of their childhood up ahead as they raced and tripped up in summer heated sand, swimsuits on and wet hair. The bright grins that once warmed their faces were replaced in their olden age with blank neutrality.
What a poor trade.
"You know that we won't be like other couples" Touya started, breaking her out of the fantasy and back into reality. His hold on her hand though loose, tightened momentarily even as Meave continued staring out. She didn’t turn her head to look at him as she whispered, "I know"
His steps are slow and heavy as he continues. His tone slowed as if to help her understand, "This won't have a happy ending."
The Scot nodded her head, her short brown hair swaying with the movement. Her fingers tightening around his as a small vulnerable, "I know" slipping past her lips. She kept her eyes forward, his shadowy silhouette in her peripheral vision. Maeve could feel her mind as it made sense with the shapes and truths it had, the facts that rattled within her. Touya was now a criminal. At the end of the day his story would end like any other; behind bars if lucky. Six feet under if not.
Maeve shivered, winter chills making her huddling deeper into her red velvet coat. Dabi watched her with cold eyes, the bright blue colour burning through the cheap sunglasses as he stared at her. For such a perfect mask he had managed to carve his face into, it was his eyes that gave him away. Blue fire eyes dancing across her face like sunlight off the rolling waves.
“I can’t give you the life you dream of.”
All the tension in her left her body as she sagged into him, lacing her fingers with him before Maeve went on her tiptoes to stare into his eyes, her glasses caught on the tip of her nose.
At the uncertainty in his gaze, she smiled and hope - cursed hope, dreadful hope, beautiful hope - coloured her voice as Maeve found the perfect response.
“Then we take all the time we can get. Hour by hour, minute by minute. Second by second if we must”
He lowered his head till his nose rubbed against hers. Winter wind skimmed past them and yet somewhere in that brush of skin on skin with her hand in his, Touya finally began to relax.
Thank you reading !!!!!
Divider created by @sweetmelodygraphics and I am tagging @polyamarhousgarden @shinyeeveelynn @sincerely-bats @multiversal-selfshipper @atheneum-of-ardour - If anyone else would like to be tagged too then just send a wee message or DM me and I’ll add you to the list~
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Howdy Hedone ♡! Wanted to ask this for the WIP ask game ♡
Beloved Ghost (How You Haunt Us So)
(If I repeated myself somehow please pick the one I didn't already send an ask for ^^, I just looooooove having ADHD -._-. )
Santiago @tex-treasures
Hello Tex @atheneum-of-ardour!! Hope you don't mind me tagging your new blog in to make sure you see this. Thank you so much for sending this in.
For anyone reading this, this is set for our Ghost!Merope au in where my crossover si Merope died not long after adopted my the Addams and lingered on as a ghost. In case anyone was wondering this lovely divider was created by @steddiecameraroll-graphics
As she steps closer and closer she notices that it is her father, standing there amongst the graves.
She takes a moment to observe the one he stood over. It was pretty, in a weird, whimsical way. Purple flowers grow all around it with the rolling fog swaying them slightly. Moss clinging to the rims of the headstone, the plant she now knows to be Wraithberry growing side by side high among the flowers, its blue berries hung heavy on their stem as it grazes the stone.
Wednesday leans down, plucks one and rolls it into her mouth, squashing it between her sharp teeth, its equally sharp taste sparking like a fire on her tongue and as she moves to get up, she sees just whose grave it is.
“Here lies Merope Pollux Constantine Addams
Born January 26th 2000
Died December 1st 2008
If love could have saved you, you would still be here”
she stares at it, incomprehensibly as her father says, “We always knew this day would come. When one of you would start to ask questions”
Her head doesn't move away from the grave but from the corner of her eye she can see the way Gomez stares at the stone.
“Nine years later and flowers still grow here. It just shows you the potential she had”
“Merope is in the house” Wednesday states. She knows this. She had just left her, seen her as her sister put on a tape with dancing puppets and a glittery David Bowie. Gomez shakes his head at his youngest daughter.
“Just because she is here does not mean that I can not mourn her” he says quietly. The girl is silent at that. Black eyes turn from the gravemarker to her father.
“Why do you torture yourself like this?” Dominic asked.
Melosa turned away from the cafe window and looked back at her husband. A little round table with her fastly melting vanilla milkshake the only thing separated them.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked airily back, her brow raised and a small smile twisting up at the corner of her lip as she twisted her body to talk to her husband.
They had left their precious Manila for their second honeymoon, choosing to do a River Cruise from New Orleans to Memphis and staying a few days there before flying back home. The little cafe they sat in now was nowhere near as nice as their Dominion but it was homely and played smooth jazz rather than the pop music that usually made Dominic’s eyes twitch before he would pull the player out and crush it with his bare hands.
Dominic lowered his paper cup as the bitter smell of black coffee, a cheaper blend than what he would usually drink, rolled off his breath.
His eyes, the same colour as that infernally hot drink, flickered over to the front window where a recognisable silver pickup truck was parked. By the hood of said car two people argued over a map, unaware of the presence of the two supernatural Beings watching them.
One of them, the shorter one, was dressed in red flannel and dark jeans with a silver cross shining brightly on their chest. The other was taller and had a black cassock on, the garment doing little to hide how athletic he must have been. At the sight of his face set into unseen longing as he gazed at his companion, Melosa had to remark on how amazingly he looked like his long since dead relative.
Slowly, like any well attuned predator, the aswang in front of her placed his elbows on the little white painted wooden table as he leaned towards his wife, the paper cup and her milkshake still between them as he stared up unblinkingly at her through his dark bangs. Sunlight streamed in, the light catching both on earrings and his eyes, making them the same amber brown colour as rich clayfilled riverbeds she so fondly swam in as a child, and he dispassionately gestured out the window towards the Scotsman.
His left hand, the one she couldn’t see, she could feel trail on her french black silk stockings (which she had kept in quite good condition since stealing them off a washing line in 1893) covered knees. His touch was light, controlled in a way that Melosa knew meant that he was enjoying teasing her just as much as he was becoming more bored with playing human in public.
“He's got one of those collars. Clerical. He's a priest, Mahal ko” He murmured fondly, like a teacher correcting a young student. His fingers trailed up from her knee to her thigh, his nail lightly dragging along the fabric.
She raised an expected eyebrow at him.
“And?”
At her dismissal tone Dominic became bored once again, withdrawing his hand and looking away as he sipped on his coffee.
Melosa’s shoulders heaved in fashion most unladylike, a rudeness the Nixie only allowed since she was on holiday, as her head fell back onto her shoulder.
Her husband, for as much as she loved him, had never understood why Melosa had taken a shine to the little Grimm.
He had some begrudging respect for Montana after she had rescued Melosa from a private collector but even then, Dominic had seen them as more of a stray animal who Melosa had picked up from the side of the road and decided to play pet with - a wolf who was just as likely to bite them as she was to embrace them.
But Montana was her guppy - her sweet, finger biting guppy.
"I don't see what you're getting at My Love?" Melosa said, her head turning slowly back as they covertly watched Montana and Sheppherd ready themselves for another hunt, their bodies pressed too tightly to just be sharing a map. His face as red as Montana’s checkered flannels that rustled in the breeze.
"It's against His rules" Dominic insists passively. He was well familiar with his wife’s desire to play matchmaker. She shrugged, smiling to herself when she caught Montana looking over at the Priest with a soft look, "there is always a loophole to these things. and who knows? Maybe it is a part of His Inevitable Plan?"
“Are you sure it’s not a part of your plans?”
She waved off a black nailed hand flippantly as she flipped her dark hair, the scent of river muck heavy as she shrugged.
“Comsi comsa”
The butterfly divider was made by @uzmacchiato while the pearl one was made by @diviniyae
Both Montana and Shepherd belong to my dear friend Sunday over at @atheneum-of-ardour , give them a check out if I have peaked your interest in those two.
To Sunday @atheneum-of-ardour , my dearest and sweetest friend who encourages all the little dark and wick parts of me to flourish. As Morticia once said, you are dearer to me than all the bats in all the caves in the world. I hope this very late gift show you that 💚
When Jim had come out from his self imposed exile, he knew it would be no small thing to win back Amanita’s affection and more importantly, their trust.
They had always played a game of cat and mouse (or “murder and victim” as Amanita would call it). And against everything, against all that he tried, Jim Moriarty had fallen arse over tit for the detective and was willing to do anything to prove that they could trust him again.
that is how he found himself in the unlikely scenario of being given a task by each member of Amanita's family to earn their trust back, to prove his worth to them. He feels a bit like Heracles, atoning for his sins by completing Argus trials, each more difficult than the other but still he does. Every task given to him he has done, some more gruesome than others. Some more bizarre.
All except for Merope. She had yet to do so.
For all that he had done, Jim knew he wasn't a stupid man.
He knew that Merope had not stayed her hand out of those affectionate honeyed days in 221C Baker Street. If anything his amour’s younger sister had been brewing, waiting to see if the latest challenge would kill him first.
He could see it every time he won a challenge. Those waiting, hungry eyes that choked his throat full of that honey brown stare.
It's all he can think about now as he stands in the Addams kitchen with said woman's husband and son, the child sitting in a high chair next to the two men as they talk.
Hei dices up fruit, his knife going faster than static discharge as he readies a snack for the silent toddler, Kabane's red eyed stares expectedly up into Jim’s soul. It is surprising, now that his façade of ‘Jim from IT’ is gone, the amount of things the two have in common. He would never have guessed in a million years that the man who stands next to him was the feared assassin BK-201. Or more commonly known as the Black Reaper in most underworld circles.
Uniquely, Hei too has been in the same situation as the previous criminal mastermind.
“She's not going to be easy on you, you know.” the contractor says as the kitchen knife slices into the orange into small squishy chunks before going onto a peach. Jim already knows. He’s seen enough of her file to know that in a choice between Merope and an angry bear, he should pick the bear.
“Any tips you can offer to help me out?” Jim fishes. Hei looked at him, his face deadpan even with a grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, don’t die.”
Jim visibly deflates, all the air leaving his body. He'd thought the feared Black Reaper would have had better advice. The sound makes the baby give out a happy gurgle, which in turn makes the ex-assassin stop to look back at his son.
Kabane, now able to clearly see what he's doing, sits unnaturally still for a child his age as he stares insistently at the food his father is putting into a bowl. He holds his chubby hands out wide as Hei sits it down for him. The toddler instantly digs his hands in and shoves it into his mouth, far too much for a child with a gag reflex as Kabane’s whole hand and half his forearm disappears into his mouth.
“Huài bāor.” Hei says quietly as he gently pulls on Kabane’s spit covered arm to take the appendage out of the black hole of his gummy mouth. There is a small smile on his face as he does so, as if he couldn't imagine anything more peaceful than this.
Hei stops suddenly, his body straighten as he listens for something Jim can’t hear. Jim stops too, copying the other man’s lead.
Up ahead of them a door suddenly snaps open, a loud ‘BANG’ echoing where its handle meets the wall. He half expects to see Gomez fling himself through, a cigar in mouth and a sword in hand as he throws another sword into Jim’s hand for another impromptu fencing lesson.
The toddler gives a high pitched coo and claps his grubby hands, making his father visibly relax his shoulders. Jim simply tense up more. The thing that made the ex- assassin relax would not do the same for Jim.
He looks over at Jim and nods towards the door, not even waiting for Jim to move before his attention goes back to his child.
With all the enthusiasm of a man going to the gallows, Jim walks to the door. There is a musky smell emanating from it that reminds him of tombs and the temperature drops as soon as he enters. A thousand mirrors greet him, reflecting his image back to himself. There are mirrors of all shapes and sizes. Some hang from walls, others stand in the middle of the room, making paths for someone to walk on.
Great
Just his luck that there was a weird mirror maze next to the kitchen? At this point he really should have expected it.
“So Jimberly, “ a voice calls, breaking him from his musings, “I see you've walked into my room”
Though absent is its usual teasing or amused tone, he recognizes the voice as Merope’s and surveys the room guardedly for her but does not see the younger woman anywhere.
“ Yeah, uh, you, ah left the door open?”
She hummed, her voice caring from somewhere else. He takes another reluctant step into the room and tries not to feel like one of the characters from a 80s horror movie who dies after following a noise from the attic.
“I have waited very patiently for this Jimison.” A rush of air carries a whisper to his ear, so loud it's like she’s standing beside him, “- Are you ready for my trial?”
His dark brown eyes instantly slide back to the door which is wide open. Nothing is stopping him or blocking his way. He could leave, could go back into the kitchen and pretend none of this ever happened. The adrenaline in his body urges him to do so.
But if he does that Jim knows he will never have another chance. All his trials will be done, yes but he will never have Amanita back in his arms again.
He gives the door a hard glare, wishing he was the man he was before who could step out of it without a backward glance.
“Yeah. Yeah I am.”
“So be it then.”
Jim watched as the door slowly closed shut, the creak of its hinges spanning a thousand years, the sound overpowered only by his thundering heart and the blood rushing in his ears.
He tore his gaze away from the door to look in another mirror and it takes everything in him not to jerk back. What the looking glass showed was not his reflection, at least not in a very long time. A twelve year old him stared back at Jim with eyes so black and shiny with unshed tears. His school uniform rumpled and left knee skinned.
He looks away to see another him, this new Jim looks at him like prey, all dressed up in a Navy suit and a tie the colour of all the blood he's spilled. He can’t help but notice that on the frame of this mirror is a carving of the unseen evil eye, an ancient symbol which secretly but consciously intends to harm others. When viewed it is mostly not recognizable and causes death. Not unlike him, he realised.
Slowly he starts to walk, taking in more reflections as he does so.
The one he wears around his family. Open smiles and arms as he plays the roles of a loving son to his father, a fun uncle to his siblings, a trusting brother to his brother and the cool older cousin to his cousins.
The one around in university. Not quite perfect, you can still see the truth in his eyes but his mask was certainly becoming better.
The one the public saw, standing straight with a new grey suit with a cream tie. He looks half chastised school boy, half luciferian diva.
Each step was like wading through sand with each face his own staring back at him. Jim's heart beats a little faster inside his chest till the sound resembles a war drum. He hears movement above him as a voice dismissively calls out,
“You wear so many masks. It would be impressive if it wasn't so damn frustrating.”
Jim strides by another mirror. This time it’s Jim from IT, with his work suits and his chirpy attitude. It’s the one he wore when he first fell for Amanita, he recognises it for the dark blue suit and smile, the short short hair he has since grown out.
“You managed to fool everyone.”
Managed to fool me is left unsaid and yet hangs in the air. Her slithering anger hangs as a Sword of Damocles over his head.
Movement from the corner of his eye, something not his own, turns the corner, Jim follows it till it leads to a small hanging mirror with a simple dark wood frame. Inside is Amanita, they stand over a blackened cauldron as they stir it with an elk's leg (bone peaking out of the skin and foot still attached), an old bloodied apron covering a simple black lace dress. Steam washing over their face as she leans over to check on whatever they are cooking.
How he wishes he was the steam to kiss her face.
As if she heard someone, they looked over their shoulder at him. Dark curls tumbling down her back as a smile, inviting and warm as it was snake tooth sharp, graces their dark lips as they mouth something he can’t hear, her shadow dark eyes glint something lovely and wicked, and the sight fills his hollow chest with some form of light.
“My Amanita. My most fearsome protector. As she is my shadow I am her reflection. There is little in this world that I wouldn't do for her.”
He lifts a hand up to touch and is met with the cold reflecting glass. Warm breath whispers close in his ear, “What are you so afraid of?”
He whirled back to face nothing but an empty mirror. Musically manic laughter rang out among the empty spaces and looking glasses.
The Irishman looks back to the mirror behind him and sees someone else looking back. Someone that is not him, who he doesn't recognise.
It is a boy, maybe 16 or 17, tall and burly for his age. Beneath his yellow and black tie and black robes Jim can tell that he was well built. He flashed the older man a good natured smile, his grey eyes twinkling in the sunlight.
“I was there when she fell for the very first time -”
The scene changes as suddenly as a flash of lighting and the boy is now a deathly grey, with red scratches lining his handsome face as those grey eyes now stare unseeingly up.
“- I was there when he died. I am not afraid to stop whatever this is in its tracks before you hurt her again. Even if she never forgives me.”
Jim took another step, finding himself locked in a circle of mirrors, each and all showing the different masks he has worn, the different versions that made the kaleidoscope of James Moriarty. Above he can now see Merope as she sits on the edge of one wide mirror frame and dispassionately stares down at him from her perch, observing Jim as if he were some sort of bug. Scratch that, he had seen the younger woman with spiders.
“Which one will you choose for my sister?” she asks, waving a hand languidly around.
He looks around at each reflection, his own face swimming his vision. Everywhere he looks he sees himself, with each mask he has ever worn.
Life is too long to wear just one mask, Jim knows this. He’s lived a life full of wearing masks. He knows when to switch them and when to enforce them but never when to let them go, never really showing the real him, not even to those nearest and dearest to him. He doesn’t want to do that with Amainta.
He finds that he likes them too much to keep doing it.
He touched the one in front of him, the cold of the glass sinking in to his skin as the realisation sinks into his mind. It is the man he is when he is with Amanita, not the one who only came to her in order to inflict as much damage as possible. Not just the man who everyone thinks he is, devilment and war with each step he takes. He picks the one that she sees and in turn sees him too. He believes is the truest version of Jim and also, the truest version of the only love he can provide.
His reflection smiles at him and when Jim doesn't smile back, it winks cheekily instead.
“Well met, oh Brother of Mine”
Jim looked up at where Merope was only to find the space empty and when he looked back at where the mirror once stood, a clear path to the door he stepped through now stood.
His steps are lighter as he walks it, the weight of years worth of masks now embedded in a thousand mirrors behind him.
As he steps out of the boundary of the mirror room he hears, “I do so dearly hope you pass her trial now Jimbo.”
Before Jim can ask the door slams shut behind him, riotous laughters loud and locked behind the wooden door.
“Are you ashamed of me?” he asked one day during one of Meave's visits.
The sterile prison visitor room is empty, save for the two of them and a handful of guards that always follow the blue flame user. He sounded stoic, unbothered but she can pick out the hesitant apprehension Touya tries to hide. His eyes are downcast as he picks at the white paint on the metal table with his nail. He's not stupid. He knows what the news says about him, about her.
It's not hard to figure out that since his arrest, paparazzi have swarmed the former Wild, Wild Pussycat team member. Shitty new channels outlets hounding her for ages now with the now visible bump at her stomach.
So far, from the limited media he was allowed to view, the flame-user had noticed that the angle they were going for seemed to be the “Stupidly in love, criminal loving pregnant foreigner”
The thought almost made him give out a mirthless chuckle.
What right did the world have to know their business? Normally it wouldn’t have bothered him but without him being there to protect her, it was driving him nuts. He bit back the urge to thumb at the quirk nullification collar strapped to his neck as he looked back at his girlfriend.
As was her way, the Scottish woman took a moment to think it over, to really give thought to his question. Maeve pressed a hand to her already bulging tummy where underneath the cutest gothic print fabric and taut skin she can feel where their baby lies.
Her hand steady she can feel the baby kicking, one of their tiny feet sticking out from her skin. She covers it up, not wanting for the guards to see. They already had a front role seat to her relationship, she didn’t want them to be privy to this part too. Since being sentenced Meave had visited him for as long as she could four days out of the week, taking a near three hour bus to make the long trek to Tartarus to see him for half an hour. It had been easier to do so since she went on maternity leave.
The visitor room was dead still as the levitation quirk user picked her words like a jeweller picked their wares, checking their shape and holding it to the light to see how it shines.
And Touya, like way back when they were kids, patiently waited. Because he knew that she would give him an answer, not seeing the point of bullshitting him to make him feel better.
At last when Maeve was ready she looked back to Touya.
He is already looking up from under his lashes, those striking turquoise eyes so uncertain. Dressed in that white jumpsuit and with his natural white hair, he almost looked like a ghost of a past that refused to die, in the shape of a boy she had for the longest time thought died.
‘It’s so strange’ she had thought to herself, ‘to see him so vulnerable in such an open space’
“No…. no I don’t think I am” she said softly, slowly, as if spinning the words from a spinning wheel like Rumpelstiltskin did gold. Stroking her belly she continued, “I feel guilty for loving you despite all the wrong you’ve done, there must be something wrong in me to do so. But I would not be with you if I was ashamed of you Touya”
She could love him and still feel there was something wrong within her for self for doing so, one feeling not cancelling the other out. And she says all this because deep down, she knows that he will understand that too.
Leaning forward on the edge of the hard plastic seat, she pressed her hand fully against the tempered sticky glass partitions that separates her from the love of her life, pushing against it as if it would split away the inches separating them.
Seeing her do so, he put his hand to the glass to and If the stupid collar wasn’t on his neck he would have burned a hole in the glass just to brush his fingers against hers. Instead he gave her a grin which she returned readily in kind.
“Yeah?” he drawled in that way that always made her heart flutter.
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synopsis - a typical night in The Dominion, one of the most popular nightclubs in Manilla.
This lovely neon divider was made by @dividers-are-us.
The crowds are booming tonight, loud as can be as Melosa comes off the stage. The clicking of her black velvet kitten heels against the glossy vinyl covered ground is lost amongst the blaring music as she mingles with the crowd, their sweat sweet bodies pressing into each other as they dance feverishly to create a perfume unique to The Domination.
She pulls a little on the bust of her floor length black evening dress, hiking the silky fabric like a princess with a ballgown so that it doesn't drag across the ground. While her outfit didn’t go with the nightlife party animal attitude in the club, Melosa wouldn’t dare dream of going on stage in an outfit she wasn’t comfortable with and try as anyone might, Melosa was always one meant for the silver screen. Ironically, in these most modern times it had worked in the club’s favour, her dresses gaining her reputation as the “Goth Jessica Rabbit”, whatever that meant. Honestly this generation was more confusing than any other she had encountered in her centuries of living.
Pushing past scantily clad bodies, she rolled up to the bar like a black storm cloud, making sure to catch the attention of a bartender as she gestured for her usual drink.
The bar staff, familiar with her order off by heart (not like her husband would have it otherwise) already have it ready for her coming off stage, hastily pushing her drink over as Melosa leans back to look at the crowd over her glasses, the black cat eyed frames hang by the tip of her nose.
Purple lights overhead and humid air made the club feel as if time flowed differently in its neon walls, day and night becoming abstract concepts as the music played and the drinks kept coming.
The Nixie took a ladylike slip of her glass, the familiar taste of Sex on the Beach filling her mouth, her black lipstick leaving a stain as she got up and navigated her way to the spiral staircase.
Her white gloved hand glided up the banister as she carefully climbed up to the club’s second floor, her every step illuminated.
The two guards that block the entrance swiftly move out her way when they see her black silk fitted form. She nods her head at them primly as she spies her prize.
Near the clear glass partition separating the second floor from the sheer twenty foot drop, with a perfect view of the unsuspecting crowd below, Dominic looked like the Prince of the Aswang he styled himself as. A stripe of neon light on the railings highlighted the broad set of his shoulders, arms draped over the back of the leather couch he sat on. His large figure imposing in the purple lighting. He almost looked as mysterious as the first time she met him.
Somehow, even over the loud music he must have heard her for she could see his head move as he looked languidly over his shoulder at her, his long dark hair tumbling wickedly over his back as he leaned back in his makeshift throne.
She smiled, faux innocence dripping off it as she made sure to sway her hips to the slow beat in the way she knew he liked.
Dominic’s eyes crinkled, all devilment and delight clear to see as a lascivious grin spread widely across his olive toned face,
She almost had to hide a smirk, bringing her glass up to her lips to drink deeply.
The Nixe stopped when close enough, trying to hide how eager she was to watch his warm brown eyes take her in. Even after nearly 60 years of marriage, it still lit her up inside like a moon jellyfish floating in night waters when he looked at her like this. Like a proper lady belonging to the silver screen she offered the hand not holding her glass to him and like a gentleman he raised it to his mouth to kiss it through her gloves.
His eyes never leaving her face, dark, dirty magic burning brightly there.
This time she did not hide her smile, letting it shine triumphantly with a tilt of her pretty head, her waist long hair curtaining his view from anything beyond her.
He grins dangerously up at his wife, pulling her down by her hand sharply for a kiss, the action making her raise the glass high in the air, a cackle of girlish laughter leaving her black painted lips at his antics.
Impatiently Melosa pulled on his hair to seal her lips over his, giggling as she felt his hand run along down to the back of her thigh, pulling her into his lap with equal enthusiasm.
She lets him, breaking the kiss briefly as she moves to sit, twisting her body like a river cutting through land till her legs curl over his knee, heels hanging in the air and her side to his front.
Later, there would be more, when they closed The Dominion for the night and went back home. She would let him take off her dress, slip out her heels and shift out of this human form and comfortably back into her amphibious green skin and submerge both herself and him into the large freshwater pool under their house till the next night when they would start all over again.
For now though, as Melosa lays her head back against his warm chest, comfortable as a catfish in murky, slow-moving water, she was content to sit on her throne as surveyed their kingdom of neon lights and half shadows together.
Hogwarts Through the Ages - An excerpt from Merope’s first year at Hogwarts as a Second Year Hufflepuff.
Merope fluttered between shelves of books. From a large ornate window she could see the snow freely falling outside and the students playing about in it. It was school break and to her newly formed routine the Hufflepuff had come to the library to get some quiet time and point out flaws in Professor Lockhart’s books. She had been doing this slowly but surely. Her personal copies became worse for wear by the day as she dog eared, underlined and highlighted with each use. The thirteen year old had even started to shove extra notepages filled with her thoughts and critiques between the pages.
Her copy of Voyages with Vampires was looking worse of them all. Its red cover worn, spine half deteriorating as the cheap glue keeping the pages together slowly loosened. So she had taken a break from it, instead deciding to work on the Holidays with Hags as a festive read.
Honestly it was pathetic how much he got wrong in his books. He couldn’t even get the right idioms; Mixing up several of their meanings and even creating a few of his own. As a work of fiction that would be alright but really, passing them off as educational? The snort couldn’t be contained as she looked for a seat by one of the large windows.
She stopped on her musings as she heard the voices of her fellow second year Hufflepuffs, listening in.
“Hannah, he’s a parseltongue. Everyone knows that the mark of a dark wizard; Have you ever known a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself serpent tongue”
Merope blinked, calmly at first. Oh. Then rage lit up her bones and before she knew it Merope was silently charging over, her feet fall silent and unnoticed by everyone till she loudly slammed her books down onto the table, startling her fellow hufflepuffs. Amber brown eyes glare down at them from over her lowered glasses, the scowl on her rounded face as she angrily jutted out her chin and said in a hard tone, “My sister is a parseltongue - are you calling her a dark wizard?”
What the hell did they know? All gapshites with open gossiping mouths and nothing between their ears?
What the hell did they know about her sister? Lovely Amanita, who mixed in concentrated Ethylene glycol and belladonna in her morning pumpkin juice when she knew the younger girl was tired from their night time classes?
So what if she spoke to snakes? Or if Harry did for that matter? What did it matter to them?
She watched with heated interest as they floundered, their mouths agape as Hannah, Ernie and Andy students struggled for words to calm her increasing and seething fury. Her stance not that unlike an attack dog as she stood over them. No one had the heart (nor spare guts) to inform the newest second year that Amanita Addams was the closest thing Hogwarts had to a dark wizard since Voldemort.
Nor did they want to find out how Amanita would react if her younger sister were to tell her about the now common held belief.
“No, er, Merope” Ernie stuttered, feeling braver than he actually was as all her attention focused onto him, “no one is saying that at all”
She stared into his eyes, suddenly not feeling the need to blink
Ernie gulped, feeling more like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a feral dog than a student calming down another fellow housemate. He feels the urge to dabble at the sweat dripping down his forehead.
Like storm clouds clearing up, Merope perked up, brightened up at the boy’s words.
“Oh, good” she drawled, she smiled pleased and cocked her head to the side, the warm light of overhead lamps reflecting off her glasses and making it hard to see her eyes. It is hard not to notice that the way she smiles shows off more teeth than usual and the ones that they see are sharper than they had ever taken notice of.
“I would hate for there to be any misunderstandings about parseltongues.”
*scampers in while you're out of the house and drops this on your pillow like a cat dropping fresh kill only far less bloody*
Howdy River ♡! How're you? I wanted to request a snippet for Merope and Jack- something angsty and heartwarming.. if I may be specific I wanna see Merope's internal thoughts reflecting on Jack and his immortality as she gets older. Maybe you could do it in three parts 👀?
Take all the time you need my friend I'll always be here eager to read it when you finish ✨️❄!
Sunday @atheneum-of-ardour
Well this broke my heart, so thank you for sending this over Sunday. Not going to lie, very surprised at myself right now. This is less of a snippet and much less heartwarming than what you asked for but lets be honest- angst is a flavour I know how to season well.
This beautiful divider was done by @thecutestgrotto by the way.
Merope looked at him, really looked at him. A top the roof of the Addams Mansion he took his familiar spot balancing along the railings. the white of his hair shone silver in the evening night's fading light.
Jack at been her brother for as long as she could remember, long before she became Merope, back when she was still fully human. She couldn't remember a single winter where he wasn't with her. No snow day or birthday where he wasn't by her side at one point or another.
Merope could still clearly remember the hours spent playing on the school playground as a child with him cus none of the other kids would or reading with him over her shoulder when she was a little older to help her sound out the words.
He was the best part of her childhood in a place she she had yet to find herself, one of the few things she brought from that old life and into her new one. Her favourite and most treasured childish wish came to life. It was why she had called him her brother, there was no other word for it, no other role then the happily casted him in and he, who had been alone for so long without anyone alive to see him and no memory of a past, had grasped at her then little mittened hands with frost covered ones and took her into his heart.
One of the rails was extra slimy tonight, Lurch must had then tarred, and Jack, ever the trickster, pretended to get his foot stuck, flailing his arms around as he mock slipped - more like threw - himself off the house. Her hazel brown eyes crinkled as Merope laugh at him, clear and brighter than it had been in a long time when the thought came to her suddenly.
"This is the way its always going to be."
It came unbiddenly and once it did, like a vampire once welcomed into the house, it refused to leave.
Since the time they first met, Jack had been older than her, and that would still always be the case. Jack was after all three hundred years her senior.
The warmth she once felt started to leach away as she realised that somewhere along the way, despite how much older he was then her she had mentally and physically started to out surpass him. Some parts of him that would be forever the same was not the same for her.
Her years racing along by while he was stuck in ice, like berries frozen over and left in the freezer.
Was this truly the way it was always going to be?
What about when she was older still? In college? Or all grown up and with a family of her own? Would he still come round every winter to keep from company? For hugs and cheek kisses and snow days and fun times?
Would he was still be there, when Merope was old and frail? She imagined the sight they would make. A little old lady and a young man talking on a bench in the middle of winter. Her heart ached at the image, at the sadness of it all as her thoughts turned even darker, her mind racing faster and faster before she could stop herself. Not even noticing when Jack flew back up, using the wind to glide through the air above her.
What would he do then she was gone? What would he do when the flowers on her grave had long since withered and the ground above her hardened? Would he visit her still? sit on her grave and tell her jokes and stories? would he be alone again? A ghost that no one could see?
She didn't even feel the tears burning at her waterline until she breathed in, a gasp of air sounding all broken and torn up like ice needles slicing her throat. Felt like it too.
He looked over at her and smiled. But at the sight of her face he stopped playing around and floated over, dangling over her like a puppet on it's strings and Merope instantly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down and pressing her face into his hoodie as hard as she could to hide her face from his.
She always loved hugging Jack, his chest was bony and hard and cold like snow days in January. She clung to that familiarity to chase away the sadness
"Hey? " he gave out a soft chuckle as his feet touched the floor and she couldn't help but notice how he didn't have to lean down so much anymore. They were nearly the same height now which made her cry even harder. His hands found their way onto her back as he rubbed soothing circles, "what's all this?"
"Nothing" Merope mumbled against his hoodie, trying in vain to keep the sniffles from her voice even as her shoulder shook, " its nothing at all."
