I genuinely love how everyone basically, collectively more like, really said 'fuck you' to Netflix and the show writers by continuing to keep Enid's scars, in Fanart and Fanfic, HC's and AU's, thoughts and daydreams. I love seeing a fandom, this fandom, any fandom, seeing something and coming together and standing by the choice that hey, you guysâ you the writers and creators or directors or anyone with leading views on this piece of mediaâ you fucked up.
It brings so much happiness to see that people stand by what they love, people love Enid and characters like Enid because of what she stands for and what she represents. When you take away her scars what else do you take? Her bravery? Her love? Her pain?
Her.
You take who Enid became.
Who resides in her, who sees themselves in her, who cried for her.
So keep seeing Enid with her scars and keep writing her with faults and keep drawing her taller and stronger, more hair and less childish. Keep building Enid and characters like her to be real people to you and people like you.
A/N : A small WIP that I dropped and never picked back up.
Also transmasc Lenore.
The fire in the room crackles in the quiet night as shadows bounce up and around the walls and floors of the Vandernacht - Whitlock manor. The staff of the house had been dismissed hours ago and the only souls left in the long halls and big rooms are those of Lenore and Annabel Lee.
The couple move together in a dance that had long been set in stone as the finishing act and bow of the evening. The fall of velvet curtains on another sunset brings an end of day for the two. As Annabel wraps gentle curls around silk with even more so of a gentle touch, Lenore watches with a soft gaze. His eyes trace her curves and rounded edges taking in the constellations of sunkissed freckles and the smooth unblemished skin of his wife. His military light blue eyes seek more and follow down the slip that covers skin so sinisterly and Lenore canât quite comprehend what has not compelled the man to take the name of the article of clothing seriously.
His fingers idly draw patterns on the heavy duvet, motions similar to those he would caress Annabel's sides with, and as the fabric bunches around his touch a cathartic sound rings out into the warm quiet as Annabel attempts to catch her husband's attention. With eyes dragging slowly back up unnatural blue meets that of haunting, loving, peach. Lenore once went looking for that color, he came back disappointed, for the only place he could find it was in his wife's eyes and while he could not paint a room filled with the color he has long associated with love due to every shade being unable to capture the same cooling colors as his beloved.He did discover two new fascinating pieces of information.
The first came with a slight chuckle of amusement when he went to tell his Annabel Lee, for the closest color he could find had an amusing name that being called race car strip, and while it would never hold up to the gaze that befell him in that moment he took the paint card and slipped it somewhere lost in the drawers of his desk next to the memorabilia of Annabel.
The second, when shared with his wife, had caused a beautiful moment between the two. For with the information of no color compared to that of the eyes of Annabel Lee came with a revelation the man seems to have every morning and every night and sometimes during tea. That of course being, nothing can compare to his Annabel Lee.
When reciting his findings his heart had spilled, overflowing with the love he shares with his wife. For Lenore is but a simple man and everything he does is for his wife, in one way or another, and so he kept speaking and sprouting words of affection like he was a man on trial rambling on as if he was about to have his tongue split from his mouth and he needed Annabel to know. Lenore always needs his dear Annabel to know how absolutely smitten he is for the women.
And oh how softly Annabel Lee took in his babbling, looking down at her night sky she saw him ready to fall to his knees and crawl just to try and appease her in whatever way either of them could imagine. At that moment she had to collect herself so she didn't fall right next to him. The two loved each other dearly so much that some have tried to suggest that it couldn't be healthy being so dependent on one another.
But Annabel Lee and Lenore didn't work and fight so hard for the other just so that they could simply be. They cried and bled so that they could become one just as it always seemed they should be. By fate or destiny who cared, all they knew at one point was that they would be there for each other. And it was all they needed.
I like how a lot of Polytrix fics all boil down to "yeah, Rumi's just like that" literally every other read is just Celine and others going "I have no fucking clue, could be a demon thing... probably not tho.."
Summary: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it - Caitlyn Siehl
Word Count: 6.3k
Warnings: swearing, injury mention, suggestive themes, blood mention, hurt no comfort (hopeful ending), extreme guilt
Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader
(part 2)
âWe, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree.â
Your fangs caught on your lip as you did your best not to smile. With the slightest turn of your body, you patted your client on the shoulder and congratulated him for getting off on murder. He was guilty as sin. You could practically smell the tainted blood coursing through his veins. It was abysmal; he was a horror to work with. Doubtless he would be murdered before he even left the courthouse.
His money was still just as good as anyone elseâs.
The judge continued his usual spiel, the one you personally had heard many times over. Something about understanding the severity of the charges, how one must persevere to become more, to prevent such a situation from occurring again. She was getting much more emotional about the speech, putting more of a motherly spin on it. It was a lovely touch.
It wouldnât work. But it was lovely.
âDonât get yourself in too much trouble,â you said once the judge was finished and you could shake your clientâs hand.
His smile was sinister. âIâll be calling on you again.â
You made sure to show your fangs in your own smile. âIâll be expecting it.â
The man gave you the creeps, more so than most of the clients you represented. Which was precisely why you allowed your shadow to escort him out of the courthouse to the freedom he had unjustly earned. You watched as he left with a smile that betrayed your actual thoughts.
If he called again, your rates would double.
âYou did your job masterfully.â
You turned around, watching people continue to mill out of the courtroom. No one was facing you, not even the usual suspects. Even your best friend Detective Faus had already left. There was no one left to talk or discuss the events of the case. A pity.
Maybe it had been another hallucination; they were more frequent this time of year. Sounds of blood spilling, pouring down your throat like the first drink at the bar. The door opening, muffled words, wood splintering. The sounds made themselves known in your mind, drowning out everything else around you.
âLooking for someone in particular?â
No. No, that was no hallucination. You looked down to see a young man no older than 20 - though his spectacular mustache looked a bit old for him - standing beside you. It was no wonder you hadnât noticed him, he was rather short. With a stunning crop of slicked back raven black hair, he reminded you of someone. Someone you did your best to forget.
âThank you, misterâŚ,â your voice trailed off.
âPubert Addams,â he said with a charming smile as he held out his hand toward you. âLovely to make your acquaintance.â
A wet gasp-
-a snarl-
-relief-
-pain-
â-A pleasure, Mr. Addams,â you said, grasping his hand as gently as you possibly could. âThatâs a name I havenât heard in a long while.â
âI believe you knew my sister and her wife in college, did you not?â He asked as he let go of your hand.
A breathy moan-
-airy laughter-
-a warm sigh-
â-Quite a long time ago,â you said, âbut yes.â
âYes, I knew it was you,â he said with a smile that was far too familiar. Eerily so. âAre you free for a short while?â He asked. âI have a proposition for you.â
You sighed and shifted the weight to your good leg. It left an ache that rarely eased, though certainly not for lack of trying. Thanks to the glasses, you were confident your distrust was hidden. It wasnât that you didnât trust the young Addams boy; he seemed decent enough. You had worked with enough sleazy people to know who to trust and who to be wary of.
There was just the little problem of not wanting anything to do with an Addams.
Though, you supposed you could give the boy the benefit of the doubt. After all, what would it hurt? If he was anything like Wednesday - and it was beyond clear he was - he would love the danger. The thrill of propositioning you would far outweigh the danger of having you near. A brave boy.
Just like his older sister.
âI suppose I have time,â you finally said with a toothy grin. âIâll buy you a drink.â
âOh, Iâm not old enough to drink,â he said quickly as he fell into step beside you. Exactly like his sister.
âA coffee then,â you amended.
He had no objections.
His hands were shoved into his pockets as he walked out of the courtroom with you. The stench of rancid blood filled your senses before you saw the commotion outside. Your clientâs body lay sprawled along the steps, his blood flowing from the tips of his fingers; no one dared try to stop the bleeding. At the bottom, the police were shoving the victimâs brother into their cruiser.
âAn eye for an eye turns the whole world blind,â Mr. Addams said with a shake of his head.
You didnât dare hide your smile. âA beautiful sentiment.â You continued to walk past the scene, not looking back to see if Mr. Addams was following.
His footsteps quickened their pace to match yours before he stood beside you once again. It was a short, silent walk to the little cafe you had started to call your own. The barista was a wonderful young girl; she had easily fallen victim to the vampire charm you did your best not to throw around. Though you were a little less careful nowadays, but that was your little secret.
âWhat can I get for you, sugar?â The young waitress asked once you sat down. She, too, had fallen victim to your supernatural charm.
âA quad?â You asked once Mr. Addams sat across from you at the little table in the corner.
âHeavens no,â he said with his own charming smile, âIâll take a mocha, thank you.â
âAn espresso, darling,â you said with a smile at the waitress.
Her cheeks flushed. âIâll have it for you in a moment.â
You tried not to mention your surprise at the young Addams going against what his older sister had made seem like tradition. Or perhaps she had changed over the years; it was a possibility she had come to enjoy the sweeter things in life. After all, Enid certainly did, so it wasnât entirely out of the realm of possibility. She always had been a lovestruck fool for Enid.
So were you.
You promptly ignored the thought.
âWhat is your proposition, Mr. Addams?â You asked as you continued to wait for your drinks.
âAh, of course,â he said. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. âI would like to invite you to a soiree we happen to be hosting.â
âIâm nothing but a stranger to you,â you said simply. âWhat about me warrants an invitation?â
âMy sister and her wife still talk of you,â he said. âIncessantly.â His smile was gentle; genuine. âI believe inviting you would make them happy.â
You didnât grace that thought with a reply. If they still talked of you, that was their issue. Wednesday was certainly psychotic enough to desire your presence. Enid, also, could certainly be delusional enough. Seeing you again should bring them no sense of joy or peace; if anything, it should cause nightmares.
It didnât matter that you often found yourself thinking of them in return. When you talked with clients who had a penchant for breaking the law, much like Wednesday. Committing their crimes guiltlessly for one reason or another. There was a difference in that Wednesday always had a good reason - even when you tried to make her believe she didnât - but that could be easily overlooked when her cold brown eyes appeared in your mind.
And Enid was often seen in the young intern at your firm. Possessing a giddiness that was so often lost in people. Her colourful nails that you had been unable to forbid were like a flash of the past. The only difference was those nails were typing away at a computer instead of leaving scratches along your back. It was difficult, on occasion, to differentiate the two.
The waitress set the drinks on the table, giving you a wink and smile in the process. You smiled back, showcasing your fangs as she turned and walked back to the counter. If Mr. Addams hadnât accompanied you, you would have flirted with the woman. Flashed a bit of cash, invited her home for a quick drink of your own before sending her back on her way.
You stirred your espresso for no good reason. At least it gave you time to think of your answer. Mr. Addams was gracious enough not to push. A wonderful change of pace from Wednesday, who would push until she regretted it. Which she had. Oh, she had, and you had all suffered for it.
There was no way you could tell Mr. Addams why you wanted to decline his invitation. If you even so much as hinted at the carnage you had caused, there was a high probability he would not only rescind his offer, but paint you as the monster you had already claimed for yourself. With good reason, of course, you hadnât earned the title by sitting around.
On the other hand, just the mere thought of seeing Enid and Wednesday made your dead heart feel alive again. You had done your best to fill your nights with women. One after the other, never keeping them long enough to even learn their names. Each a new attempt to forget the two women who had taken your heart all those years ago. They never filled the hole; if anything, they made it bigger.
PerhapsâŚ
âWhen is this little soiree of yours taking place?â You asked with a sigh, finally looking up from your espresso.
Now that smile was identical to his sisterâs.
âIâll fetch you the invitation.â
â---
You stood on the balcony of your apartment. Smoke curled around your fingers as the cigarette rested between them. The heat from the lit end was almost unbearable on your skin; it was a welcome feeling. City lights twinkled around you, creating constellations yet unnamed by the human race. Perhaps one day they would be prominent enough to fit in with the constellations of old.
It was the night before the soiree at the Addams residence. You had done your best to remain in control of your emotions the days leading up to it. Hell, you had even gone so far as to hire a few women just a few hours earlier to keep your thirst in check. You would rather receive a stake to the heart than risk another incident like the one that had created this situation in the first place.
And yet, even with all your preparations, you still couldnât shake the feeling of impending doom that had carved a home into the center of your chest.
The balcony door slid open.
âYou coming back, baby?â The woman asked.
It was a shame you didnât remember her name.
âCome on, baby,â she said, and you felt warm arms wrap around your waist. âI know you want another drink.â
You did. God you did. Just the thought of another drink left your throat searing. You tried to swallow, but all it did was burn like liquid fire trickling down your throat. With a sigh, you lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. If you were going to be in pain, you may as well finish off your cigarette.
âIâll be there in a moment,â you said with an exhale that left smoke falling from your lips.
The warmth left your waist as she went back inside, and you heard her talking to⌠the⌠other woman. God, you really needed to learn the names of the people you drank from. If anything, it was the least you could do; it was polite. But you didnât particularly care. All you knew was they werenât Enid, and they werenât Wednesday.
You were pathetic.
You took one more drag of your cigarette, feeling the heat burn the skin on your knuckles. The thick smoke left the taste of ash on your tongue and did nothing to ease the scorching pain in your throat. You dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on it with your heel. You hissed when it singed your heel; you had forgotten you were barefoot.
If you had possessed any sort of soul, you would have felt guilt. There was something tugging on your invisible heart strings, begging you to care about the women you were surrounding yourself with. No, that wasnât accurate. It wasnât something tugging at your heart strings; it was two voices that had haunted you for years.
They single handedly ruined your night. With no shame and no clue that they had even done so, they had ruined it. The women around you werenât the right women. Their skin was soft, but it wasnât the same. Their freckles were in the wrong spots, and their nails and hair were the wrong colour. Each and every moan was the wrong tone, and these women just werenât right.
It was a struggle, but by the time the night was over, you had more than gotten your fill. There was no possible way you would still be thirsty by the time you made it to the Addams residence. Though that didnât stop you from grabbing a blood bag from the fridge and tucking it into your pocket before you left your apartment.
You stopped by the mirror in your hall to make sure you looked alright. It was custom made to not contain any silver, allowing you to see at least a semblance of your reflection. It wasnât perfect, but it was like looking at someone through water. A little blurry, slightly distorted, but you could tell it was a person.
Your eyes were drawn to the dark scars that werenât entirely hidden by your shirt collar. The majority of the scars were hidden, but not those. They were a stark contrast on your neck; a stark reminder of your monstrosity. Subconsciously, you lifted your hand to run your fingers over the taut flesh. They still ached.
Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.
You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.
You still wanted more.
You recoiled as if burned. Out of all the times you could have that memory, this wasnât the optimal day. It didnât require any consideration before you walked back to the fridge and grabbed a second bag, placing it right beside the first within your jacket. You had one shot; you weren't going to blow it.
It was a beautiful day outside as you approached the Addams mansion. The sky was overcast, almost allowing you to take your glasses off. Not that you would have, but it would have been a nice option to have. Large groups of people made their way up the steps and into the mansion. It truly was a stunning building; you had missed it.
You fell into the back of a group, ensuring you were silent and could walk in unnoticed. Yes, of course someone would notice eventually, but you wanted a chance to settle back into the excessively large house. The smell of the slightly-rotting wood was enough to ease your racing pulse. It smelled like home.
While everyone continued to slowly make their way into the ballroom, you went the opposite direction. Your hand trailed against the walls, maneuvering around each and every item that was hanging. The paintings and knick knacks and more recent looking photos. Some were new, or at least newer than you. They certainly hadnât been hanging on the wall the last time you had visited.
The idle chatter of the crowd started to fade the further you went.The hallway turned into a slightly larger room filled with framed photos and awards. You let your fingers hover over the nameplates on the awards. Spelling Bee, First Place. A smile tugged at your lips as you moved on. Silver, Figure Skating. Down and down the line, you looked at award after award. There were names underneath, but you didnât waste your time looking at them.
After the awards were the photos. You picked up the first one with gentle hands; a wedding photo deserved care. It was no surprise to see Wednesday in black and Enid in something so bright it was almost blinding. The image alone had your chest aching. They looked rather happy.
Their happiness didnât distract you from the scars down the side of Enidâs face. The ones that traveled from the corner of her eyes to her jaw. Based on the colour in the photo, they were freshly healed. You couldnât see Wednesdayâs; she had a black lace wrapped around her wrist. From the look of Enidâs, you could imagine.
You set the frame back down on the table and stepped back. The curiosity had disappeared, quickly replaced with something heavy. With a tight chest, you backed out of the room and made your way to the ballroom with everyone else. The slight limp in your step worsened. A sigh fell from your lips as you had to lean against the wall and reach down to tighten the brace. Your jaw clenched almost painfully as the brace became insufferably tight around your leg, but at least it gave you the ability to stand on your own once again.
Until you were nearly knocked over by children running down the hall.
âExcuse me!â One of them called back. A chorus of the same words were quick to follow as the other children ran after the first.
âBehave!â You froze. âAnd donât push people!â
âYes maâam!â The children shouted.
If you had known you would have such a visceral reaction just to her voice, you wouldnât have accepted the invitation. You had no idea your body itself would react to her voice. If you could sweat, you would have been. Your fingers twitched. Donât turn, your mind told you. Begged, even. Desperate, feral, pathetic.
âCara mia.â You forced yourself to take a step. âYou forgot your shawl upstairs.â
Donât turn around, your mind said. It was frantic. You forced another step. And another. Each one heavier than the last, as if your body was fighting with your mind. You truly were a fool to accept the invitation, and there wasnât even a word to describe yourself for actually daring to appear. Stupid. That was the best word.
âAre you a vampire?â
You sighed and took a moment to calm your emotions before looking down. One of the children that had been running around was now standing beside you, looking up at you with bright eyes and a cocked head. It reminded you of- no, you wouldnât think of that. You turned to face the child and shifted your weight to rest on your good leg.
âI am,â you said with a singular nod of your head. âAnd you are?â
âOh,â they said with a smile. A large, wolfish smile. âIâm an Addams.â
You were thankful they couldnât see your eyes. âCharmed.â
Of course they were an Addams. How could you ever think differently? The Addamses were magnets for trouble, and you didnât have to know the child to deduct that they were, in fact, trouble. You turned away from them and looked back out into the ballroom.
âMy mothers have a picture of you on their nightstand,â the child continued.
You wished they would leave.
âBut you have scars, and the person in their picture doesnât.â
You would have no shame in killing a child.
âMy momma has scars too.â It would be simple. âThey almost match yours.â
âDonât harass the guests, dear.âÂ
Or perhaps you would simply kill yourself. It would certainly be less painful than whatever was about to happen. You could hear the echo of your dead heart beating loudly in your ears. Perhaps if you refused to turn around, she would continue walking. Walk right past you and into the crowd, leaving you behind as you so very much deserved.
But she didnât continue walking as you desperately wished she would. She didnât move out into the crowd, saying her greetings to the others as was customary. You could barely hear her footsteps at all above the incessant noise that you were wishing would get louder. Drown out all the thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside you.
âWe werenât sure you would come.â
You still refused to turn around. Even when you felt her sidle up next to you, her arm brushing lightly against yours. Oh, her warmth was glorious. You had forgotten just how lovely it was to feel her warming you up. To bring life to your soul in a way that only she was capable of. No amount of women in your bed had ever held a candle to her warmth.
âYou look good.â Her voice was impossibly soft against the rising chaos of the soiree.
Growls and screaming echoed in your mindâs ear as you finally made the brave - or stupid - decision to turn your head. If you had thought your anxiety was bad before, you would have been impressed with your anxiety at that moment. The first thing your eyes took notice of were the healed, lightly coloured scars on her jaw.
The scars you had caused.
âYou look healthy,â Enid said with a soft smile.
She looked so very grown. That childish glint in her eyes was still present, but she held herself with far more respect. The insecurity had long faded away, much like the scars that continued down her neck. The child was right; you almost matched.
âI fed before arriving,â you said. Your words felt like ash in your mouth. âNo need for history to repeat itself.â
âWe have more in the kitchen,â she said quickly. âIf you need it.â
You opened your coat to show the two bags in the pocket. âI came prepared, thank you.â
She smiled a closed mouth smile and nodded before looking back out at the ballroom. That heavy feeling settled in your chest once again. After so many years, that was all you had to say to her? That you had fed already? Of course, that was probably the one thing she wanted to hear after so long. You were a fool. A damned fool.
âI hope the kids werenât bothering you,â Enid said. âThey get excited when we host gatherings.â
âThey seem decent,â you said. Decent?? Thatâs the best you can come up with? âThat one-â you pointed to the one with the bright eyes â-is rather talkative.â
Enid giggled, and for a moment, you felt young again. âWilla says she gets it from me.â
Willa. You could have laughed if it didnât hurt so bad. Wednesday had always attempted to claim she hated it. Yet it never stopped the lightest blush on her cheeks when you or Enid would use the unassuming nickname. When was the last time you had even heard it?
Come on, Willa, put it down, Iâm being serious.
You turned your body ever so slightly. You didnât want Enid to see the scars creeping down your neck. Her hand brushed against yours. It was shameful how quickly you pulled your hand back, shoving it into your pocket. No good could come from her feeling the shake of your hand, or the scars that hid below the cloth of your clothes.
âOh, there she is,â Enid said, this time reaching out to grab your arm a little harder than she probably meant to. âStay right here, Iâll bring her over!â
The moment she left your side, the cold started to crawl back over your skin. It sunk into every vessel, every inch of your body, both inside and out. Attending the soiree was a mistake. A mistake that you couldnât take back. Just like that night. Perhaps it wasnât too late. You could leave before they came back and continue your miserable existence as you had been.
But then you saw them together, hand in hand. It was an unexpected thing to see Wednesday practically smiling at Enid. In public, that was. You couldnât recall a single time she had smiled at anything in public. Yet there she was, walking closer and showing some semblance of physical affection in public. It was stunning. Your heart was almost beating.
Until your eyes landed on all the black lace that you knew covered scars no one could comprehend.
âI told you I saw them,â you heard Enid say as they both approached where you were frozen in place. âAnd I was right.â
Wednesday looked up at you with those stunning brown eyes. âSo you were.â
Your fingers twitched in your pocket. Now that she was so close, you could smell her blood flowing through her veins. No matter how much you swallowed, you couldnât ease the burn that was rising up your throat. You clenched your jaw tight, ignoring the sting of your fang piercing your lip.
Wednesday!
You didnât know what to say. What could you say? âHello Wednesday, Iâm sorry for nearly draining you while you attempted to prove I wasnât a monster.â Or even to Enid. âI apologise for trying to kill you when you stopped me from killing our girlfriend.â There was nothing you could say, to either of them, to justify what you had done. What you couldnât forget.
âI told them you had their picture,â the previous child said as they approached along with the rest of the herd.
For the first time, you were thankful for children.
âSo you told our secrets?â Wednesday asked. âYou know what happens to those who tell our secrets.â
The old Wednesday would have sounded more intimidating and borderline threatening. Yet, even as her words said one thing, the soft look on her face said another. The children all smiled and tried to hide their laughter as they continued to look up at her.
âYouâd better run,â Enid whispered.
Each of the children shared a look before running off, laughter following in their wake. It was almost⌠cute? Adorable, even? God, you needed to escape this place, you were almost turning soft. You needed to get back to your murderers and criminals, this was turning pathetic.
âAs intimidating as ever, my love,â Enid said as she leaned down and placed a soft chaste kiss on Wednesdayâs cheek.
It made you sick. The burn in your throat spread, turning into a searing pain in your chest and stomach. All that was left was the tingling in your fingers and legs and you were finished. You wished the inferno would swallow you whole, reducing you to nothing more than ash and bone.
âYou seem pale,â Wednesday said.
It seemed you wouldnât combust soon enough.
âI only arrived out of courtesy,â you said as you stood taller. âNow that I have said my hellos, I must say my goodbyes.â
You tried to act like the looks on Enidâs and Wednesdayâs faces didnât kill you inside. It was like a silver stake to the heart, spreading its carnage down every muscle fiber and blood vessel. After all these years, you had managed to hurt them again within only a few moments. And you didnât even possess the decency to apologise for the first sleight against them.
âDo you have to?â Enid asked. âYou could stay.â Her eyes fell. âWe could talk.â
âDid Enid tell you we have more blood in the fridge?â Wednesday asked.
She circled her fingers around her lace-covered wrist.
âI donât do house calls,â you said. You could hear Wednesdayâs pulse over the crowd. âEspecially with those I cannot pay penance to.â
And yet, you didnât make a single move. Against your better wishes, your feet stayed glued to the floor. Each beat of Wednesdayâs heart was enough to have your mouth salivating, yet you couldnât leave. A memory popped into your head of Enid almost seeming disappointed that her blood wasnât appetising to you. It was a fond memory, one you replayed often enough for it to seem like a core memory of your relationship.
âYou could stay,â Enid said.
âWe can go somewhere quieter,â Wednesday continued.
You didnât want to go somewhere quiet, you wanted to go home. You internally scoffed at the word; you didnât live in a home. It was just a building, with four walls and a new blood bag or two every night. You barely lived in it, instead opting to spend all your time in your office where nothing could remind you of the two women standing in front of you.
They were your home.
âPlease?â Enid asked softly. Almost too softly. Even with your enhanced hearing you could barely discern the words over the jazz band that had started playing.
You sighed. Would it truly hurt to spend a few moments with them? To give you some semblance of normalcy that only they could provide? After all, you could see the muscles underneath Enidâs skin. If you truly lost control, surely she could stop you. She had stopped you before.
The scars reminded you of it every day.
âVery well,â you said with a slight nod.
Enid was the one to reach out and grab your hand, pulling it out of its pocket and linking her fingers with yours. Her nails dug into the back of your hand, drawing out a sting that was a welcome distraction. The ache in your throat was ever present as Wednesday walked right beside you while Enid led you out of the ballroom.
The hustle and bustle of the ballroom slowly faded into oblivion as you were led down the corridors of the Addams mansion. You could recall memories from each room you passed. Each with their own story to tell. Stories of stolen kisses, scandalous rendezvous, silent moments with the women you loved, but together and separate.
When Enid stopped in the kitchen, you would have laughed had it been under any other circumstance. It was clear they had the same thoughts on their minds when Enid sat you down and Wednesday retrieved a blood bag from the fridge. She placed it between you and her when she sat opposite you at the table.
How comical.
They both stared at you with unwavering gazes. What was going through their minds, you wondered. Were they feeling the same way you had? Broken, anxious about fucking up, convinced you had blown your chance? Or perhaps they were waiting for you to break and recreate what had happened on that fated night all those years ago.
You sighed when you deduced they wouldnât speak first.
âYou both look well,â you said in a croaky voice that, if they were wise, was indicative of the state of your instincts. Think of something else to say. âAre all those children yours?â
Think of something less ridiculous.
âYes they are,â Wednesday said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was almost condescending; you loved it.
âPubert said youâre a lawyer?â Enid asked.
âDefence attorney,â you said with a nod, âyes.â
âIs it, ah, fun?â She asked.
You sighed. If the entire night was going to go along those lines - awkward and uncomfortable, tip toeing around every word - you would rather leave. Not a single positive thing could come from such a conversation. It was talking for talking sake. You all hated small talk, that was something that you knew had never changed, yet there you were, struggling to find any sort of conversation.
âItâs acceptable,â you said before placing both palms on the table. âI believe I really should be getting on.â
You attempted to push yourself up from the seat. Attempted being the key word. It wasnât often your bad knee would buckle when standing; usually reserved for long nights in your office where you had barely managed to take bathroom breaks. Yet when you pushed yourself up, you felt the strain in your knee. It was a familiar feeling, that weakness before a painful tightness that so often forced you back into your seat.
And it did. Your grip on the table meant nothing as your knee shook for a nanosecond before giving out underneath you. Thankfully the gasp never actually left your lips. You could taste the copper in your mouth as you bit your tongue in an effort to stay silent. In the end, your entire leg trembled.
Enid and Wednesday stood up quickly, knocking their chairs back and watching your every move. You wished they would come to you; you were glad they didnât. The looks on their faces was terrifying enough. Identical looks to the ones they had had that night.
âWednesday, put it down,â you said when she refused to remove the knife from her hand.
âYour fears of being a monster are unwarranted,â she said as she gripped the blade tighter. âYou wouldnât hurt anyone.â
She had barely broken the skin before the scent hit you. It had been months since you had fed, and she had broken the floodgates. Everything about her disappeared except for the small drop of blood pooling at the bottom of her hand.
You didnât feel yourself practically jumping toward her. You didnât hear her gasp when you ripped the knife from her hand. You didnât see the look on her face as you licked up the blood on her palm, or when you moved up her hand to bite the pulse point on her wrist.
But you tasted the nectar that flowed through her veins. You felt the strong pulse beneath your lips. You felt the scorching hot blood falling down your chin before you simply couldnât keep up with the flow. Something vaguely pushed against your neck, but it was little more than a nuisance. All you knew was the blood in your mouth and the warmth on your lips.
Vaguely, you heard something. A scream, a growl, something breaking, you couldnât tell the difference. It was nothing compared to the relief you were getting. How could you care about something in the outside world when you had such a delicious-
-something solid slammed into your body. The skin underneath your lips vanished, replaced by the cold air around you. When your body stopped rolling, you could feel the aches already starting to form. It didnât matter. You zeroed in on Wednesdayâs wrist again.
You were met with what felt like a truck slamming into your leg. Bones cracked, stretching the tendons and muscles with the new direction they were facing. It wouldnât hold any weight when you tried to stand up. No matter; that was why you had two legs.
Something large and furry stepped in between you and Wednesday. Nothing about it was familiar in that moment. Instinct told you it was nothing but an obstacle in the way of your feed. It charged, and you swiped. Your fingers clipped something even as you felt its claws rake across your skin.
You tried to stand. Something sharp crossed your chest; the air was cold on your skin. When you stood up again, it was met with similar results. The third attempt got you closer to Wednesday. When something sharp clasped around your shoulder and threw you back to the ground, you stilled.
That hot blood you had gorged yourself on started to feel hot on your neck. Not in it, on it. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. Your hand lifted to the side of your neck. Your fingers pushed past the skin and then-exposed muscle.
As you pushed harder on the wounds, doing your best to staunch the flow of blood, the world started to come back to you. Blackness peeled back from your vision. The blurry world started to come into focus along with the sounds that you could finally discern as gasps and growls.
So did the pain.
You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded in places.
Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.
You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.
You released the pressure from your neck and felt the blood continue to fall.
âIâm sorry,â you said softly. Something wet fell down your cheeks.
âI know,â Wednesday answered just as softly. It was humiliating.
It was lovely.
âPlease stay,â Enid said. You looked down to see her reach her hand across the table.
You shouldnât. You had nearly killed them, had gone into a frenzy that you hadnât experienced ever again. What if it happened again with them? After all those years, you still loved them. You would never admit to anyone, but you kept their photos on your desk at work. You couldnât risk hurting them again. Couldnât risk killing them. You were a monster, and that fact alone was never going to change.
They looked at you expectantly.
For when is a monster not a monster?
You reached forward and placed your hand on top of Enidâs.
I fully believe (hc) that Yang doesn't get period cramps or maybe even a period bc he's a trans man and also mainly bc of what he puts his body through. Also this man def has chronic pain AND WILL use a cane sometimes. âď¸đ¤
You should be able to go to jail for being an asshole, hell even just a minor inconvenience.
'cuz wtf do you mean Larry also known as "The Leach" by the local police is able to go to the same spot every day where he has admitted to stand there and watch all the women walk by him because that's where they work and cat call them for fun.
And the mf doesn't even get hit with a fine for loitering.
What do the cops deem him being a bitch to women a clear purpose.