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@mortecarlate
#MORTECARLATE —— independent & selective MORTICIA ADDAMS from the original Charles Addams cartoons ; & most adaptations. established Sept. 2017 - originally under @matriiiarch. MDNI. possessed by RAE ( 30+, she/her ). Warning: blog may contain triggering content.
associated with @mortsauvage & @deviaticn.
“I guess simply because I wanted to?” Lenina said, with a shrug. “I kind of miss cooking.”
❝ Interesting. & what do you like to cook? ❞
“Would you like me to make dinner?”
❝ Why would you do that—? ❞
my inbox is also always open for asks. send a meme or ask a random question for tish to answer. whatever your black little heart desires. we'd love to answer them, even if it does take us a while.
Took advantage of that.
Larissa can feel muscles in her face twitch as she struggles to keep her composure. It's not an admission; it could mean anything. And daring to voice any one possibility aloud would shatter the fragile plausibility of their safely-distanced, friendly-but-not-intimate routine. It would bring things into the room with them that certainly neither wants to ever see again: the shadows of two girls struggling to find their place in a complex and volatile world. And one desperately, cruelly in love with the other.
If that's what Morticia means, Larissa doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to hear an apology from her for being an ordinary, heterosexual teen girl who just enjoyed the extra attention of a best friend who didn't... Who couldn't... And sometimes even now can barely admit it. -- What's the matter, Weems, you a fucking dyke? -- Larissa, it's okay to like girls, you can tell us the truth--I mean, it's kind of gross, like, you're in the changing room with us and stuff... -- You know, somebody told me you were a queer. I said, no, she's just big and manly, it's not her fault...
But it doesn't have to mean any of that. Morticia could be talking about anything. Upstaging her at the Solstice Talent Show, for example. Upstaging her in their social lives. Upstaging her anywhere and everywhere, really.
At last, humiliated, she has to turn her face away. It's an admission of everything on procession in her mind, and how her face has become a screen on which all those old torments are projected. She grips the arms of her chair tightly as she says, "I'm sorry, too. It's not as though I acted perfectly toward you." In fact, toward the end, she was perfectly diabolical, which she won't say aloud. If Morticia can leave it all in a cloud of ambiguity, if she can avoid saying exactly what she means, Larissa can, too.
Something comes back to her, half a memory, and as real and intense as if it had never left. A sense of Morticia's dreamy vagueness as a sort of armoring veil, and Larissa wishing desperately for the power to reach out and seize it and yank it off. Tell me what you mean! Say what you feel! There were times in their school days it would rise in her throat as a frustrated scream, and it took all her self-control to swallow it back down. And here it is again, just like all those memories and pains, renewed by Morticia's presence.
She swallows. What she feels really must be what Cleopatra felt as she guided the asp to her breast. "You could," she says, her voice level even as terror fills her mouth with bitterness, “be more specific. What--exactly--did you take advantage of?”
Now Morticia will retreat. As she always does. God knows this is a mirror of a dozen such old scenes where Larissa strained to control what felt like a body made of pure feeling and fear and love, while Morticia touched up her lipgloss and skipped out the door for a romantic rendezvous in the old cemetery with Gomez.
Or she'll say what they've both always known. The truth about what Larissa feels, and Morticia never felt. Which possibility is worse?
IT HAD NEVER BEEN MORTICIA'S INTENSTION TO EVER HUMILIATE THE OTHER, regardless of what may have been believed at the time. In certain moments, she realizes just how naive, closed off and immature she actually was back in those days. Perhaps even, narcissistic. Her focuses outweighed many circumstances and she became blind to hidden truths. Rumors about Larissa's sexuality never bothered her, but she also never saw the way those icy blue eyes looked at her. Neglectful, oblivious, self-centered, vain. It's hitting her like a sack of bricks, the way Larissa is looking at her even now and then turns her face away as if ashamed.
Morticia's expression falls even further while taking a step back. If only she had been open to realize then what she's realizing now; things could have been so different. All of these years and Morticia only thought of their banters as fun little quips, but clearly that thought was very one sided. There were of course times when Tish thought Larissa had hated her, whether it had been jealousy or something else, she never quite knew. But nor did she ever care to ask or fully try to understand. Until now.
Even when it's too late, she still wants to know and dive into the depths of everything she herself had tucked away for so many years. It hadn't dawned on her then, but that didn't mean the feelings weren't there all along, she just repressed them; ignored them; pretended as if they were just some… faze. She's ashamed of that now, knowing how ridiculous those thoughts were then. And now she's heading face first into the storm of truth when Larissa requests her to be more specific and it's then that Morticia's spine straightens even more. Initially out of defiance, but then she eases and takes a deep breath while looking down upon the floor.
❝ I took advantage of your friendship. I didn't see it the way that you did and I was selfish for that. I didn't realize what that did to you. I didn't let myself give in to the feelings I did have for you, either. I was scared to. ❞ She pauses, if only to swallow as her throat clenched and tightened. ❝ I was a fool. ❞
She's groggy. She feels like she's been hit like, or something worse. Her eyes slowly begin to flutter open. Her memory slowly coming back to her; Marilyn stabbing her wit a needle. The shade poising spreading through her system. Her body felt as though it where on fire. Then was black. Now she's back in her bedroom at Nevermore as she takes in her surroundings; Morticia's sitting beside her bed. "Morticia?" She groans as she tries to sit up, but her body just simply won't allow it and she lays back down.
@mortecarlate
MORTICIA WAS THERE BY LARISSA'S SIDE WITHOUT HESITATION NOR SECOND THOUGHT, the moment her vision impacted her senses, she told Gomez and he too instantly ensured a carriage that would race her back to Nevermore as quickly as possible. Their daughter was in danger, as was Larissa Weems and time was not on their side. Unfortunately, Morticia had not gotten there in time.
Wednesday was safe; blessed be, but Principal Weems remained within the clutches of death. So so close, had it not been for Morticia's expertise in healing medicine, Nevermore would have lost one of their greatest advisers. Days and nights had passed, but Morticia stayed next to Larissa's bedside until finally, she see's a twitch and an awakened response. Her hand instantly begins to dab a cooling cloth along her forehead and the side of her face, ❝ shhh… ❞ she begins to coo. ❝ It's alright. You're alright. I'm here. Don't move, you're still very weak. ❞
Larissa relaxes a little more when Morticia doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t do anything to stop the kiss. That’s when Larissa’s arms are wrapping themselves around her old roommates waist and having a mind of their own and pulling her closer into Larissa, and her hands are settling on the small of Morticia’s waist. Larissa knows they shouldn’t be doing this, but she doesn’t regret that they are. She’s wanted this for so so long, and she not about to stop now; not until the air in her lungs run out and they begin to burn because her need for oxygen is to much. Which the sensation begins all to soon to Larissa’s liking and she slowly pulls away and lets out a groan of irritation. “I-I’m sorry…” She apologizes and it comes out in pants as she rests her forehead against Morticia’s. “I s-shouldn’t have done t-that.” Her eyes close as she tries catching her breath. She shouldn’t have done that but yet, yet she wants to do it again, and again.
THE GROAN OF IRRITATION THAT FOLLOWS LARISSA'S PULL BACK causes a sting of confusion to appear upon Morticia's expression. That kiss had been, more than she could have ever imagined and more. A pleasant surprise, to say the least. If only Larissa had that same courage years ago — or if only Morticia did — this wouldn't be so awkward. Maybe it would have been either way.
Still, they find themselves tangled in this wanton embrace with fingers tightly curled upon each other and foreheads pressed together. She can still feel the heat of Larissa's breath against her own chilled face, the tip of her nose caressing softly and taking in every bit of the woman's perfume like an intoxicated lioness on the verge of pouncing.
❝ No, no. Don't apologize. ❞ A single hand rises then to cup at Larissa's face and she still allows their lips to hover as each of them continue to catch their breath. ❝ I'm sorry you felt the need to stop. ❞ She knows why, of course. The alligator in the room and the shiny leash that adorned her left ring finger.
Right, Gomez, her husband. They shouldn't even be having this conversation, but here they were. Larissa isn't doing anything to stop it either. Morticia kisses her palm and that's just not enough for her now. She wants to be selfish. and stop tiptoeing. She can't help but lean into Morticia's touch when her hand reaches up to cup her own cheek; then those oh so soft lips pressing against her ungloved hand. She's stumbling to find her words and that's when she does it. Larissa leans down and kisses Morticia.
IT COULD'VE TAKEN A SINGLE SECOND FOR MORTICIA TO BACK AWAY, the instant she felt Larissa lean towards her. But her breath catches in that same moment and she suddenly freezes, allowing their lips to press together. She could pull away, press a hand upon Larissa's chest and stop this at the source before they got any further; but that's not what Morticia does. Guilt hits her instantly and yet, her mouth pushes forward, lips kissing and caressing the other back in a passionate embrace with eyes fully shut tight. A soft hum escaping her, almost desperately for more. Fingers gripping tightly upon the woman hovering over her and she doesn't want it to stop.
really not appreciating gwen's fem!gomez appearance in that madonna video. like, wow.... how dare you.
@mortecarlate Continued:
A chuckle slips at Morticia's protest. Seems like somethings never change. Her hand immediately grasps for the hand that's quickly retracted as an arm wraps around Morticia's waits, and she's tugged closer to Larissa, and her hand is placed back to the spot where it first rested. "I'll make it worth you're while, darling." Larissa promises.
TISH CAN'T HELP THE SLIGHT GRUNT that exudes once Larissa wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her hand back to where it originated upon blouse. A devious smirk playing across crimson lips and she hums, ever so delicately while allowing herself to be pressed against the woman even closer. Fingers lightly unbuttoning the silk fabric and pushing her chest forward. Their gaze locking and she leans upon her toes so that their lips hover, ❝ Will you wear that thing, tonight—? ❞
NO ONE ASKED BUT, I DO HAVE A VERY STRONG OPINION when it comes to the relationship between Gomez and Morticia. Granted, I was born in 1990 and my original introduction was in fact the '91 films with Anjelica and Raul however, I did also watch the 60's sitcom. My mother (RIP), saw my fascination and always wanted me to know and understand the original of all things I became interested in; i.e. when I picked up her novel of The Vampire Armand by Anne Rice she insisted I start with IWTV before reading anything else and I became obsessed with the franchise ever since, in order. When it came to the Addams family, I moved a bit backwards by watching the 90's films, then the sitcoms and then the cartoons and then reading everything else on my own that was available at the time.
I will not go into the New Addams Family or Addams Family Reunion (regardless of how much I love Tim Curry as Gomez) - I did watch them, I just won't talk about them - & do not get me started on the damn musical. When it comes to Gomez and Morticia's relationship I am entirely enamored and believe that they have the purest form of love I have ever come to know that is without toxicity or negativity in the standard sense. They are and will forever be, my ride or die as far as the ideal relationship goes for any couple. They are it. A love anyone could ever strive for.
However, Tim Burton's Wednesday tv show, ruined that. Mind you, I say this with…. so much I DON'T EVEN KNOW THE PROPER WORD FOR IT, culpability—???? GUILT!? I fucking LOVE Morticia and Larissa Weems. I LOVE THEM. I think they had something they lost and it honestly pains me deep inside a bit to think Tish had any amount of love for anyone other than Gomez and yet, here's Larissa Fuckin' Weems that had to be randomly introduced in a random tv version of the Addams Family and even from the very beginning I had no idea how I felt about it except…. I was into it. Maybe because I'm bisexual. Maybe because I appreciate all love. Maybe because I don't fucking care, and yet, I always cared about these two: Gomez & Morticia Addams. The only heterosexual couple that I stood by 100% without question or hesitation. Either way, the entirety of this post is to just specify that even though I am a die hard Gomez & Morticia Addams stan, I do really love Morticia and Larissa Weems. Thank you for reading my rant.
Larissa's hands are there, undefended, on her desk. Morticia, naturally, sees the opening in her armor and reaches for it.
She finds herself looking stupidly at where they're connected, thinking of how she hasn't touched Morticia's skin in more than thirty years (and still isn't, with her gloves on), barely aware of the other woman speaking, conscious, nonetheless, that she should respond, and stop staring, and get on with it, and relax a little while she's at it, to make it less obvious how Morticia's slow approach and elegant perch on her desk, irresistibly reminiscent of a dark and glorious bird choosing to briefly alight, has made her back stiff and straight and her jaw tighten.
She blinks several times and looks up at her. That's awful, too, because of the clarity of detail it bestows: Morticia's eyes with a tear still glimmering on her lower lashes, Morticia's perfume surrounding them in wreaths of incense and decay, Morticia's lips with the slightest, tenderest smear just at the very corner of her mouth, where, perhaps, the wine has intervened with her perfection.
Larissa controls her face. With, she feels, entirely admirable calm and gravity, she turns her hand over to clasp Morticia's and lightly squeeze it. Her heart stops, hanging in her chest like a dull and inanimate stone, before it jolts frantically back to life with a series of inelegant ricochets around the cage of her ribs.
"I understand," she says. "There's nothing to apologize for. It's what I'm here for, after all." She smiles tightly. "Insight and guidance." She has to do something that will part them--something that will pry Morticia off her desk, make her distant, or disgusting, or merely irritating, so that Larissa can feel nothing toward her. Or, if she must feel something, then let it be an aloof superiority. Frankly, the longer she holds Morticia's hand, the more certain she is that she will go insane.
"I know talking to Wednesday herself may be out of the question," Larissa says, adopting a look of sincerity and concern, and reaching into herself for the most revolting thing she can think to say to Morticia. "But have you discussed this with Gomez?"
IT'S WHEN LARISSA TURNS HER HAND TO CLASP UPON MORTICIA'S OWN that Tish allows her other to join them. Once again in silent gratitude and no other words to follow for what seems like a very long but simultaneously brief duration. The oxymoron in itself quite palpable and not unbeknownst to the brunette, still properly seated upon the edge of the woman's desk with one leg casually placed over the other as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Like she's done it so many times before.
It's Larissa's precise familiarity and understanding that allows Morticia to lean into her even in such a vulnerable moment, remembering the times they used to rely on one another a lot more in the past. It's almost sad to be reminded on how they have lost that connection over the years. Through some petty misunderstanding, no doubt, though she can't quite recall. But this isn't really about her and Larissa's history; it's about Morticia and her daughter's present; she has to focus on that. It's what she's here for, after all. She's only glad that it's Larissa she gets to rely on in such turmoil circumstances.
But then her former roommate and… companion asks the very thing Tish wishes she hadn't, regardless of how practical it was in such a professional setting. Her jaw locks and gaze shifts away, her mouth suddenly feeling very dry causing her tongue to poke through lips that wished to remain poised and perfected. She shakes her head, ❝ no. ❞ But that's not entirely true. Of course, she has.
But Gomez tells her what she wants to hear; that their petit chauve-souris was just being her defiant little self, as any other her age would be and yet, Morticia cannot accept that as an answer. She cannot accept the fact that her daughter is more like her than she wishes her to be, and why that frightens her is profoundly repulsive. It goes deeper into herself than she's willing to go and there is no one she can talk to about it that would understand. Not even Larissa. Most importantly in fact, not Larissa.
So instead, she slowly gazes back up and manages a sad smirk. ❝ Again, I'm sorry. I should not have bothered you with this. I-… ❞ she slips off the edge of the desk and removes her hands from Weems' own, coming to a full stance while brushing the wrinkles from her dress. ❝ As always, I appreciate your time. ❞ And then she turns to walk away.
“ i always found the saying ‘what’s dead should stay dead’ to be overrated.” // she’s totally referring to herself
*: ･ﾟ✧ necromancy sentence starters
❝ NOT EVEN JUST OVERRATED. QUITE PROFOUND, IF YOU ASK ME. ❞ What really is the meaning of death, anyway? No one has ever come to know and even in logistic terms; it's nothingness, but that's never really true. The dead have had their ways of making their presences known for centuries, milestones, most just simply turn a blind eye to it. But not Morticia— no, she's always had quite the fascination and inkling when it came to experiencing the use of dead things and reincarnation or even, necromancy. Dead is never truly dead. ❝ What's it like, do you think? ❞
What's my reputation? What do you think when you see my URL?
Reblog this post if you don't mind jumping around the timeline for different threads!
"Well, if they succeed, they had better hope She's in a good mood," Lilia replied, the memory of Rio's frightening personality still fresh in her mind. She honestly wasn't sure which she liked least; the face of Death she had Seen repeatedly over the centuries, haunting her visions, or the unpredictably and terrifying Green Witch who thought life or death games were fun.
"As long as the tea isn't poisoned," she answered drily, not entirely sure if she was joking or not. "They might be happy to tempt Death, but I'm not." And she was not ashamed to admit it; she'd come close enough already, and she wasn't inclined to have that kind of proximity again any time soon.
But then children never saw death for what it actually was, did they? Even children raised in an alternative household, one that didn't shy away from dead things, were still children. Which means in a lot of ways they probably considered themselves immortal. Lilia remembered she used to think that way.
"You're not worried about what happens if they succeed?" she asked as she followed on for the promised of unpoisoned tea.
WHEN IT COMES TO OUTSIDERS UNDERSTANDING OF THEIR UNIQUE FAMILY— there will always be very little to none. It's preferred in most cases, frustrating in some; Morticia finds it best not to dive into too many variables or details in trying to explain it. Not when it isn't relevant, anyway. So for now, she merely shrugs a shoulder and escorts the woman into the foyer, towards the garden where their tea is presently waiting.
❝ Oh, don't worry. I never poison my guests prior to knowing their preferences. One can never presume such things. ❞ Though she does find enjoyment in trying every so often, but that game has no reservations here tonight. The latter question that's presented to her does cause her to turn her head ever so slightly, just enough to give Lilia a quick acknowledgement. ❝ They've succeeded before. ❞
Is all she says on the matter. Once they enter the greenhouse area, they are initially greeted by the giant African Strangler whose vines slowly begin to move upon approach. Morticia brushes a single hand against them, her tongue clicking several times when walking past before she's turning towards Lilia again and gesturing towards the small table that awaits them. ❝ Please, have a seat. ❞
