#written writes

[writteninblackao3]

Medarda's for a Day

“You wanna be a brat,” Sevika astutely guesses. “And you’re gonna tell me why.” “Because I deserve the opportunity,” Mel growls. “You don’t—no one—has any idea how hard I work for both of these cities. I toil, I tire—all with a smile, even when speaking with people who practically spit in my face and have the gall to think I—me—” she scoffs, “to think I’m beneath them.” Her gaze loses focus then sharpens to glare at Sevika as proxy of all the weight on her shoulders. She straightens, chin lifting a bit. “So, yes, I deserve it. I deserve to be doted on. I deserve to not have to lift a finger, if I so choose. I deserve to be—” “A princess,” Sevika finishes. “Like you’d have been if you never left Noxus. So, that’s it? We all owe you or something?” “I owe me,” Mel says. “And I’m taking what I’m owed.”

[writteninblackao3]

Indelible

Wednesday’s voice is a Brillo pad that scrapes along her ear when she says, "Nothing scares me." Enid rolls her eyes and readjusts the phone against her ear. "How could I forget? You’re un-scare-able." "Made up word." "All words are made up." She smiles. "You taught me that." "This is true," Wednesday concedes quietly. Her voice is distant and muffled when she says, "Whisky, Sir Davis. Interestingly—spelled without the E." "Are you going to call every drink you have?" "I am in competition with the bar tender," Wednesday says. She never coughs or vocally winces when she shoots them back, but this time her voice is raspy. "And I am winning," she says gruffly. The sound of her voice moves through Enid who has to reposition in sudden unspent energy. She clears her throat, but Wednesday speaks next before she can. "I don’t know, I suppose things have always been different with you." Enid tries to follow the change in conversation, the change in Wednesday’s voice. "Different how?"

Thing’s recent breakup leaves Wednesday contemplative as she drinks in solidarity with him.

Then, for no reason at all, she calls Enid.

[writteninblackao3]

Behold Me Because I'm Beholden, Beloved

Once the dust settles, Harrowhark finally utters those three words she's been longing to say that convey the depth of her feelings: "I die next." Gideon's mouth bends and lifts higher on one side in a patented playful smile that perforates Harrow's heart. "Or, and I know this is a wild concept, Bone Bemoaner—been working on that one—" "It's terrible." Harrow's voice is a knife through butter. Gideon waves her hands. "Hear me out: no one dies." She steps closer. "Don't you want to live, Harrow? With me?" The answer to the first question was an automatic no, but the addendum with Gideon gives her pause. It's never seemed to be a viable option.

[writteninblackao3]

Teacher's Pet

"I know you're an intellect and you're really into books. Would you like to come to this seminar thing with me this weekend?" Enid asks with a hopeful expression while batting her lashes.

Wednesday just glares at her for a long moment then flatly declares, "I'm your professor."

Enid shrugs. "We're the same age, if that's what you're worried about." She leans in closer. "In fact, I'm older." She smirks and winks.

Wednesday looks momentarily troubled then irritated after Enid shrugs and says, "Don't blame Thing. I kinda cornered him and made him tell me." She grins at Wednesday. "Anyway, don't you think it's such a shame we had to meet like this?"

[writteninblackao3]

Can’t Get You Out of My Head

“Harrow,” Gideon whispers through her lips, and the sound is bittersweet. Gideon’s words but Harrow’s own voice. Like a whisper caressing the folds of her brain, Gideon hears the icy whisper of her tormentor’s voice, Don’t stop. “Ianthe’s taught you a thing or two.” Jealous? Gideon frowns, tries her best to sound believable when she says, “No.” Liar. She shivers.

[writteninblackao3]

Mercy Makes One Mourn

"Let’s play a game, little baby. I call it Mercy."

It isn’t long before Harrow gasps, "Mercy," once. Then again, "Mercy."

And it isn't her jaw, not necessarily. Harrow can strip and renew tendon and bone ad infinitum. It's Mercy's touch, perfunctory in nature, that burns through her until her own necromancer talents are useless if she's nothing but a pile of ashes once Mercymorn is done.

The Saint of Joy’s smile is the least mirthful thing Harrowhark has ever seen. "Baby sister, I can’t tell if you’re begging for mercy...or begging for Mercy."

[writteninblackao3]

@wipweek - A WIP From Your Largest Fandom

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“How have I not noticed all evening how divine your scent is?” She leans lower to bury her nose into Enid’s neck. Her hand smooths down Enid’s face until Wednesday hooks her thumb on the other side of her jaw for enough leverage to wrench her head to the side. “This was my vision,” Enid says sagely some time later. By now, Wednesday can barely open her eyes against the onslaught of pain, but she peers up at Enid. “Your...vision?” Despite the situation at hand, Enid shrugs unhelpfully. “Tried to tell you,” she says in a sing-song voice. “I had a vision of this very moment earlier.” Wednesday groans through gritted teeth but it ends on a helpless whimper that calls to Enid. “And what is this very moment?” she grits through her teeth. “Isn’t it obvious?” Enid glances down to the strain beneath the zipper of Wednesday’s pants. “You’re in rut, Wednesday.” _____________ After suffering insult during an Addams family dinner, Ophelia curses Wednesday and subsequently Enid to swap—not bodies, per se—but abilities.