#illegally small birds

[witchcraft-exotics]

I love how fluffy she gets when she's cuddly 🥰

[inkskinned]

most writing advice is good as long as you know why it is good, at which point it is also bad. the hardest thing (and most precious thing) about being an artist is that you gotta learn how to take critique. i don't mean "just shut up and accept that people hate your work," i mean you need to learn what the critique is saying and then figure out if it actually helps.

i usually tell people reading my work: "i'm collecting data, so everything is useful." i ask them where they put the book down, even though it's too long for most people to read in 1 sitting. i ask them what they thought of certain characters. i let them tell me it was really good but i like it more when they look a little stunned and say i forgot i was reading your book, which means they forgot i exist, which is very good news.

sometimes people i didn't ask will read my work and tell me i don't like it. and that is okay, you don't have to like it. but i look at the thing that they don't like and try to figure out if i care. i don't like that you don't capitalize. this one is common, and i have already thought about it. i do not care, it's because of chronic pain and frankly i like the little shape of small letters. you use teeth and ribs in all your work. actually that is very true. i don't know what's up with that. next time i will work to figure out a different word, thank you. you're whiny, go outside. someone said that to me recently and it made me laugh. i am on the whine-about-it website as an internet poet. you are in my native habitat, watching me perform a natural enrichment behavior. but i like the dip of whiny, how the word itself does "whine" (up/down, the sound out your nose on the y), but i don't know if i want to feel whiny. maybe next time i will work on it being melancholy, like what you would call a male writer's poetry.

repeated "good" advice clangs in a bell and doesn't hold a real shape, dilutes in the water. like sometimes you will hear "don't use said." you turn that around in your head and it bounces off the edges of your brain like it is a dvd screensaver. it isn't bad advice, but it feels wrong somehow, like saying easy choices are illegal! sometimes i will only use "said." sometimes i will just kick dialogue tags out to the trash. sometimes i make little love poems where the fact that i do not say "said" is very bad, and makes you feel bad in your body, because someone didn't say something. i am a contrary little shitbird, i guess.

but it is also good advice, actually. it is trying to say that "said" sometimes is clutter. it makes new writers think about the very-small words and very-small choices, because actually your work matters and wordchoice matters. "i know," you said. "i know," you sighed. "i know." we both know but neither of us use a dialogue tag, because we are in a contemporary lit piece.

it is too-small to say don't use said. but it is a big command, so it gets your attention. what are you relying on? what easy choices do you make? when you edit, do you choose the same thing? can you make a different choice? sometimes we need the blankness of said, how it slides into the background. sometimes we don't.

i usually say best advice is to read, but i also mean read books you don't like, because that will make you angry enough to write your own book. i also mean read good books, which will break your heart and remind you that you are a very small person and your voice is a seashell. i also mean you need to eat books because reading a book is a writer's version of studying.

my creative writing teacher in the 7th grade had a big red list of no! words and on it was SUNSET. RAZORS. LOVE. GALAXY. DEATH. BLOOD. PAIN. I liked that razor and love were tucked next to each other like birds, and found it funny that he believed we were too young to know the weight of razor in the context of pain. i hated him and his Grateful Dead belt, where the colored teddy bears held up his appraisal of us. i hated his no list. it is very good/bad advice. i wasn't old enough yet to know that when you are writing about death you are also writing about sunsets and when you write about love you are tucking yourself into a napkin that never stops folding.

back then my poetry was all bloody, dripped with agony when you picked it up. i didn't know there is nothing beautiful about a razor, nothing exciting about pain. i just understood sharpness, which he took to mean i understood nothing. i wrote the razor down and it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. that's what i'm saying - sometimes it's good advice, because it's not always necessary. and sometimes it is very bad advice, because writing about it is lifesaving.

hang on my dog was just having a nightmare. i heard that it is a rule not to write about dogs - in my creative writing mfa, my teacher rolled her eyes and said everyone writes a dead dog. the literature streets are littered in canine bodies. i watched the rise and fall of his ribs (there is that word again) and had to reach out and stop the bad dream. when he woke up he didn't recognize me, and he was afraid.

it is good/bad advice to say that poems and writing have to mean something. it is bad/good advice to say they're big feelings in small packages. it is better advice to say that when my dog saw where he was, he relaxed immediately, rubbed his face against me. someone on instagram would make fun of that moment by writing their "internet poetry" as a sentence that tumbles across a white page: outside it is sunset and my dog is still in a gutter, bleeding a galaxy out of his left paw. or maybe it would be: i woke the dog up/the dog forgot i loved him/and i saw the shape of a senseless/and impossible pain.

the dog is alive in this one, and he is happy. when i tell you i love you, i know what i said. write what you need to write, be gentle to yourself about it. the advice is only as good as far as it helps. the rest is just fencing. take stock of the boundaries, and then break them. there's always somewhere else you could be growing.

i love you, keep going.

[marigoldorlando]

Shadowheart in the greenhouse, healing small bird. (illegal vet? maybe! thanks Shiro for inspiration)

i think i overworked it, but here ya go.

btw reading hashtags you add is pure pleasure, thank you for support 🥹

[markscherz]

A friend of mine sent me a yt video of a guy who was relocating frog eggs (prolly a vernal pool) and showed 1000s of baby frogs coming out of the water in his backyard. she asked me how I felt about it as a ecologist. I felt like it was irresponsible to do, especially to post videos on it, but probably not "ecological terrorism" like people in the comments were saying, because I see baby frogs in nature come out of water in hoards sometimes too. Kind of a mixed bag.

But I wanted to ask you, since you're a herpetologist and waaay more experienced than me: how do you feel about the yt channel "frog army YouTube"?

Many frogs and toads are classical R-strategists. Some toads can lay 20+ THOUSAND eggs in a single clutch. The whole point of that strategy is that not all of the offspring survive. In fact, it would be really rather bad if all of the offspring were to survive, because (1) they wouldn't be feeding the predators and decomposers that live off of their noble sacrifice, and (2) they will require massively more resources than they otherwise would. It can have all kinds of detrimental down-stream effects.

This is the reason we often see swarms of tadpoles darkening some small pools (especially ones where there are no fish!), and later hoards of froglets (that's the technical term) emerging from pools at once. It's an evolutionary strategy, that only few individuals survive to achieve reproductive age.

Point 1: it is *fine* if not all the tadpoles survive to adulthood. That's how the system is supposed to work. You are not doing the system favours if you are changing tadpole survivorship to 100%.

Now, humans really are fucking things up in a lot of environments. Environmental pollutants, like heavy metals, can cause major issues for wildlife, and especially frogs, which (1) are not as vagile as e.g. birds and medium- to large-sized mammals and thus cannot escape the problem zone effectively, and (2) are EXTRA sensitive to the environment because of their permeable skin.

Point 2: we do have some responsibility to do something if we notice that there is a major problem emerging, which could dramatically alter the population dynamics for one or more generations of frogs.

However, *moving* clutches of eggs that are found in polluted pools is not the right move, especially for your average person. There are many reasons that it is not the right move, but chief among them are

(1) A lot of frogs that lay eggs in vernal pools have tadpoles that cannot survive being in larger ponds, and certainly cannot survive in streams or other bodies of flowing water.

(2) A lot of frogs that lay their eggs in vernal pools are already adapted to less than ideal conditions, and have excellent strategies to overcome those conditions, such as incredibly quick metamorphosis (sometimes just a few days!)

(3) By moving clutches of eggs, you could easily be moving the pathogens or pollutants that are causing the problem in the first place.

(4) If there is Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis fungus around, you are spreading chytrid, and that is VERY bad. Chytridiomycosis has already driven several frog species to extinction, and caused massive population collapse in several others.

(5) If you do not know the species, attempts to rescue them might be aiding the advance of an invasive species.

(6) It's often illegal to intervene! Many species are protected by law, and you are not allowed to remove them from the wild. Consult your local laws.

Point 3: the responsibility to do something does not include removing the frogs and raising a frog army.

So what should we do if we find a clutch of eggs in an oily pool? Or in a nearly dried out puddle?

First assess the nature of the problem. Is the pool just about to dry out? Then leave it alone. The tadpoles will probably be fine (and if they're not, they'll provide rich nutrients to predators and decomposers). But are there signs of pollution? Then assess: is the pollution covering a larger area? Or is it localised? If you find dead frogs or other amphibians is a major warning sign, and it needs to be brought to the relevant authorities. Contact your local environmental agency/department, and notify them of the precise location of the problem, and its extent. Document everything with photos and videos.

Point 4: there are organisations and agencies specifically tasked with intervening in cases of environmental damage. It is *your* job to bring it to their attention, but unless instructed by them, you need not take any further action. It is their job to know what to do, and to take appropriate action.

TL;DR: 'Raising a frog army' is for the likes, not the frogs, and is not environmentally responsible or ethically defensible. Build a home for the frogs, and they will come.

[cypherdecypher]

Animal of the Day!

Mindoro Bleeding-heart (Gallicolumba platenae)

(Photo from Animalia Bio)

Conservation Status- Critically Endangered

Habitat- Philippines

Size (Weight/Length)- 200 g; 30 cm

Diet- Fruits; Seeds; Insects

Cool Facts- This bird is completely fine, that’s just their measure of horniness. I’m not joking. During the breeding season, males puff out their chest and strut their stuff for females. The brighter the red, the more fit the male. Mindoro bleeding-hearts live in small flocks alongside green pigeons as they forage for fruit. Unfortunately, these doves are under extreme threat from illegal logging and dynamite-blasting for marble. An estimated 50-250 adults survive. Conservation groups are working to map the forests of Mindoro and do an in depth population survey. There are future hopes for a captive breeding program to bring these birds back from the brink. In addition, they are working with local people to plant native trees to replace areas that were previously logged.

Rating- 13/10 (As a wise man once said “Shot through the heart and you’re to blame…”)

[audisive]

♪ MILLION DOLLAR MAN. (💌)

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: you need a bodyguard, and simon's the only one you can trust. for now.

tags: fluff, angst (ish), hurt/comfort, romance, soft!simon, bodyguard!ghost, model!reader, trust issues, hints to a panic attack, you have a bad dad (and family)

        There's an ugly yellow folder on your vanity, sticking out like a sore thumb.

That's the first thing you see.

There's a hitch in your breath before you speak. "Vel," you walk over to your desk and call out to the lovely girl with your coat over her arm, your favorite maid. "What's this?" With manicured nails, you pick up the folder cautiously with the feeling of familiarity and déjà vu.

Veliana tilts her head to the side, the clueless little bird she is. "A folder, miss." You huff a smile out at her simple response, the pretty little thing never knowing better. "Please give Noah a call." You tell her and she nods her head automatically, still smiling at you.

When she carefully places your coat on the rack, she scurries off to who knows where. You're left in the comforts of your too-large room, a delicate piece of work that you'd paid thousands of dollars for after your face had snatched the interests of magazines, reporters, and such. You find that there are even uglier men inside when you open the flimsy thing in your hand.

Veliana is breathless when she comes back to you like the obedient girl she is, handing over the phone with your manager's name on it.

"What's wrong, darling girl?" Noah asks, annoyance seeping into his tone despite the usual pet name. "What's with the profiles?" you question right back, flipping through the folders, carefully scanning each gruesome man with horrifying detail. You already know the answer, but you dread it.

"About time you actually considered my suggestion," he voices out. "You need a new bodyguard."

  You find that your new bodyguard is just as noticeable as the folder you threw away without much thought. There's people staring at him when they would be gawking at you. 

Simon Riley is a trusted man; at least that's what you try to tell your manager. A remarkable 6'4 military man who should be off in a bar with beer – he drinks whiskey, imbecile – or resting in a broke-down apartment, not babysitting his model of a friend. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded it if he acted just a little annoyed at you, but he doesn't even spare you so much as a glare. You're not sure if you should be glad or not.

You have to admit that you do feel a little smug when your manager avoids yelling at you with Simon glaring daggers at him. Then again, there's this anxious feeling pooling at your stomach when he gets a little too close. He's certainly scarier than the last one.

His large hand calms you down when it lands on your lower back and sneaks his warmth through your thin clothing. You let out a breath, as if he'd just commanded you to do so without a word.

  Simon should be in his awfully empty apartment, sleeping the day off or making a small trip to the groceries for necessities fresh out of deployment. But when he opened the door to you, who's clearly so troubled and almost begging to help you out with.. whatever it was you asked, how could he say no? 

"It's just temporary, I swear. I just need some time to do a proper background check on the other bodyguards."

Given that your shitty father's in jail with unfinished as well as illegal business, it wouldn't be proper of him to let a civilian walk around with danger right at her back. That's what he says to himself, anyway.

He's just not so sure he signed up for the right job as a bodyguard. Truth be told, he would've preferred to be your boyfriend.. but as long as he has rights to protect you, then he won't complain.

He's well aware of the men coming for your neck for a variety of reasons. Some out of jealousy – Simon thinks that the fashion industry might as well be a warzone. Maybe that's why he accepted this in the first place – and some because of your problematic family.

He's also heard about your past cowardly bodyguards, if you can even call them that after they'd left you in the face of death. It's a wonder how you're still alive, but he wouldn't dare question it.

It doesn't help, not really, when there's an ear-deafeaning explosion and a panicked angel in his arms, clutching onto him for dear life. "Simon," you all but whimper, labored breaths and uncontrollable tears slipping out of you.

He hushes you, coos at you as sweet as he possibly can. He soothes you and cradles you against his chest as he shoots back at death and carries you to safety when the storm of chaos calms. And he never leaves. Not once.

Not even when you're well and sitting on the cold bed of an even colder hospital room. You'd begged him to stay and lay with you, and when he does, you insist that you owe him your life, and he tells you he's just doing his job.

Still, you can't help that you push yourself closer to him. "Thank you," you whisper, "for staying."

"'M yours to keep." Simon gruffs out, "my loyalty and life belongs to you. All of it." And so does his heart.

(bodyguard!ghost is just modern knight!ghost to me :3c)

        divider by @cafekitsune !

[lyralit]

romanticizing academia writing prompts in honour of @lovelaceandco

cramming for your test the next day the night before: sheets and sheets of scrap paper, pacing around to get the ideas right, muttering to yourself and glancing between your notes and the presentation

writing the same notes over and over to get it in your brain

teachers that can quote poetry off the top of their heads & students who will sit around to listen

holed in your room for hours with impromptu music breaks and a hot drink going cold

academic rivals (because who doesn't love them) Anne-and-Gilbert-style:

"what did you get" and not hiding your grades when you did do better;

trading away the coveted position for a job you know they will do better at and you will love less & congratulating them for the awards they win and they you;

bringing them notes for a class they missed despite them being your competition

prioritizing your friendships.

school skirts in the dead of winter, cardigans buttoned loosely

having an idea in the middle of the night and getting up so it won't escape you again

going down research rabbit holes on topics much different from where you began

joining competitions that require studying for the sake of learning;

doing it all for the sake of learning

weeping over grades only to grit your teeth and promise to do better

sneaking in women in suits and powerful women here because academia is indispensable without them

burning energy in between-class exercise: sprinting down the hallways and climbing up the stairs to the old building; swim practice before and after school; chasing the wind out the doors as the final bell rings

getting swept away writing research papers on subjects you didn't know interested you; writing much more than you expected you would

finally understanding a subject that kept evading you; the click when everything finally fits into place

a braid falling out of place and smudged lipstick

the wide-eyed mania after emerging from a particularly grueling subject

jumping from club to fair to meeting

strings of code and students gathered around a singular laptop, muttering to themselves in hopes of finding their error

looking for a book in the library and finding a dozen that interest you

a dazed student stepping back from a chalkboard of illegible handwriting; triumphant with their answer

one student arriving early and working quietly in the commons; their classmates trickle in one by one, making small conversation, until the place is full and the sun is high in the sky

inside jokes in Latin from the ancient studies class you dropped two years ago

thick coats in the winter, jackets zipped tight while you run for cover in the snow with your precious work, ringed hands around warm mugs, cheeks flushed dark, snow on lashes

the golden rainbow of fall, the crimson trees on your way home, the traffic lights lit up through rainy windows, coffee and early mornings, chemistry trips to the ravine, catching the sunset after classes

spring flowers breaking through snow, baked goods and getting the hang of things, lazy spares in the common room, hoodies and boxy headphones, warm enough for the nice shoes, the soft patter of rain, the chirping birds

the last stretch before summer, unbuttoned collars, legs slung on furniture and frantic note-taking anywhere possible, eyes fluttering closed, chasing down the bus on the way home, rolled-up sleeves and tucked-back hair, "okay so".

[kore-arts]

So! New au hehehe. Joker jr and Red Hood take place in the same universe.

@aurora-bore-aura and I have been going insane/pos

Jason Accidentally falls through an unfilled tunnel into Arkhams basement. Glad that even his half mask canceled his yelp as he stalks through the facsimile of a suburban scene. His eyes narrowed as he saw cords leading from a grill. They widen again as he sees Harley snoring on a picnic table.

Fingers tense around his knife until he hears soft almost inaudible sobs. A kid, and oh how that struck his heart. Even more when he sees the torn and bloody Robin suit.

His replacement lay on a metal table. Bound and sobbing in his sleep, another Robin tortured by a monster. He jumps hearing a laugh that haunts his head as he slashed the binds. As he dodges, swings and taunts he picks up the boy. Copper floods his mouth as he bites his tongue to not make a sound.

His mind blank, he knocks the two out and runs out. He is dangerously aware of how light, how small his replacement is. Especially as his eyes open and a mumble of “my ‘obin. My ‘obin saved me” before going slack again.

(⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

And so Jason pre- Red Hood finds and saves Tim. Only nights before the others could. The poor boy is at best near catatonic or mumbling. Or at worst laughing and choking on tears.

So Jason is trying. He is Really trying, he does laugh when he finds out Tim glammed up the heads in the dufflebag. And when he gets back and finds him rebuilding the bazooka. It worked extremely well.

It takes time. Tim picked up the hobby of sneaking and reading the tomes his parents illegally kept. Magic being a hobby that didn't remind him of either Joker or being Robin.

Or when they had to temporarily relocate as Gotham celebrates for weeks as the Joker Mysteriously showed up dead. And no it wasn't one of the two of them.

Or when Jason ate a glowing ball only to find out he was a Starving Halfa and ate the Joker's core.

He basically got food poisoning and Tim got a Friend out of the Ghost Princess and King! And finds out Jason is a Protection spirit on the way to be the next Lord Gotham as Lady Gotham is steadily growing weaker and tired.

Jason and Tim sit down once. Laughter was a problem and they both needed to seperate it from the monster. Tim brought up he wanted to help. And they talked. And so Crow joined Red Hood on the scene. Murder being a last resort and the Caw like laughter being a warning message in their territory. Soon enough the Bats and Birds would find out. And they didn't know what they would do.

Ps the Crow is named Alice. She keeps finding pocket watches

[porcelainseashore]

Teenage Headache Dreams (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: High School! College! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Fem! Reader

Summary: You’re a bored, but ambitious high school student who can’t wait to escape small town life and make it in the big city. You thought you had it all figured out, until you unwittingly befriend the resident golden boy, Leon. A series of events beginning from junior year to college until Resident Evil 2 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Ambiguous/Open Ending

Content: High School AU, College AU, Pre-Resident Evil 2, Fluff, Romance, Cliche, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lack of Communication

Author's Note: This is my first RE / Leon fic, but I wanted to try my hand at writing this little self-indulgent and potentially clichéd series. As you can guess, I love dance and high school dramas. I also created this with a sequel in mind, which will take place post-RE4R and involve more horror and mystery elements.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Friendship

It was one of those beautiful late summer days with endless light and clear blue skies overhead. You leaned back against the bleachers, feeling the sun cast a warm glow on your face and the sultry breeze against your skin, sighing in utter bliss. The football field and the running track surrounding it were completely empty, just how you liked it, silent except for the relentless trilling of insects and the occasional bird that flew by. No one in your face, no one judging you or telling you how you should be like, no one you had to put up a front for. Just peace and quiet. A place where you could sit alone with your thoughts - and you had a lot of them - mostly about leaving this goddamn small town with its insular, mind-numbing inhabitants.

A trail of thick smoke wafted from your mouth as you took a drag from the joint you had been nursing for awhile. You weren’t exactly high as a kite, but you were definitely feeling some of its effects. You chuckled and gave a wry smile as the thought of being caught red-handed visualized in your mind. Sure, it was highly illegal what you were doing, much less on school property, but you were always a bit of a rebel. And frankly, you couldn’t give a shit. It was already August, but most students were still away on holiday. Not you though, you had to work on your extracurriculars. That’s what you had put your mind to this summer. No fancy beach getaways like the rest of your cheerleading mates had jetted off to. Just a grueling dance intensive and showcase you had auditioned successfully for in one of the larger cities nearby, as well as a bunch of campus visits. You needed to perfect your performance technique for that arts college application coming up in about a year’s time. You started way earlier than the rest even thought about it, because you knew you only had one chance for a one-way ticket out of this hole and you sure as hell weren’t taking any chances. Well, except with that funky smelling thing in your hand. 

No one would be here anyway, it’s a Sunday for crying out loud! You shook your head in exasperation. Besides, you needed to relax and take the edge off a little.

Just as if you jinxed it with those thoughts, you heard the gate to the field unlocking and creaking open behind you. 

Shit, shit, shit! Your eyes darted around frantically, but your movements were just so slow. Why the fuck would someone be here now?

Before you could drop the joint and stub it out with your shoe, a mop of dirty blonde hair and what you made out as someone dressed in a blue tracksuit with a duffel bag slung over his right shoulder entered your peripheral vision. It was soon accompanied by a sharp twist of his head in your direction, bangs falling over his deep blue eyes and you knew he had found the source of the offending smell, probably even from a mile away. His gaze trailed their way from your startled face to your joint hanging limply at the edge of your fingers and then back to your face again. His expression turned from confusion to a frown and then into a knowing smirk as he crossed his arms and leaned against the bleachers.

“Oh, hello. Didn’t expect to see you here. You got cheer practice or something?”

God, he was teasing you. At least you hoped that was all it was and not some form of blackmail. Well, no point hiding now.

“I’m off-duty,” you retorted. You tried to jog your memory of the boy standing in front of you. You were social, or at least you had to be with the rest of your girlfriends to keep up appearances, but you never really bothered with the people here beyond superficial conversations. Then you finally found it - a vague recollection of last season’s track and field meet. He had been one of the better sprinters, maybe the best even, you can’t really remember. There was an afterparty, and you congratulated him, but you doubt there was anything more substantive than that.

“Leon, isn’t it?”

His eyes perked up slightly and he smiled. “In the flesh.”

You snorted at his cheesy reply. What was he pulling? 

“They gave you the key?” It almost sounded as if you were jealous.

He uncrossed his arms and placed his duffel bag on one of the benches in front of him, rummaging through its contents. “Yeah, I got a comp in the new term coming up.” Every now and then he glanced up at you, as if he wanted to ask something, but stopped himself.

A sense of boldness surged within you, as you felt like evening the odds a bit. “What? You want some?” You waved the joint in his face.

That certainly caught his attention. He stared for a good moment, before giving another one of his playful smiles and shaking his head. “Maybe after practice.” He unzipped his jacket and put it away. It was warm enough to train in his sports tank and as you admired the lean, muscular structure of his arms and shoulders now bared open, you couldn’t complain.

“So, how did you get in?”

Fuck. You snapped out of your reverie. He got you there, but you didn’t feel like lying. “Jumped the fence. You should try it some time.” You replied as nonchalantly as possible.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he laughed.

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Will I now?” The way it rolled off his tongue felt like a challenge and you secretly enjoyed this banter going on between you, as if you had known each other for years.

Shrugging your shoulders, you took another hit from the joint and let the calmness envelope you. “I never disappoint.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Leon flashed a wide grin that made you feel a knot forming in your stomach, but you didn’t know why. 

He started to move towards the tracks, but stopped short, turning back to meet your eyes again. “Look, you don’t have to worry about all of that.” He gestured to what you were holding and the general surroundings. “I’m not going to tell.” With that, he made a sign that resembled crossing his heart. “It’ll be between you and me.” 

You would have thought it was a joke if not for the sincere look he gave you, before heading off to train. That, and the fact that he did indeed take up your offer to join you afterwards in sharing what was left of the joint. You didn’t expect someone like him to. He seemed a bit too much of a straight-laced, golden boy for that. But then again, life was filled with surprises and you quietly scolded yourself for playing into stereotypes again - something you despise others doing to you.

It prompted both of you to converse even more until the late evening where you even missed your dinner. The questions and responses just flowed.

It turned out that you would share a number of classes together in the new term, specifically Math, History and Biology. Leon was a real earful when it came to his “insightful” one-liners on the teachers, which made you bury your head in your hands and groan. You never realized he would be such a goofball, but you found it somewhat endearing.

Like you, he was popular at school, but unlike you, he seemed to enjoy the company and appeared to be an open book. He would say it how it is, sometimes to the point of being blunt to a fault. Still, you guessed people found him rather easy-going and likable, in a non-threatening sort of a way. A part you wondered if chance meetings like today were how he made most of his friends.

Leon didn’t really have a plan for college yet. He just knew he wanted to do something good and help other people. You had a word for it - “idealistic”. He just shrugged in response, eyes downcast, until you assured him that it was an admirable quality, and you were the jaded one. He made a toast to your future in some arts college in the big city with his water bottle, remarking with a hint of self-deprecation that he wished he had a clearer idea of what he wanted to do with his life.

In turn, he asked you about your dealer. You had to stifle a laugh at that one. Generally, you weren’t as big into smoking up as he thought, but this time you bummed it off one of the seniors as a favor he owed you for hooking him up with one of your cheerleader friends. It didn’t stop Leon from calling you the “high school’s little pothead” every now and then though. He peered at you intently with his lip curled in amusement, as you rolled your eyes each time.

It had been such a long time since you could joke and speak your mind with someone this way. There wasn’t that suffocating nausea of pretending to be someone else around him and he had been so relaxed with you too. You could finally breathe again, and you’d like to think it wasn’t just the weed talking.

Whatever it was, you guessed this was the beginning of a real friendship - one that happened out of serendipity, but made you feel like you weren’t going to rot away in this small town. Well, not alone anyway.

[witchcraft-exotics]

She's so stinkin' cute!

[mixiury]

Here with you — Wanderer x GN! Reader

Summary: After a long walk with Wanderer, you ended up exhausted, taking a small nap with your companion in the middle of the forest.

A/N: I corrected some typos I noticed after reading this again. I am dyslexic and English isn't my first language so I'm sorry if there is still some. Please feel free to point them out!

"Come here, lie with me."

"Why would I? To get my clothes dirty like yours? No thanks." Wanderer answered to your request almost instantly, showing little interest in changing his mind.

Both of you have been walking for hours now, enjoying the cool breeze that the trees of the Sumeru forest release.

It's hard to keep track of time in a place like this, especially when the silence and calm stretches out in its entirety and all you can hear is the soft melody of the birds with the snapping grass and leaves you are stepping on the ground while you walk.

But even though your hiking companion doesn't need to take breaks and the beautiful views of the landscapes along the way help in motivating you to continue exploring, you soon end up finding your feet and legs demanding you to rest, lying down on a small and comfortable hill, while Wanderer reluctantly agrees to wait for you a few minutes.

"Are you sure you don't want to join me? The sun is nice." You know what his response is going to be, but you keep insisting anyways, hoping that some miracle will happen that would make him change his mind and rest alongside you. However, as was from being expected, his head just turned away, ignoring your request with the same stubborness that characterizes him.

Defeated, you find solace in the warm sunlight and fresh grass you lie on, slowly imbuing yourself in its trap as your eyelids fight to stay open.

It is not until he notices how quiet you have become that Wanderer's gaze finally returned to your sleeping figure, noticing each deep breath you take as your chest rises and falls steadily, with nothing to interrupt you from falling into your calm, soft slumber.

It's annoying how you allow to put yourself in such a comfortable state in the middle of nowhere. As if, in this precise moment, nothing else mattered.

It seems like you don't know how easy of a target you are right now, not worrying about your surroundings and all the dangers that are around you. It only takes a few seconds to end a human's life and it's much easier when you're in such a vulnerable and peaceful state that you wouldn't even be able to react before you feel the pain of your aggressor hurting you.

And yet, the mere thought of it makes him feel sick and jealous of you at the same time. How can you live your life so carelessly? Is it because you don't have any self-prevention instincts inside that empty brain of yours? Or are you just so naive that, even knowing how he can easily leave you to your own devices, you still trust him enough to allow yourself to be in this position?

Knowing you will probably never tell him, he decides to search the answer by himself, quietly approaching you and laying down next to you, hoping that the sound of the grass rustling next to you won't wake you up or interrupt your dreams as he watches you in complete silence.

And it's only now, after he finally gave into your request, that he understood what you were talking about.

The faint rays of the sun really feel like a bliss the moment they caress your face, intense enough to embrace you with their warmth but not to the point of burning you. Contrasting with the cloudy and gloomy Inazuma mornings he had grown used to.

It has been so long since he felt this warmth and calmness, still staring at you steadily and letting himself enjoy the peaceful nature of the moment.

It feels illegal that him, out of all people, could experience an instance like this. He, whom from the day of his creation the only birthright that has been given to him was an eternity of grievance, shame and solitude, simply lying on the grass without any other concern but you.

He doesn't understand it but he wants to. Your presence itself has already helped him understand a hint of your normalicy, something that he had spent decades chasing and longing for but was never able to hold for long enough to call it his. And yet, he lets himself fall into your trap and comfort, finally taking a break from all the thoughts that have been stuck in his mind as he simply rests by your side.

[thetreefairy]

Hiya, for your event can i request fantasy au with king gojo with the prompts Sunflower,3,4 platonic yandere. I see you just made a gojo fic so if you don’t wanna write for him can fyodor for bsd replace him? Thanks in advance

I tried to write this with fyodor, but I could not--- so here's gojo, you can request as much Gojo as you want cuz he's my fav in JJK. Reader is related to Gojo in this .

Warnings: manipulation, reader wants to find their parents, parental deaths, gojo is a bit dubious ngl

Sunflower - "I adore you like you are mine."

"Stay with me, or I will make you."

"You are the bird in a golden cage, act like it."

They/them reader

700 rules - 700 masterlist - kofi

King Gojo had little family, and the family that he did have was barely in contact with himp.

At least, until their child came to him, begging for him to help them find their parents. "My sister went missing?" He had asked to the teen infront of him, they had his eyes.

"Yes, as well as my pa." Reader had said with teary eyes. "I beg of you to help me find my parents, your majesty."

"My sister and I don't have a cordial relationships." Gojo said with a small smile, he missed her truly. "But this situation will make us put our differences aside."

Reader looked at him with a bright smile, causing him to grin at them. "And perhaps I will finally get to know (my cousin/niece/nephew)."

The way his posture changed and how his expression, it set off alarm bells in Reader.

Perhaps they should have listened to their mom's warnings about him...

While Gojo had promised Reader that he would search for their parent, he had offered them a place in the palace. Which caused Reader to ask: "Why did ma give up her title?"

"Is it important?" Gojo had asked. "Quite so, I don't wish to be murdered you see." Reader had answered back.

"You have quite the imagination, I would never let my blood be harmed."

While Reader tried to help with the search, they slowly became close with Gojo, they even started to call him uncle. Slowly the court started to treat Reader as the crowns heir.

During Tea time Reader asked about it. "Uncle Satoru, why are people treating me like the crowns heir?"

"Perhaps, because." He started dramatically. "I adore you like you are mine."

Reader chuckled nervously and drank their tea quietly. So this is what their mother meant, as long as their parents are found... His obsessions won't continue.

But the next day, the imperial knights brought two death cerficates to them.

Reader had dropped to their knees and broke down. Their ma and pa were gone. The people who were supposed to be by their side until they were old and gray, the people Reader was supposed to care for as they grow old.

And now they are gone.

Reader had to leave this place, they had to, before their uncle because obsessed. Just like he was with their ma.

But when Reader voiced their desire to leave and bury their parents at their home, Satoru's behavior took a dangerous turn.

'I have been too naïve.' they thought as Satoru grabbed their arms tightly and said: "Stay with me, or I will make you."

"W-what?" Reader had dumbly asked. "You can't do that, uncle."

"I can do what I want, I am the king, and I hold full authority."

"Yes, but imprisonment without a just cause is illegal!" Reader shouted. "Even for the king!"

"Oh, but I have a just cause." Gojo said in a low tone, pulling Reader into a tight hug. "A grieving child cannot make decisions for themselves."

Reader gulped.

"Now can they?"

All they could do was smack his chest, not that he would budge. "awh, darling." He chuckled. "Your grief is making you violent, perhaps you should rest."

He pushed you towards a new room, it was big. It almost felt like the entry to a house.

"Everything you need is here." Satoru whispered in Reader's ear as they cried out. "You'll never need to leave."

With that Satoru left and shut the door, locking it. A maid in the room ran to Reader as they dropped to the ground saying: "Your highness, why don't we take a bath and read a few books. That will surely calm you down."

They had nodded and allowed the maids to do as they pleased. As they whispered praise in Reader's ears.

The only time Reader was allowed out of that room was for their parents funeral.

It seemed like Satoru truly meant for them to never leave. So Reader fought with him every time he came to visit. He told himself: 'They just need to adapt, soon they'll accept their new positions.'

But eventually he broke.

The next time he came to visit he asked: "When will you stop asking such foolish things?"

"When you realize you can't keep me here, I am my own person." Reader had hissed back at him. "No." He spat with venom.

"You are a bird in a golden cage, act like it."

[snipersfucker]

Can your brilliant naughty mind imagine what public sex with an Autobot would be like?

(i love public sex) so me have three ideas: actual public sex as in out in the open. hot...... & semi-open as in in the alley at night & the third one is actually fucking wild so i'm not gonna share cuz it better stay between me and my demons

anyway. the first one gotta be my favourite cuz we ain't doing anything illegal as long as we ain't getting caught. abandoned beach, mountains, forest..... my personal number one actually..... i feel like depending on the autobot they either wouldn't be too much into the idea that somebody could see you (prime) or. they would give absolutely no fucks (mirage) OR. be 50/50 as in "umm what if we get caught.... but umm.... actually i get hard when i think about it...." (bee) so yeah. and yeah.

it'd be magical tho, imagine if they weren't too much into that idea but hey they'd be fucking you so why not, they can handle it. and holy moly this is so good cuz there's that thrill of possibly getting caught (even when there's just a tini tiny chance it still works just fine) while getting pounded into oblivion........

and if they're veryvery much into it...... "till you lose your ability to walk" "till they break their spike" no. y'all ain't stopping. they can and will absolutely destroy your insides & make you get so loud there's no fucking way nobody heard that lmao

okay and the last one. well. at first it might be a bit weird just like with the not-too-into-it type but once they realise it's fucking hot to fuck in public? there is no end to it idc

and let's talk about the places, too. open spaces and all where you're 99.9% sure nobody will see/hear you? that's where you fuck the hardest & the loudest. me no make the rules. imagine screaming their name and the trees are listening. and the waves are seaing. and the birds are birding. return to nature.

and the alley thing...... you know i love that shit...... it's pretty small, your autobot is sitting down with their back against some building's wall..... and you're riding them :)) but guess what. you gotta be quiet :)) you don't want to wake everyone up do you :)) and if you can't they'll happily put their glossa in your mouth to shut you up :))

and we ain't talking about the third one bye

btw i'm so passionate about this topic i'm actually writing a paper on it thank you very much

[lovethatmakingcoffee]

Small town au stuff

Philza is kindhearted yet oddly knowledgeable and mysterious resident who seems wiser beyond his years and may or may not be a witch. Especially questionable is that giant ass hat of his. Maybe a witch. He is retired and has a suspiciously large income, and somehow knows how to fly a plane?!! Maybe a retired vet or spy? Its undetermined. Or maybe just your basic crop duster. He does talk about potatoes a lot for some reason.

Foolish, your local cop and sheriff. The heart throb of the police department and kind of the definition of abuse of power (but only when its funny). He'll probably let you off for speeding or doing donuts in corn fields. His previous job was the town's major architect, which he still builds sometimes, but wanted to harass random people as a police officer for a new temporary occupation.

Quackity, the emotional weirdo teacher who's got attachment issues out the wazoo. He is sweet, but spirals sometimes. Its been rumored that he's been beaten up by Phil's kid for reasons unexplained.

Wilbur, of course, the aspiring musician. Gets confused a lot for other famous people, but plays at events when he's home. Loves his kid, but has been gone for most of the year and feels insecure for not calling her as much.

Jaiden, the town's lawyer who is rolling in it. She wins a lot of her cases and maybe does some of the illegal legwork to prove her client's innocence or the accused guilty. She does a lot of investigating with Foolish and has a key to the polices archive room. She has gotten noise complaints about her two loud birds.

Forever, a new resident along with the other Brazilians who all live in his giant pink Barbie house until Cellbit moves out to get married. Forever quickly gains popularity among the town's residence and becomes mayor of Quesadilla Town. He has been chasing after Philza this whole time, but there are whispers that he has a thing for the local pastor.

Badboyhalo, the priest, which Forever has remarked that's probably the strangest one out of the town's peoples names but it fits. Bad is a strangely wealthy and knowledge priest. His face is always masked by shadows and a hood. He always appears out of nowhere and seems to derive amusement from spooking the other residents. Forever thinks that's cute.

Roier, from Jaiden's platonic roommate to Cellbit's husband, man has never had a job and is just a trophy roommate/husband. Always physically fit, the life of the party and if the town had a best looking competition, he'd be at least top 5. Spends his day working out and is often seen on long runs in the woods. He may or may not be the one always finding weird things on his runs. Like a random artifact or an unfamiliar body.

Cellbit, town's journalist. Always looking for clues on the strange going ons and always has one of those huge boards with photos, tacks, and red thread. Man hardly sleeps and is running on six cups of coffee a day. Get him some water.

Fit, he owns of course Fit's Fitness. The sexiest personal trainer in the county and has a prosperous business. Him and Phil are somehow friends, and he weirdly seems to know things he shouldn't. Has been seen fraternizing with the weird agents that come through town and cover stuff up.

Baghera is another school teacher in Quesadilla town. She is the funnier one but also there seems to be an immense sadness to her. She avoids any special agent from the Cucurucho Factory.

Etoiles is a mysterious vigilant who fights suspicious figures and deadly monsters in the night. He's kind of the ex machina of the town and can be found lurking in the back alleys. He may or may not be a clerk at your local giftshop.

Cucurucho is an interesting and strange character, a business man in a white suit wearing a bear mask at all times. He runs the Cucurucho Institution along with its factory and seems to hold some bizarre legal authority over the town. He also has connections in the hospital and school and all around is just a sketchy person. He has many of his underlings do his bidding around town and they have been seen dumping chemicals in the river and interrogating certain residents.

Pac is your new local gym teacher and has stolen the town's physical trainer's heart. They've been having a cute shy will they won't they. It's extremely obvious to the whole town. He is best friends with the mad scientist science teacher Mike. And they get up to shenanigans. And for a gym teacher, the guy sure is smart and knows a lot of ways to build things. He's like the ultimate package!

Missa is Phil's platonic husband who is always away on business trips. He shows up into town for about a week then has to head out again to do business related business. He is jealous of Phil's love interests but also won't deny how hot they are and that also makes him insecure.

Charlie is the troubled baker/conessieur in town. He always has a creepy smile about him when you ask what's in his food, but he's just screwing with you and its actually delicious. He has been seen dragging huge lumpy bags with red liquid pouring out of it and swears it's just strawberry jam. Turns out if you licked the floor, it is. His favorite dessert to make is green jello.

Tubbo is the weird little mechanic that is always putting bizarre attachments to your vehicle and making odd do dads in his spare time. No one knows where he got his mechanic license, but no one mentions that he's probably doing this illegally cause of his sweet deals.

Mouse is a famous vtuber who may be working with the occult on the side for the funsies. Is she running a cult? Perhaps. But it would be funny if she did. Anyways she has a lovely home and gives lots of her money as donations to less sketchy hospitals.

[cypherdecypher]

Animal of the Day!

Satanic Leaf-Tailed Gecko (Uroplatus phantasticus)

(Photo from Reptile Direct)

Conservation Status- Unlisted

Habitat- Eastern Madagascar

Size (Weight/Length)- 100 mm

Diet- Small insects; Snails

Cool Facts- Yes, that’s actually its name. The satanic leaf-tailed gecko is named for both its leaf shaped tail and the small horns above its eyes. Originally described in 1888, it was thought to be a mythical creature from its beautiful appearance. Its camouflage perfectly blends in with the thick Madagascan rainforests. The gecko’s feet have adhesive hairs on their toes that maximizes their surface area and allows them to stick to vertical surfaces. If their camo fails, the satanic leaf-tailed gecko opens wide and shows off its vibrant red throat with the hopes of scaring off birds. Due to habitat loss and the illegal pet trade, these geckos are at risk. Luckily, three national parks protect the rainforests that the geckos call home.

Rating- 11/10 (Lizardman, take me by the hand.)

[toournextadventure]

revenge

Summary: (An "everyone but her" one-shot set during college) When you wandered into the woods after an argument, Wednesday gets a call that chills her to the bone. Whichever hunter had hurt you was going to pay. Wednesday was going to make sure of it. Personally.

Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: guns, graphic injury, graphic torture, blood, death, swearing Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist)

Fucking Outcasts.

Ron hated them. Hated how they came into his town, around his wife and kids, and had the nerve to act like they belonged? They needed to be put back into their place. His home was no place for them to be walkin’ around, showin’ off how much of an abomination they were. It was unacceptable.

But he was no idiot. He knew it was illegal because, for some unknown reason, they were considered human by law. There was no tellin’ why anyone would consider those freaks to be human, but he knew how to keep himself out of trouble. With the law, at least. So he went on his hunting trips, got out some anger, and went back home.

Now, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to take an opportunity when it presented itself.

After all, it wasn’t every day that he went hunting and got the perfect opportunity to start fixing the Outcast problem. Surely he couldn’t be faulted for deciding to go out and hunt on a beautiful fall day. It was something he did nearly every weekend during hunting season. The sky was blue, the clouds were fluffy, and the wind created just the right draft to keep the warm comfortable. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

Until Ron saw you. Oh, his hunting trip just got so much more exciting.

He had seen you in the forest far too many times in the past. Every time, there would be another Outcast freak to accompany you. More often than not it was some small black haired young lady that looked fairly normal, all things considered. But then there would be that werewolf girl or that vampire or even that gorgon kid. All freaks, all of you far too loud and invasive in his woods. Not once had he ever seen you alone.

Well. Not once had he ever seen you alone before now.

Admittedly, he would have rather had the chance to go after the werewolf. Think of all the praise he would get for takin’ that little bitch down. It wasn't every day someone got to take down a werewolf and live to tell the tale. But you? Well, you were a trophy in your own right. He was more than happy to mount your wings on a wall if that was the gift that was given to him. After all, a monster is a monster.

Your back was turned to him as he creeped up on you from behind. There was no tellin’ what you were doin’, but he could hear you talkin’ to someone. Something about bugs, he picked up. Good, he thought, too distracted to notice. The rough bark pressed into his arm as he stabilised his rifle against the limb, aiming directly at your left shoulder. The moment he saw the phone in your hand, he gently squeezed the trigger.

His first shot was a little high. With the ease of a practiced hunter, he cleared the round from the chamber. A slight jolt of adrenaline coursed through his veins when you lifted your phone up and he could see the bullet stuck in the case. What look did you have on your face, he wondered. Were you even aware you were being hunted? The next round was chambered and his aim was lowered before you even finished putting the phone back in your pocket.

The slight jolt of adrenaline turned to exhilaration when he saw your body pitch forward when the shot connected with your left shoulder. His pulse only continued to race when you slowly lifted your bloody hand up, confusion evident on your face. It was impressive, at least in his mind, that you hadn't screamed. Not yet, anyway. It was almost upsetting to miss out on those screams. But then when you hesitantly turned around and made eye contact with him?

Oh, it was like seeing those pearly gates.

"Better fly, little bird," Ron said with a grin as he leveled the rifle at your head.

Oh, the thrill in his veins as he shot at the tree beside your head and heard your scream. Finally a scream, and oh what a delicious sound it was. The way your hands flew to cover your head as you ducked down? If he hadn't been so eager to play with you first, he would've killed you on the spot. But he wanted the thrill of the hunt, to see the fear seep into your very bones. Without any intention to fire, he lifted the gun and aimed it at you once more.

You locked eyes with him for only a second before darting off in the opposite direction. Even from his position he could see the blood pooling through your shirt. The cool breeze reminded him that you must be wearing at least two layers; oh, he had gotten you good.

Ron let you get a little further away before looking down the scope, his eyes following your legs. Thank God for the hair trigger as it took only the smallest bit of pressure before the shot echoed through the trees once again. Sadistic satisfaction reflected on his face as you tumbled forward, rolling across the ground clutching your right knee.

Leaves and twigs crunched underneath his boots as he stalked closer and closer. Even from this distance he could hear your pathetic whimpers in a humiliating display. He took his time loading the next round, giving you the chance to stand up.

It took another bullet into the ground beside you - he heard the groan you let out when it grazed your hip - before you pushed yourself to your feet. The half-run, half-skip you had to do was satisfying to watch. It led to a significantly slower pace, perfect for him to walk after you and still make ground.

A laugh fell from his lips as he fired and you screamed again, throwing yourself behind a tree. He knew which tree, he could see the blood on the ground where you had just been standing. If he listened carefully, he could hear your gasps from his current position.

“Little broken thing,” he said with a shake of his head. Steady fingers loaded a newly filled cartridge into the chamber. “Can’t you run better than that?”

“Can’t you shoot better than that?” You called out from behind the tree.

Ah, he thought with a smile as he lifted the rifle again. You're a Fiesta one. A single pull of the trigger and the bullet dug into the tree, sending bark flying in all directions. All it would take was one well placed shot to scare you out of your hiding spot. He had three more rounds to use as he please, it was an easy choice. Luckily it only took one more shot before you took off, finally jumping into the air.

Oh how beautiful those wings would look mounted in his trophy room. As he looked down the scope, it almost seemed a pity to clip them. They were far too stunning to damage. But hey, he had mounted damaged trophies before, what was one more?

Through the scope, Ron could see the bone at the base of your wing break under the impact, blood and feathers spewing from the wound. He didn't bother stopping his laughter as you plummeted to the ground a few hundred feet away, crashing through the tree limbs until hitting the earth.

He couldn't see you, but he could hear you. Could hear the gasping and the whimpers, the wet sounds coming from every breath you took. As much as he enjoyed the hunt, he was ready to take your corpse back home. It was a trip to celebrate.

His feet walked over the blood splatters littering the leaves on the ground until they disappeared. There was one large pool of blood to his left, but you were nowhere to be found. He looked around, eyes trailing over every possible place you could be before landing on a hollow log.

There was no way he could get in it to check, and even if he could it was far too dark. The noises of the forest were picking up as the day turned into afternoon. Cicadas screaming their song, birds chirping about the beautiful day, wind whistling through the trees. Yet, he couldn't hear your gasps.

A part of him suspected you were hiding in the hollow log. All Outcasts were cowards, it wouldn't surprise him if you were hiding like one. But his instincts told him no, it wasn't possible. The blood spots disappeared, and with all your injuries there was no way you would be able to hide it. But just to be sure…

He held the rifle to the log and pulled the trigger for the last time. Bark flew, a few pieces leaving stinging scratches on his arm; a welcome pain when it accompanied a win. Waiting for a moment for any noise that would indicate you were there. But it was silent. Only the call of the forest gave him comfort in his assumption.

"I'll find your corpse tomorrow," Ron said into the open air. "Don't fly too far, ya hear?"

Silence was his only answer.

—---

The apartment was eerily quiet as the setting sun filtered through the blackout curtains. La Llorona fell from the gramophone like a whisper, just loud enough to be heard but soft enough to caress the nerves, creating a calming sensation. It bounced off the ancient brick wall to fill every inch of the space and completely enveloped Wednesday into something akin to a trance.

A steaming cup of tea rested beside the typewriter as she hammered away at the keys. The words jumped off the page not from her genius, but from sheer frustration. They didn’t flow, they didn’t connect, and more than once she found herself typing out her internal anger towards you. Though, she supposed it was no longer internal once they were inked into the paper.

She should have rejoiced in your absence; it created the perfect atmosphere for her to write and relax. But of course you had to ruin that as well by not making noise or going about your own business in the shared space. Who would have ever thought that her exceedingly specific writing environment now included your presence?

But she would be damned if she just let you back in after that ridiculous display of yours. You had the nerve to argue with her when all she was trying to do was keep you from getting yourself killed? Did you not remember the last time you had gone out for a stroll in the woods? The scars on your side should have been enough of a reminder for you.

“You’re not going,” Wednesday said once you hung up the call with Eugene. He seemed to call you often nowadays.

“Come on, he’s got the flu and just wants some bugs to cheer him up,” you said with a cheery smile.

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time you went bug hunting for Eugene?” She asked. You blinked rapidly as your smile slowly fell.

“It’s barely mid-morning, Wends,” you said with a hesitant chuckle. “The sun is up and the full moon isn’t for another 10 days.”

“And yet you always seem to find another way to get hurt.”

She could see the muscles in your jaw tense up as you crossed your arms over your chest. The way you cocked your hip was indicative of your mood, if Wednesday couldn’t already tell from the look you were giving her. All the air in the apartment thickened as she held your gaze, nearly suffocating her under your scrutiny.

It was a small price to pay if it meant you would stay home where it was safe.

“You never think things through,” Wednesday said, “and it gets you hurt.”

“No one ever said you had to be my keeper,” you said through clenched teeth. “I rather remember you choosing that on your own.”

"Clearly you need one." She was getting dangerously close to setting you off; it was evident in the way you stood taller, your slightly ruffled wings folding closer to your body. "But I have more important matters to attend to without adding your lack of common sense to the plate."

"Well it's a good thing I didn't ask you to accompany me then, isn't it?" You snapped. There it was, the line she had crossed; it was far closer than she had thought.

"I won't be the one cleaning your wounds when you get back," Wednesday said with a note of finality. She turned away from you to look out the window in a simple effort not to meet your eyes.

"Don't worry, Addams," your venomous emphasis on her name stung like salt in an open wound, "you won't be my first call." Your voice was accompanied by the jingling of keys. "I'd hate to impede on your more important matters."

The door slammed shut.

Wednesday flinched when the phone in the kitchen started ringing. The slightest smile slipped past her defenses at the stupid ringtone you had set. The Addams Family theme song, you had said with a ridiculous half smile that vanished the moment she had slapped the back of your head. Only in the privacy of her own mind would she admit she almost enjoyed it.

She cringed at the squeak of the chair on the hardwood floor as she pushed it back. You had promised to fix it not so long ago. But there was still time, there was no hurry. Her footsteps were accompanied by their own squeaks, following her into the kitchen until she picked up the phone.

"Addams residence," she said simply. If you were there, you would've teased her for it.

"Hey Wednesday?" Of course it was Eugene. "Have you heard from Y/N lately?"

"No," she said simply, "not since she left this morning."

"Do you know where she is?" He asked. "She's not answering my calls anymore."

"Perhaps her phone died," Wednesday said in an effort to calm herself more than Eugene. "She never remembers to charge it."

"Normally I would agree, but our call was cut off," he said with a sigh. "She was showing me a bug when I heard something loud and the call cut out."

Oh. Oh, that was something. That was certainly something to concern herself over.

"I haven't been able to get a hold of her since then," Eugene finished, but Wednesday's head was already swimming.

"I'll find her," Wednesday said in a detached voice, "thank you for telling me, Eugene."

She didn't give him the chance to reply before hanging up the call and immediately pulling up the tracking app that Enid had so kindly installed all those years ago. The tracker was in that worn leather bracelet, so as long as that was still intact, she could find you.

Please be intact, she thought as the app continued to load. Her breath was caught in her throat as she waited, waited, waited until finally your location popped up. There, she thought as she zoomed in, still in the woods.

She sent a quick text to Enid before she was out the door, her feet carrying her down the stairs faster than ever. The one good thing about this little town was the proximity to the woods. It was only a few minutes away by foot, and usually made for a lovely picnic location. But now, with the sun setting and the temperature dropping, it looked intimidating. You were in there, possibly dying, and she froze.

No, Wednesday thought, an Addams doesn’t freeze. With a deep breath in, she stalked forward into the woods with a clear goal in mind. Her eyes stayed locked to the painfully bright screen of the phone, watching as your location got closer and closer. You’re too far from home, she thought when she realised the lights of the nearby town had stopped flickering through the trees.

Her jog stumbled into a stop once she reached the area you were in. She turned in circles looking for you, for any sign that you were there. Trees all around, sticks and leaves covered the ground, there were a few stumps, a fallen log. Nothing to indicate you were in the area.

“Y/N!” Wednesday shouted when, after five minutes, she still found no sign of you.

The crickets started up after her call, eliminating any chance she would have of hearing your answer. Your bracelet was here, it was right here, so where were you? Why weren’t you answering her? Every possibility ran through her mind as she spun around again, desperately waiting for a sign. Anything.

Then she heard it. Over the crickets and the wind and the sound of her own feet, she heard it. A deafening wet gasp that rang in her ears. It was a noise that stopped her heart in her chest and dunked every nerve in her body in ice water. Within an instant she was kneeled beside the hollow log and peering in.

And within that same instant, she felt the pooled blood on the ground soaking into her pants.

You were missing a shoe. That was the only sensible thought running through her mind as she tried to work your body out of the log. Blood stained her hands as she pulled you out, but she couldn’t stop looking at your bare foot. When had you lost your shoe? She blinked as she pushed your wings down so they wouldn’t get caught against the bark. Would you be so terribly upset at having lost it? She blinked again as your shoulders appeared and she could sit you against the tree stump.

There was no way she would be able to get all the blood out of your jacket, she thought as she pressed her hands against the gaping hole below your sternum. Fresh blood pooled around her fingers; deliciously warm against the cool fall air. With the hole closed, your breathing sounded a bit more complete, less like you were breathing through a wet cloth.

“Wednesday?”

Oh, Enid. She arrived just in time, it was time for you to go home. It was time for her to get you home and patch up your wounds because surely these weren’t too bad. You were resilient, this wouldn’t set you back. A few bandages, a few days of rest and you would be back on your feet in no time.

“We need to get her home,” Wednesday said when she felt a hand rest lightly on her shoulder. “She needs some rest.”

“Okay,” Enid said softly. “Okay, I’ll carry her.”

She blinked rapidly as Enid finally came into view, sliding her arms underneath you until she could lift you up. Oh, she thought, my hands are shaking. In the dark, she couldn’t see the blood staining her skin. She just stood up and turned to Enid. You’re resting, she thought when you still hadn’t moved. Just resting.

“Knew it was a great night.”

Wednesday’s head shot up at the voice; it was no one she knew. A silhouette in the dark; a tall silhouette with a gun pointed right at them. The sun might have set, but Wednesday knew a gun when she saw one. And this one was aimed with a precision that would have terrified most.

“Came out for one, go home with three,” the man continued. She couldn’t see it, but she could hear the smile. “Say goodnight, little girl.”

She expected to hear the echo of a rifle, see the flash of the muzzle, feel the sting of a bullet tearing through skin. Instead she saw electricity, heard the man scream before falling to the ground. Her eyes stayed on him just long enough to ensure he wasn’t getting back up before looking at her saviour.

“Yoko?” She asked.

“Why is it always you three?” Yoko asked. “This is exactly why I chipped all of you.”

“Call Bianca,” Enid said; Yoko nodded and made the call. It took only a few seconds until it was done and all three girls started walking back to the apartment building.

But when Wednesday passed the man on the ground, she stopped. He had mentioned coming out here for you. The hunting rifle was cocked and ready to fire, and the bullets looked big enough to cause the hole in your chest. He had come back out for you. Why had he smiled when talking? He had come out here for you.

“Wait,” Wednesday said. The footsteps stopped. “Bring him too.”

There was only the slightest pause before Yoko appeared in her view once again, bending down to toss the hunter over her shoulder. No one questioned Wednesday’s motives; they didn’t have to. Plausible deniability, they would claim. Wednesday didn’t care.

She was going to make him pay.

—---

Wednesday watched Bianca finish stitching you up with glazed over eyes; overall you had needed 57 stitches across all wounds. It was rather impressive in and of itself. Four gunshot wounds, a shattered wing, multiple lacerations. Potentially a collapsed lung, Bianca had warned.

“We’ll watch for infection,” Bianca had said as she cleaned her hands, “and we can take her to an Outcast doctor in the morning.”

In the morning. That was nine hours away; plenty of time for Wednesday to have her fun. Only when she had finished making sure you were comfortable did she make her way down to the basement. None of the gang even attempted to stop her; they all knew it was of no use.

The hunter’s muffled screams could be heard from the moment she opened the basement door. It sent a jolt through her veins as she walked closer. To see him tied to the chair, at her mercy this time. She hoped he felt what he had made you feel in the woods.

She pulled the cloth down from his mouth.

“Not much of a hunter,” she said. “You were taken down by a little girl.”

“I took one of ya down,” he said, “and she screamed like a lil bitch.”

Wednesday’s face never changed. Not even when the world turned red and she could just imagine the screams you had let out. Had he enjoyed it? Hearing you scream, watching you run for your life? She hoped he had, because she was about to feel the same way.

Each grunt, groan, and scream she pulled from his lips did the opposite of what she had anticipated. Instead of easing her own fear, it only increased it. She enjoyed seeing him cry, felt a thrill when she saw the blood fall from fresh cuts. It was exhilarating to see him suffer.

But as the hours dragged by, all she could think about was if this was how he felt when you were at the other end of the rifle.

All it did was increase her own anger. The flash of the taser stayed longer, his screams echoed louder, the cuts got deeper. It didn’t ease her fears, it didn’t ease her anger. Her mind kept flashing images of you, bleeding and broken and dying, and he was still alive? He could have killed you, could have taken your body and no one would have ever found you.

She buried the knife in his thigh, her eyes falling shut as he screamed again. It was a pathetic scream; high-pitched and childish. The sound was grating, and she almost wished he would just shut up. Didn’t he understand that this was not going to help him? If anything, she wanted to do worse just to shut him up.

The basement door opened behind her but she didn’t dare look. The gang knew better than to come down and show their faces. They didn’t care to know what was going on. It was probably just Enid making sure she hadn’t forgotten something down there; it had happened too many times before.

“Wends.”

Oh. Her head spun, eyes wide as she saw you leaning against the doorframe. You were in nothing but boxers and a sports bra; your blood was already soaking through the white bandages. What were you doing up? You were supposed to be in bed. Someone should have been watching you, where were they? Did they not understand you needed rest? What could have possessed you to stumble down three flights of stairs?

“It’s not worth it,” you said, so softly that it hurt Wednesday’s heart.

Her mind was reeling. Why would you care what happened to him? She didn’t know what exactly had gone on out there, but you had nearly died. For all Wednesday knew, you had died; she still couldn’t believe you hadn’t bled out in the woods. He had hunted you for sport, had played with your life, and you didn’t want her to kill him?

“Go back to bed,” was all she said. But her eyes didn’t leave your frame that was sagging further and further against the doorframe. You sighed, and Wednesday watched with bated breath until you finally breathed in again after far too long.

“Just make it quick,” you said. Your eyes shifted to look right behind her; the hunter. “You should start praying.”

You didn’t leave the basement like she had wanted you to, but as you started to sink to the floor, she finally realised that you couldn’t go upstairs on your own. Any energy you had managed to muster was gone. Damn you, she thought as she ripped the knife out of the hunter’s leg. Now I have to make it quick.

She didn’t say a word before yanking his head back and dragging the knife across his neck. With the right depth and pressure, it only took a few seconds before his gurgling screams came to a stop. His blood coated her shirt and for a moment she felt dirty. Not from the act, but from his disgusting life sticking to her clothes. She would need to burn it tomorrow.

But for now, she had something much more important to attend to.

Wednesday placed the knife back on the table and rushed to you before you could fall even further. It was one of the few times she thanked your genetics for making you lighter than you appeared. All it took was a little bit of elbow grease to get you back up the stairs and into bed.

Only once you were settled did she crawl into the bed after you, keeping her distance so as not to risk any sort of injury or agitation to your wounds. Her eyes trailed over every bruise, every bandage, every stitch, every bump and scratch. You had been alone out there for hours, bleeding out and dying while she was home, getting increasingly angry with you for something that was so meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

“I’m sorry,” Wednesday whispered when you took a deep, shuddering inhale. It sounded painful, and all it did was send a knife through her heart.

Tomorrow, she could clean up her mess while you were being tended to at the hospital. But for now, in this moment, she was going to watch over you the way she should have earlier. To watch your every breath, to make sure you weren’t hurting. It was all she wanted. She could scold you for being so foolish another day. Right now, she was just thankful you were still alive. She didn’t think she would survive if anything happened to you.

Maybe she would bring out the ring sitting at the back of the closet once you were healed. Surely you would be less reckless then.