#vorsdany<3

[missmonsters2]

qfvhqocnwhdhqixlwhdo

i felt these words so deep in my soul, I saw an answer to a question I didn't even know I needed <3

[mikavlcs]

White Flag

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: Tyler is infatuated with you. Wednesday puts a stop to it.

Warnings: possessive-ish/ooc!wednesday, tyler slander, kinda abrupt ending, this is Not Good

Word count: 2.8k

Notes: this was requested by @vorsdany​ (mother<3), it’s bad but i hope you enjoy it at least a little!

Masterlist

Wednesday had never been one for sharing.

She had no problems sharing general family items like poisons, explosives, or, if she was feeling generous, torture devices. But when it was her things, it was a different story.

On more than one occasion she had bitten Pugsley for trying to take her dolls that she was in the process of decapitating (the boy even tasted weak). Thing only needed to be punted once to learn not to take her throwing knives without asking.

And Lurch, well… Lurch was virtually unkillable, meaning that she was able to get more creative with her methods of discipline for his rare missteps.

Not even her parents were exempt from this behavior, though they adored her viciousness and feverishly encouraged it rather than punishing her for it.

Naturally, this only worsened when she entered what she considered to be the seventh circle of hell—public school.

In the many years (and schools) that followed, there were many, many injuries ranging from scrapes to broken bones, and she felt bad for none of them. They all served a purpose: to teach their recipients a lesson.

Words like possessive and territorial were thrown around often in regard to her temperament, and while she enjoyed the negative connotation of those words, she didn’t believe that they quite fit.

Wednesday saw her behavior as perfectly reasonable. Her things were hers, there was no reason for anyone else to try and take them from her.

And that was still as true now as it was then.

This mentality was what got her to Nevermore in the first place. When she started caring for her brother in some capacity, she wasn’t sure, but he was her brother, and no one else was allowed to torment him but her. 

And she made sure that the boys that shoved him in her locker were well informed of that fact.

The fact that she effectively neutered one of the jocks was just a bonus (and a favor for every woman that came into contact with him in the future).

Just before she left for Nevermore, she installed a lock on her bedroom door that only she could unlock, and if anyone else tried, they would be lucky to only lose a finger.

To her utter dismay, she did something at Nevermore that she had never done at any of her other schools—she grew attached to some of the students there. Mostly Enid and Eugene. 

They were people she would (hesitantly, especially in Enid’s case) consider friends. And with that elevated status came the same begrudging care she had for her brother.

Eugene was the same type as Pugsley—soft, squishy, and entirely too weak to defend himself from his tormentors. Thus, Wednesday did it for him.

Enid, on the other hand, was too nosy for her own good and incredibly annoying, but no one was allowed to tell her that but Wednesday. And anyone that tried was met with swift and just punishment.

So when you confessed your disgusting feelings for her to which she unfortunately reciprocated, and you got to the point where you could, in a sense, be considered hers, this mindset carried over to you as well.

Still not as intensely as with her physical belongings, of course—you were your own person with personal autonomy and agency that she would never try to take from you.

She didn’t care about you spending time with other people or being affectionate with your friends, no. What she cared about was other people trying to actually steal you from her. That was what she wouldn’t tolerate.

Those other people had no chance, of course. The two of you complimented each other perfectly. Like sodium and cyanide.

But that didn’t stop imbeciles from trying… and many certainly did try.

A group of furs made a bet to see who could successfully get you to go on a date with them first. They approached you periodically throughout the day—the stink of overconfidence and wet fur radiating from each of them.

All Wednesday had to do was flash a few select pieces from the vast silver arsenal she accumulated, and they were running away with their tails between their legs.

There was a vampire, far too ambitious for his own good, that attempted to court you from afar by…staring and lingering around you.

Enid said he was doing it “Twilight style” but Wednesday hadn’t the faintest idea what dusk had to do with his poor flirting, nor did she care enough to find out.

She instead woke him up with a stake pressed just above his heart and a threat. That worked spectacularly.

And the traces of garlic that ended up in his soup at lunch the next day were merely a coincidence.

There were others—a few more idiotic furs, some gorgons, a siren—all of which Wednesday eliminated one by one with ease.

(Non-fatally, unfortunately. Because even though you liked Wednesday’s quirks, you still disapproved of cold-blooded murder…she would work on that with you.)

Until, finally, they seemed to learn and accept that you were hers and nothing was changing that—especially not any teenage boys with egos too big for their bodies. No one dared to approach you with their romantic inquiries. And she liked it that way.

Even Xavier, despite how empty his skull seemed most of the time, knew better at that point.

But there remained one person that routinely exceeded her low expectations. One annoying thorn that dug itself deep in her side refused to go away.

Tyler Galpin.

The Weathervane barista was Jericho’s de facto golden boy. Devoted, handsome (allegedly), and a royal pain in Wednesday’s ass recently.

She didn’t hate him at first. In fact, her limited interactions with him were entirely uninteresting, something she would have forgotten if it weren’t for what came after. But what Tyler lacked in personality, he more than made up for in audacity.

He was hopelessly infatuated with you and made no attempt to hide it. Blatant longing stares,

And he knew that you were unavailable. You literally told him you were on a date with her once and he just…smiled and nodded.

Homicidal didn’t even begin to describe how she felt in that moment.

For a time, she tried to steer you away from the Weathervane, but you loved the quaint café, so it was impossible to keep you away from its cozy seats and overly sweet drinks for very long.

And it seemed that no matter when you guys went, he was there, grinning like an idiot behind the counter as you walked in.

His constant presence irritated her to no end. It didn’t help that he was fervid in his pursuit of you, despite Wednesday being literally sat across from you every time he made his advances.

Every visit, she had to watch him hand deliver drinks with hearts and compliments in the foam art, had to watch you try to politely deal with your discomfort.

The urge to throw the drink in his face was so potent that it took every single ounce of self-control to hold herself back from doing it.

From then on, she ached to teach him the same lesson she did everyone else, but every time she saw him, you were also present. And to subject you to such acts when she knew you wouldn’t approve would be unbecoming of her.

She would also prefer to be with you and her friends at Nevermore instead of sitting in a jail cell.

So she decided to take it easy on him. The next time she was subjected to the displeasure of sharing space with him, she would give him a simple warning and from there he had two options.

He either got the message or the sheriff would be burying his only son.

-

In recent times, Fridays had become something to look forward to for Wednesday.

Since you’d begun seeing each other, you were insistent on taking her out every Friday after classes were over to “celebrate the weekend.”

In reality, Wednesday knew it was just an excuse to spend time alone with her without calling it a “date” because she loathed the term. She accepted it, for your sake.

This tradition is how you both ended up on the school-provided shuttle into Jericho, your book in your hands as you idly watched the passing scenery, Wednesday watching you in turn.

She would have invited you to her dorm, but Thing liked to take up as much of your attention as possible when you visited, so instead she decided to take you into town.

Predictably, the moment you stepped off the shuttle, you were begging her to go to the Weathervane.

She wanted to say no. Honestly, she would rather subject herself to the depths of hell that was Pilgrim World than step foot inside that place, but you were utilizing a recent favorite tactic of yours—a brutal combination of pouting and begging incessantly.

You cradled her hand between both of yours, wide eyes drenched in overblown sorrow and, to her amusement, oncoming tears.

The act was topped off with an occasional pleading, “Please, Wends,” taking extra care to extend the word please to infuriating lengths every time.

But even with how well-fortified her mental walls were, there was only so much her sanity could take. So she let you drag her through the doors of the coffee shop, vowing to get sweet revenge on you when you least expected it.

Of course, Tyler was there, lurking behind the counter with his eyes already intently trained on you, likely already spotting you outside the window.

Not noticing her tension, you turned to her, excited as could be. “I’ll order our drinks. Can you get us a booth?” you asked before walking up to the front.

Her eyes followed as you set your hands on the marble, leaning to look at the full menu board behind Tyler, then she turned her attention to him.

He had that look again, “heart eyes” as Enid would call it. It made her want to rip them out of his skull.

Wednesday tore her eyes away from the interaction and looked for a seat as you asked her to. Knowing you liked the booths near the windows, her gaze traveled there, finding most of them vacant.

Usually, she preferred sitting in the back corner, but this time she strode toward the booth all the way up front, wanting to be both as far from the barista and close to the exit as possible, and sat with her back to the wall.

Her mind wandered as she waited for you to return. She thought of Thing, who she had given permission to prank other students in exchange for him remaining at Nevermore while she brought you to Jericho.

She hoped he hadn’t hurt anyone too badly—at least not while she wasn’t there to watch.

Soft footfalls brought her from her musings, and she looked over just as you neared the booth.

You set her drink down on the table in front of her with a smile brighter than the sun. She gave you a nod in lieu of thanks and watched as you settled back in your seat, flipping open whatever fantasy novel you were immersing yourself in now atop your crossed legs.

Wednesday never fully understood the love you harbored for this place, but she had to admit that at times like this, the café was pleasant to be in.

Like her, you were in casual clothes, freed from the striped confines of the Nevermore uniform, and your relaxed posture reflected that change. You looked at home in the cushioned booth with pages nestled between your fingers and a furrowed brow.

The late afternoon sun was beginning to set outside, painting the sky a vibrant mixture of oranges, pinks, and purples. 

Wednesday normally hated any color besides the dark crimson of freshly drawn blood, but the way this specific kaleidoscope of hues highlighted your features made it impossible for her to feel anything akin to hatred for them now.

The way the light refracted off the glass and onto your face was reminiscent of the Renaissance-era oil paintings she had been forced to analyze in art class. Easily more captivating than anything da Vinci or Michelangelo could ever dream of creating.

Even the sterilized music they played from the café speakers was less grating than usual (or she was being slowly indoctrinated… she would have to investigate that later).

You looked up, reaching for your drink, and your eyes found hers. A warm, if slightly mischievous smile appeared on your face, growing as you held up your cup.

“You wanna taste?”

She scrutinized the drink in your hand—some sugary monstrosity called “hot chocolate”—and immediately shook her head. “Absolutely not, I value my digestive system.”

You laughed, nose scrunching in that way that Wednesday found herself just a bit enamored with. Once your laughter subsided, you took a long sip, heaving an exaggeratedly satisfied sigh afterward.

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Rolling her eyes, she pulled her own book from her bag, a spellbook her mother had given her for her birthday. She’d been studying it for weeks now, wanting to see if she could tap into the supposed magical capabilities that her distant ancestors wielded.

The booth lapsed into silence, the only sounds being the background chatter of the few other café guests and the low overhead music as you enjoyed each other’s company, taking sips every so often.

But the peace didn’t last, for Tyler just had to pollute the air with his presence again. This time, completely uninvited.

Wednesday recognized the footsteps before he even properly approached the table, but you didn’t notice until he was in your space, feet coming directly into your line of sight as you read. You glanced up at him, brows drawn in confusion, and he gave you that stupid grin.

His hand moved and to Wednesday’s shame, it was only then that she noticed the plate he was holding. Shyly, he set it down in front of you, presenting what looked to be a Danish of some kind.

“For the prettiest girl in the café.”

Wednesday made a mental note to check if her spellbook contained any particularly debilitating curses.

Your lips pulled back into more of a grimace than a smile, but he accepted it with enthusiasm, nonetheless, and walked off before you could give any sort of proper response.

Wednesday decided that was it. She downed the rest of her drink and stood, muttering a foreboding “I’ll be right back” in the process.

The weight of your gaze settled on her shoulders as she stalked over to the counter but she brushed it off, her focus set firmly on the boy operating the machines behind it. A conscious effort was made not to crush the cup in her hand. She didn’t want to alert you to her pursuit.

Silently, she placed the cup down on the marble and rang the bell.

Tyler’s face lit up at the sound, but it fell when he turned and locked eyes with Wednesday.

“Oh, Wednesday, hey. Do you need something?”

Her lips curled into a sinister smile. “Yes, actually, I do.”

Reaching over the counter, she grabbed Tyler’s apron and pulled him forward. Tyler, eyes wide, sputtered but was quickly silenced by the murderous glint in the seer’s eyes.

“I need you to get it through your thick, bulbous skull that she’s not interested. And quickly, or I promise that you will be eating through a straw for the rest of your short, miserable life,” she assured him, speaking low so only he could hear. 

She dropped her voice even lower to the barest of whispers, leaning forward as her apathetic eyes bored into his.

“Don’t think that you’ll be safe from me just because you’re the sheriff’s son. Do you understand?”

Tyler nodded hurriedly, his normally pallid complexion growing an even starker white.

Wednesday abruptly let go of his apron, sending him stumbling back on unsteady feet. She gave him another frosty glare, for good measure, before casting her gaze down to her cup.

“Oh, and I need a refill. Make it on the house,” she said, pushing the empty cup toward the unmoving boy then walking back to her table.

The curious looks you were giving her went ignored as she sat back down and opened her book to continue her studying.

“What did you say to him?” you asked, eyeing the boy’s terrified expression.

Wednesday shrugged. “I simply asked him for a refill.”

She knew you didn’t believe her, but she also knew you wouldn’t question her further, so she kept her eyes on the pages in front of her and waited for her drink to arrive.

Tyler returned minutes later, noticeably more withdrawn. His eyes never left the ground as he delivered Wednesday’s drink and immediately hurried back behind the perceived safety of the counter. 

Your wide, concerned eyes followed him as he left.

“Just a refill?” you reiterated, skepticism dripping from every syllable.

Wednesday smirked. The familiar vindictive feeling of victory set in, creating a terrifyingly satisfying afterglow for her to bask in as she took your hand in hers, and squeezed it lightly.

“I swear on my late scorpion’s life, mon cher.”

[thegirlwiththeblush]

Topolino

Ezio Auditore x Reader

Summary: A pickpocket runs into an unusual altercation on his way home from his daily antics. 

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: Swearing in Italian

Special thanks to @vorsdany, one of my fav humans who courageously proofread for me once again (love ya bro <3)

i hope at least one person enjoys this because i have no fellow assassin's creed fan friends :,D

The wind whistled lowly through the alley I crouched in as I counted my day’s worth of findings. I shook the florins into my hand, trying not to grab the attention of passersby. Counting money wasn’t a crime, but had I been lucky, the total would’ve been incredibly suspicious.

But unfortunately, the victims of my shenanigans that day must not have been as wealthy as I would’ve liked, because I hadn’t even come close to my goal. I grumbled softly as I spilled my findings back into my leather purse, pulling the strings taut before stowing it in my shirt.

Findings, plunder, dirty money, call it what you want.

I rose to my feet with little enthusiasm; I didn’t like going home without hitting my target. Maybe on my way back I could sneak a couple more florins, just for the satisfaction. I’d have enough to buy something substantial for breakfast the next morning before starting up my escapades once again.

Peeking out of the alley, I joined the crowds with the smallest movements possible, careful to avoid the attentive gazes of any nearby guards as we headed into the town square. The sun sank lower in the sky as I shifted through the streets, jumping from group to group, never walking alone. People were quick to recognize a pickpocket, and if I ran into anyone I’d previously preyed on, my small collection from the day would be the least of my problems.

Shopkeepers all around were packing down their stalls, and travelling doctors were packing up their equipment. No doubt they all had families or friends to go home to, wives to complain to their customers about, frustrating children who took up their personal space, neighbours who intruded at the most inconvenient times. They must consider themselves so unfortunate, and yet I’d give anything to be in their shoes, instead of going ‘home’ to an abandoned, dilapidated gondola. I sighed heavily and shifted from the crowded town square into a narrower street, gently pushing aside an obnoxious minstrel as I went.

Only to stumble upon two figures dueling around three corpses.

I ran and grabbed a ledge nearby, hoisting myself up to avoid the clashing swords as the two of them moved up and down the alley with ease, their swords still swinging back and forth. I crouched and observed in stunned silence; one of the figures, garbed in a white, flowing cloak, appeared to be gaining the advantage over the other, who, upon closer inspection, I recognized as a guard, as were the bodies sprawled over the path. This guy appeared to be in over his head.

“It's a good thing I needed an excuse to test out this new blade of mine,” the mysterious man remarked. “I must be lucky, stumbling upon an eager idiot like you.”

I was shocked to hear the confident tone coming from the cloaked figure. He sounded young, but bold, and his wisecrack didn’t slow him in his advances.

“I wouldn’t call a man who lost his father and brother in one fell swoop ‘lucky’,” the guard sniggered in retort, and the cloaked figure’s strikes became swifter and even more aggressive as he growled lowly, “Fottiti, bastardo!”

The guard stumbled back, and the vigilante didn’t miss a beat; sheathing his sword with one hand and drawing a short blade with his other, he grabbed the guard’s shirt front with his now free left hand and spun him round, wrapping his arm around his neck. He held the blade to the man’s throat, his hood keeping his face out of my sight.

“Please,” the guard whimpered, “have mercy on me!”

The cloaked figure shrugged. “Va bene,” he relented, before sliding the dagger clean across his gullet. “I’ll make it quick.”

The guard crumpled to the ground, a few strangled moans escaping his mouth before he went silent. The cloaked figure knelt and wiped his blade on the guard’s shirt, and he snuck his hand into the leather pouch at the waist, withdrawing a few florins with a smirk.

Only then did I realize my mouth had been agape as I’d watched, and a short involuntary noise of shock flew out before I could shut it. The man spun round to face me, holding his dagger in a defensive position as he looked me up and down.

“Merda,” he murmured somewhat nervously. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”

“I- I-” I stammered, but before I could come up with an answer, he was on the ledge next to me in two or three steps.

“I didn’t even see you sneak in here,” he said, tilting his head like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “You sly devil; were you sent to spy on me?”

“No, no, not at all,” I hurriedly assured him, my hands raised slightly, afraid he might not believe me. “I swear, this is my route home and I stumbled upon your little conflitto, and I did not wish to interrupt.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Conflitto, hm? You think that’s all it was?”

He acted as if he wanted me to call him out. “What, are you some kind of dangerous criminal? Or did they call you bambino and hurt your feelings?”

He inhaled sharply and stepped toward me, and suddenly I lost my newly-found confidence and raised my hands once again. “Just a joke, just a joke!” I protested, and gave a short laugh as if to prove it. He rolled his eyes and turned away from me, climbing down from the ledge.

I blinked in confusion. “Y- You’re just gonna walk away?”

“I have better things to do than entertain a little intelligentone who’s up past their bedtime,” he replied without turning his head. “I’m going home.”

I was no longer impressed by this guy; now, he was getting on my nerves. I jumped down after him, and before he could turn to face me, I snuck his stiletto out of its place in his belt, slipping it complacently into my own.

“What do you want, birbante?” he demanded roughly, swinging something around on his finger by the drawstring.

My leather purse. How the hell-

“Give me back my blade and you can have your dirty money, fair and square.” He held his hand out patiently, and I handed him the dagger with little hesitation, reaching for the purse. He smirked at my desperation, and I scowled. “You think you’re clever, hm, furfante? You want to play a little game?”

I couldn’t say I liked the patronizing tone he’d taken on, but after that stunt, his proposition was enticing. I wanted to know what else this mysterious and strangely dressed young man had up his sleeve.

“All right,” I relented. “What did you have in mind?”

He turned to face the town square behind us, his gaze settling on the tallest building, and he nodded to himself. “I want you to race me to the top of that building.”

I blinked once again, but I let the moment of hesitation pass. “Sure,” I agreed, folding my arms confidently. I had no doubt this man was incredibly agile, but I was not going to back down after he challenged me like I was a toddler.

He cracked his knuckles and smirked at me. “On my count, then.” He took a deep breath and shook out his legs and arms in preparation. “One, two-”

“Three!” I could not possibly have resisted the opportunity; I took off, leaving him in the dust and reaching the base of the tower in seconds. Leaping up and grabbing a small outcrop with both hands, I resisted the temptation to look down and check his progress. I reached up with smug satisfaction, sure that my surprise was enough of a headstart to ensure my victory.

Until a light grunt a few palms away from me startled me out of my reverie.

He was not climbing, but rather, leaping; as he flew up from each perch, he reached for the next, clasping with both hands and using his incredible upper body strength to hoist himself up.

Unlike me, he was unable to resist the urge; he snuck a peek down at me and sent a charming smirk my way before resuming his ascent.

I groaned in frustration when I realized I’d come to a complete stop to watch his method. I continued climbing, reaching for anything I could get a decent grip on. I was fast, but nowhere near fast enough; by the time my blistered hands had gotten me half-way, he was dangling his legs over the edge of the top, watching me with his chin in his palm and his elbow resting on his thigh.

“You’re like a little mouse,” he taunted. “You scurry, but ever so slow! If I’d known you were going to take so long, I’d have brought some bread and wine up with me; I’m starving up here.”

“Maybe I did this on purpose, then, to give you a taste of my life,” I retorted bitterly. “Not everyone can just go around murdering soldiers when they want to break the law.”

As I pulled myself up the last few arms and up onto an overhang, he narrowed his eyes at me. “You think I was fighting because I had to steal food?”

I shrugged slightly as I crawled carefully over to where he sat on the edge. “How should I know? I just met you.”

He grunted. “Fair point.” Sighing deeply, he added, “It’s far more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”

Unsure of what to say, I nodded slowly, waiting to see if he would continue.

“My name is Ezio,” he explained. “Ezio Auditore.”

I recognized the name. After a moment of contemplation, I remembered where from; two men by that name had been hanged a few weeks ago, for a crime I could not recollect.

“My family was falsely accused of treason,” he added, as if reading my thoughts. “I seek to avenge them. That is all you need to know.” He looked so sad as he finished this statement that I felt a twinge of pity for him, forgetting our petty competition. I had no doubt he was telling the truth.

“Well, I live in an abandoned gondola and I steal money from people,” I said, “so, if that makes you feel any better...”

He chuckled lightly, and smiled at me; the gesture filled me with a warmth I had not felt in years; something like what I’d felt when my mother or father would smile at me, but, a little different.

Before I could express any sort of feeling, he rose to his feet, dusting himself off. “Well, topolino,” he said, “this was fun. We should meet again and have a rematch someday.”

I laughed. “Topolino, hm? That’s quite an upgrade from birbante.”

He grinned mischievously, tousling my hair and filling my stomach once again with warm butterflies. “Like I said,” he whispered, “like a little mouse.”

He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, perching on the overhang I’d pulled myself up on earlier. Turning back for one last look at me, he beamed and winked at me, before leaping over the edge.

My jaw dropped as he disappeared, but I breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his body hitting a wheelbarrow full of hay below. I peeked over to watch him sprint away, already missing his charming aura, wily as it was.

Reluctantly, I began my descent, wondering if I’d ever see the hooded vigilante ever again.

Translation Guide: fottiti: fuck you bastardo: bastard va bene: all right merda: shit intelligentone: wiseguy/know-it-all/smart-ass birbante: rascal furfante: scoundrel topolino: baby mouse

[talesofesther]

Since I have no love for my free time, I changed my url

robiin-buckley -> talesofesther

I've been wanting to do this for a while, because one; a couple of people already thought my name was Robin lol, and two; this blog will always be multifandom, so I guess I just wanted something that's mine and not tied to any fandom

All of my links (that are so so many, I'm genuinely scared) will be updated soon <3

Tagging a few friends so they know who I am lol

@abelvrla @mikavlcs @wol-fica @missmonsters2 @iamnicodemus @vorsdany @thenextdawn @lum13 @wednesdays-woes @eviekensington @i984 @chaisreading @smalls-words @indouloureux @babiestmunson @eddieandbird @corrodedcoffins @userquinn @joequinns @appocalipse @kingofscoops @ktelova @milkiane @vigilanteshit @natsfirecat @asgardwinter @messedupfan @elizabethsaige @ohmyitsfaith @abimess @alotofpockets @theperfectlovestory @wwinterwitch @incorrectlycorrectfun @unholyhelbig @nikolai-lantsovs @mophamsa @greensaplinggrace @natasharomanovf @myfavoriteficss @imagine-reblog @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp

[mel-13-29]

Rules: Shuffle your ‘On Repeat’ playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag ten people. 1."New girl" by FINNEAS 2."love is a bitch" by Two feet 3."you are in love" by taylor swift 4."paris" by taylor swift 5."hotline (edit)" by billie eilish 6."still dont know my name" by Labrinth 7."do it for me" by rosenfeld 8."Touch" by cigarettes after sex 9."i did something bad" by taylor swift 10."young & dumb" by cigarettes after sex No Pressure Tags: @houseofwaxes @deep-fried-egg@vorsdany@nottheoneforlove@mikavlcs@rollingsins i know its not 10 but thats all i got :p

[i984]

Tag List!

Please only interact with this post by pressing >>>like<<< if you wish to be added into the tag list!

This means your account will be mentioned when I post a new fic so you don't miss any of my stuff in the future <3

The account names will be below the cut, please don't hesitate to DM me if you want yours removed!

@rainbow-hedgehog Thank you for telling me how this works, I hope this is right 😭

Bolded names means I can't tag you :")

@theafterofnevermore @ricosnumber1fan @wol-fica @lum13 @rainbow-hedgehog @wedfan2 @tundra1029 @riomiyawakisstuff @maryannecrimsworth @spynerr @thatmentallyunstableasexual @mindingmybidness12 @iamnicodemus @o638 @theflamboyantshadow @jegaatmenaamnietkrijgen @rowansgirlsblog @alexomnice @alexkolax @kratosilverhand @vorsdany @cursedchar @likefirenrain @elixa6-3

(Nobody else yet...)

[clexa-is-forever]

just saw the asks you sent vorsdany and i’m so sorry you didn’t get to pet the sheep 😔💔 (also your dog is so cute<3)

😭 My heart was broken when I saw they weren't there anymore. Thank you for your compassion in these hard times. Your support will keep me going.

Nike (the dog) is the cutest! I will pass on your compliment. She will feel like a true queen with all the love she's getting.

Have a great day, Mika!

[myfavoriteficss]

Game of Thrones Masterlist

This Masterlist includes all of the Game of Thrones fan fiction I have reblogged. Enjoy.

Updated: 06/26/2023

Masterpost

1. Daenerys Targaryen

Written by: @a-libra-writes

A Dragon’s Fire

Written by: @beautifultypewriter

Regret

Expert

Stress Drinking

Everyone Has Their Price

Written by: @cherryplasmids​

Worthwhile

Written by: @chrystening

Silent Elegy

Written by: @dany-is-my-queen

Ex To See

Written by: @deathordesire

Sunlight: Part 1

Written by: @epiphany-of-a-madwoman

The Unexpected Perks of War: Part 1

Written by: @gameofthronesfics (deactivated)

Impossible: Part 1

In Another World

‘just hold me’

Written by: @megsironthrone

Apprehensive

Written by: @onemorefanaccount

Meeting of the Minds

Digging in your Heels

A Done Deal

Sealing the Deal

Daenerys x Reader 1 (Daenerys can't sleep)

Written by: @targaryenimagines

A Dragon’s Promise: Part 1 

Fractured: Part 1

Together As One

‘Tis The Season 

Candle in the Northern Winds 

Tempering the Storm 

Written by: @uncomfortable-writers

The Assassin and The Queen

Written by: @vorsdany​

Let The World Burn

Written by: @vulpe-fox

Of Loyalists and Lovers: Part I

2. Sansa Stark

Written by: @asoiaf-winter-is-coming

The Language of Flowers

Written by: @fallatyourfeet

Always and Forever

Written by: @gameofoneshots (deactivated)

Jonquil

Written by: @gameofthronesfics (deactivated)

Preference

Written by: @lorddyke (deactivated)

Will You Stay?

Written by: @myrandomimagination18​

Jealousy is best served with Love

Written by: @onemorefanaccount

Taking the Pledge

Written by: @rax-writes

The Rose and the Wolf

Written by: @romancingromanoff

Calm Before The Storm

Written by: @the-coldest-goodbye

You don't have to leave so soon

3. Margaery Tyrell

Written by: @gameofthronesfics (deactivated)

Love

Together

‘promises’

Written by: @myrandomimagination18​

A Getaway Plan

Written by @myriadimagines

Common Face: Part 1

Written by: @rax-writes

Solace

Lavender Rose

The End of Us

[mikavlcs]

Whispers in the Dark

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: After a harrowing nightmare, Wednesday tries her best to bring you comfort.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday...you have been warned

Word count: 1.6k

Notes: @vorsdany and i did a matching prompts challenge, so make sure to go read hers as well -> Take Me Home

(also if you think that this is just a worse iteration of this story by tumblr user missmonsters2, you are absolutely correct! go read hers as well<3)

Masterlist

Wednesday Addams adored nightmares.

There was nothing quite like the rush of adrenaline she got when she escaped from the clutches of a particularly dreadful nightmare.

The way the terror could persist for hours after, leaving behind a lingering sense of dread that heightened the senses, was addictive. As far as Wednesday was concerned, it was one of the greatest feelings in the world.

The flashes of technicolor terror and monochromatic mania quickly became her favorite part of the day. The perfect precursor to the torture she would have to endure when she woke up and was forced to interact with her fellow classmates.

But this, unfortunately, was not a very widely held opinion. For most, night terrors were a blight, not a blessing.

And she was so graciously reminded of this when Thing came tumbling in from the balcony, movements more frantic than she’d ever seen before. It was odd, she thought, given both the late hour and the fact that he was supposed to be staying with you for the night, but she still didn’t spare him a glance.

If he had a problem, he could consult her after her writing hour. Enid was off having a sleepover at Yoko’s, and she was intent on taking advantage of the rare quiet in her dorm.

However, Thing wasn’t one to be deterred. When he failed to get her attention, he jumped onto her typewriter, smashing a bunch of keys beneath his fingers and effectively ruining the page she was working on in the process.

Wednesday blinked, then twice, brows raising in surprise. Her fingers curled into fists, jaw clenching against the rush of anger that coursed through her. Slowly, she bit out a low, murderous, “Thing—"

But her biting tone had no effect on the hand. He interrupted her once more, tapping out the same message over and over. 

She surged forward, intent on grabbing the hand and locking him in her drawer for the next week, but then she started paying attention to what he was saying, the message he was trying so hard to convey.

And once she properly received it, she was out of her chair in an instant, her ruined page already forgotten.

Wednesday moved through the maze of corridors like a shadow, footsteps swift and silent to avoid the attention of any roaming teachers. Whether Thing was following or even able to keep pace with her was irrelevant to her, his message was the only thing on her mind.

Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.

It played on an incessant loop, making her heart pound against her chest with a vitality that threatened to break the surrounding ribs under its weight.

That vitality made her quicken her pace. When your dorm finally came into view, she slammed the door open with an urgency she would later consider humiliating.

Moonlight cascaded in through the window, cutting through the murky darkness of the night and providing Wednesday with just enough light to see the barest hint of her surroundings.

Dark eyes scanned the room for any immediate threats and when it became clear that there were no attackers or monsters lurking in the shadows, she took a breath and began to properly survey her surroundings.

Her gaze first caught on your desk, the stacks of books and papers neatly resting on top of it. Then your bed, unkempt and noticeably empty despite the early hour. And finally, she saw you, your normally vibrant form reduced to a shaking silhouette curled up beneath your window.

Wednesday took to languages very easily and the language your body spoke was no exception. Within months, Wednesday was able to read you with the same ease she did her favorite novels, spines slightly worn from use and pages annotated to absolute perfection.

So the calligraphy tucked in the tight furrow between your brows, the letters the light tremble in your shoulders scrawled, and the words the bags beneath your eyes printed for her were deciphered in moments.

And it all came together to definitively prove the hypothesis that began forming the moment she stepped foot into your dorm.

You had a nightmare.

This wasn’t the first time. Since that night when the school nearly burned down, it seemed to happen a lot. The incident had a firm grip on you, and it showed no signs of lessening, but it didn’t deter Wednesday any.

Because even now in the darkness, hugged tightly in the grasp of fear, you were luminescent.

Approaching slowly, she kneeled before you, caught your wide, teary eyes. Behind her, she heard the door shut softly, signifying Thing’s arrival, but she kept her attention solely on you.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

The question itself was a gamble. Many nights you would just shake your head and suffer in silence, leaving Wednesday to just be there with you and hope her presence brought forth some form of comfort. But it seemed tonight she got lucky.

“It was about the Hyde—Tyler. He…he ripped you apart, and I—” You choked on a sob, bringing both hands up to dig the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I just watched.”

She hummed lightly. Unsure of what to say, she lamented, “Sounds frightful. I wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

A wet laugh reached her ears, causing an effective stutter in the steady beat of her heart. Your hands were brought back to your knees, but you were still crying, still held firmly in the clasp of your dream. 

And despite her inherent discomfort, Wednesday wouldn’t stand for that.

Things like comfort and physical affection were your forte, not hers. But you were there for her in her darkest hour, unwavering during her torturously vulnerable time just after the defeat of Crackstone that she shuddered to think about even now.

When the weight of everything finally crashed down on her and threatened to shatter her into a million pieces, you were there to hold her together in soft but steady arms. So she would do the same for you.

Hesitant hands cupped your cheeks and rough thumbs wiped your tears in uncertain yet gentle strokes.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” she urged, attentive eyes looking for any legible signs to interpret.

“Just stay,” you whispered. “Please.”

She nodded. She was already wearing her sleepwear, so a change of clothes was unnecessary. The only thing left unattended was…

“Thing, go back to my dorm and throw the paper in my typewriter carriage out. I will rewrite it entirely tomorrow.”

Your face fell at her instruction, and Wednesday could read the lines of guilt clear as day in the fall of your shoulders and dip of your brow.

“If I’m interrupting your writing—"

“You’re not,” she injected sternly, moving one hand to grip your shoulder. “You asked me to stay, so you’re stuck with my torturous presence for the rest of the night. Whether you like it or not.”

The beginnings of a smile played on the edges of your lips, but before you could respond, Thing scurried up to your side and gave you an inquiring tap.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry, I ruined our sleepover. I’ll make it up to you I promise.” You extended a pinky down in his direction, which he promptly wrapped his own around. A pinky promise, if Wednesday wasn’t mistaken.

Usually, she would scoff at such childish affairs, but you were full-on smiling now, some of your usual vivacity seeping back in, so she let the moment pass without comment.

Her eyes followed Thing as he left. Sure, he had ruined her writing (something he would be punished for in due time), but he had admittedly done well to immediately notify her of what happened.

She would have to give him something, she decided. Maybe one of those scented lotions he was always trying to steal from the Jericho convenience store.

Once he was gone, she stood, tugging you up by your shirt sleeves and pulling you back to your bed. Gently, she shoved you down, and only once you were completely settled did she slip between your sheets and lay down next to you.

Crossing her arms, she raked her eyes over your tired form, lingering on the hand resting in the space between both of your bodies. Temptation, soft and sweet, pulled at her, but she stubbornly resisted.

“You won’t have to worry about your sleep being hindered anymore.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, exhaustion making your eyelids dip. “Why not?”

“I’ll steal your terrific dreams away for my own enjoyment,” she informed, lips quirking slightly. “I could use the pick me up.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” you teased. Wednesday shot you a sharp look at the flagrant slight to her character.

“Insult me like that again and night terrors will be the least of your worries.”

A chorus of sleepy laughs arose from your lips, and even with your eyes half-lidded and only the faint light of the moon to illuminate your features, Wednesday could see the fondness in your eyes. “Of course, Wends.”

She huffed, redirecting her gaze to the ceiling.

“Go to sleep, we have classes tomorrow.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. She barely had time to finish her sentence before your eyes closed again, breaths already beginning to even out.

Still, she waited minutes longer, until she knew you were deep within sleep’s embrace, to reach down and rest her hand over your outstretched one, curling her fingers lightly around yours.

Wednesday had never been one to hold superstitious beliefs of any kind. She made sure that her mind remained rooted in logic at all times, but she wanted to believe that this physical connection would somehow help transfer the horrors that plagued you to her.

So she then could keep the terror at bay and revel in it while you enjoyed whatever pleasantries your mind conjured in its place.

And if that didn’t work, then she would be more than happy to slay the demons that haunted your dreams with her bare hands if need be.