#barclay legacy

[kindred-sims]

A letter to Matthew Dailey from his daughter Agnes, 189x

Dearest Papa,

We are here!

We arrived in Chestnut Ridge late this morning after a near two days of travel, bursting with both relief and anticipation. Until now the idea of being here seemed a mere fantasy, but now that we have actually made it, I am now reminded of just how real and wonderful it all really is. We are both exhausted from our journey but nevertheless overjoyed to finally be here after so much dreaming and planning, it scarcely feels feel to either of us even now.

The farm, our farm...what can I say about it? Its ours, and that’s the most important thing. This one in particular was being sold off for quite cheap after its previous owners passed on, and although I do not wish to be rude, it isn’t difficult to see why the bank was so eager to hand it over to us. It is quite an old building and in need of several serious repairs, I fear that one strong gust of wind would be enough to knock it apart.

Will seems optimistic that we’ll be able to make it work, in spite of the obvious problems. He did have to take out a small loan to pay for it, but he’s confident that we’ll be able to pay it back after our first good harvest. If all goes well, that is, which I trust that it will. We’ve come too far for it not to.

Yours truly,

Mrs. Agnes Barclay

P.S. Do let Aunt Winifred know I miss her dearly, and I plan to write to her as well just as soon as I get the chance.

[rewritingcanon]

bitches could have the whitest names on the planet and bitches will still headcanon them as asian (its me im bitches)

[silvershewolf247]

I'd argue Andy is the only other survivor Jake could relate to on the fact that Jake was pretty insistent he loved Good Chucky. Because there was a time where Andy loved Chucky.

[nicascurls]

@losersclubisms @streets-in-paradise Found another one!!

[wileys-russo]

just like mummy II l.williamson

in the same universe as legacy and little golfer

"mila! mil? mila?" leah called out with a frown, poking her head in each room with a frown that deepened each time she didn't find her daughter.

"okay bubba this isn't funny we need to leave soon!" leah's voice wavered as she ducked down, checking under the beds with a huff as again she came up empty.

"mila? mummy isn't joking we really need to leave!" leahs chest tightened a little as she went room to room hunting for the four year old.

normally you took charge when it came to getting your daughter ready of a morning before training, but considering today was pre season media day you'd had meetings set earlier than leahs so you'd already left before the four year old was up.

normally mila was the very first awake of the three of you but last night she'd been particularly stubborn about refusing to go to bed which leah had promised to take care of after almost two hours of trying to get her settled, practically locking you in the bathroom to shower.

when you'd finished you'd found them both curled up on the lounge in front of the tv, passed out together with a rerun of the euros playing on the large screen.

so with a much later bedtime than normal she'd actually slept in to the point leahs alarm had gone off and she was stunned to be alone in bed, expecting a four year old lump curled up on the end of her bed as usual like a cat.

"ready!" the blonde almost jumped out of her skin as tiny footsteps sounded behind her.

"i look like you! wanted to match today." the girl grinned, one of leahs arsenal kits hanging down on her like a dress and her feet drowned in a pair of football boots and socks which continued to fall down.

"stay up!" the smaller blonde huffed yanking at them with a scowl which if you'd been there you'd have commented was near identical to leahs own.

"oh mila." leah chuckled, relief flooding her body replaced quickly with amusement. "you have boots! lets go find them you monkey." the blonde laughed, scooping up her daughter and tossing her over her shoulder.

~

"mama!" you looked away from the interviewer at the familiar scream, hiding a laugh at the way your wife grabbed the back of your daughters top trying to restrain her, other hand barely holding together her own bag as well as mila's, lia hurrying over to lend a hand.

"thats us pretty much done anyway." the interviewer smiled kindly, nodding for you to go as you thanked them and shook hands, standing up and heading over to where a small riot had taken place as mila's aunties all fought over who got a hug first.

"excuse me i think i take priority." you called out over the squabbling, leah almost taken to the floor by the force in which your daughter pulled to get to you, letting go and catching her footing as a small body slammed into your legs.

"mama you weren't there when i woke up." mila frowned as you smiled and smoothed her creased eyebrows out with your thumb, squatted down to be at her level.

"i know, but remember i told you i had to come to work early? to take pictures." you poked her stomach a few times eliciting a giggle. "oh yeah. hey look! i match mummy." mila perked back up, taking a step back and doing a spin.

"you didn't want to match me?" you gasped in mock offence, mila shaking her head with a cheeky smile and running back to leah before you could grab her.

"no i'm mummys little gunner."

~

it was around an hour later when the day took a turn, mila having been passed around between your teammates as you and leah fulfilled your interviews and commitments.

you were doing a few tiktoks with laia for barclays when you were interrupted by your best friend, whispering something to one of the producers who frowned but nodded.

"williamson, you're needed. can someone go find pelova to take her place please?"

confused you stepped aside, alessia grabbing your hand without another word and tugging you away. "where are we going?" you questioned with a frown. "we have a problem." the blonde sighed, refusing to elaborate much more as she pulled you out of the main room.

"wait is it mila? is she hurt? sick? do we need an ambulance?" you began to panic as you were pulled toward the change rooms. "yes, no, no, not yet." alessia answered which didn't help ease your anxiety.

"not yet!" you exclaimed though as the taller girl pulled you into the change rooms and you saw the sight in front of you, suddenly things all made sense.

"oh my god."

"just like mummy!" mila cheered, sat on the bench on lia's lap with a horrendously self cut attempt at a fringe, safety scissors confiscated and a very guilty looking kyra hovering about nearby.

"what. happened." you exhaled unable to drag your gaze away from your daughters new haircut.

"she was with kyra and i and we were colouring. then she asked for some scissors and we assumed she was going to cut out the picture from her book to show you and leah and well we looked away for like one minute and..." lia began to explain, trailing off gesturing to mila's forehead and her new 'bangs'.

"mila.." you exhaled, dragging your hands down your face as alessia rubbed your back gently. "mummy got a hair cut, so i got a hair cut." the four year old beamed clearly very proud of herself.

"has leah seen-" "nope."

though you may have jinxed it as footsteps sounded and the woman i question arrived, mila's bag in hand ready to tell the pair of you that you were all free to head to lunch.

"leah. it was an accident love, breathe." you grabbed your wifes arms watching her face change as she took in mila's haircut and the scissors sitting idly by, mouth opening and closing as she looked around the room.

"kyra. we need to go outside...for a little chat." leah warned, voice calm and face anything but as she didn't even wait for someone to explain before deciding who she was blaming for this.

"leah-" the girl couldn't even get a word out before she sprinted off, your wife quick to follow her as mila just giggled and you sighed, alessia's hand coming to sit on her shoulder.

"now i think we might need that ambulance."

[thedemoninme141]

The Maiden Of Death PART 1.

Summary: They say opposites attract. But you? You weren’t her opposite. You were worse.

A/n: This is a new series, I actually had part 1 written like a month ago, But I didn't post it back then mainly because I won't write part 2 until I finish Her Heartbeat. I also am not really sure if you guys would like it, because its a bit dark. But I hope you do.

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Warnings: Violence at the end but you guys would be satisfied by it lol.

She met you in fencing class.

As Wednesday was walking through the hallways of Nevermore, on her way to the fencing class, she couldn't help but question herself, why had she returned?

Sure, she had defeated Crackstone. Tyler was locked away, the Gates family’s legacy was ash. Yet, despite her apparent victory over the forces conspiring against Nevermore, Wednesday couldn’t shake the hollow feeling of anticlimax.

So why?

Perhaps it was the faint pull of unfinished business. The photos of a shadowy stalker she’d received at the end of her first year were an unsolved loose end, but even those now felt underwhelming. Whoever it was hadn’t made a move worth her attention in months.

Or maybe she was here because it gave her the chance to humiliate Bianca this time. That thought warmed her more than she cared to admit. Bianca had always been the most formidable opponent in fencing, her skill matched only by her infuriating arrogance. Wednesday lived for that. She would never say it aloud, but Bianca was the only opponent worth her time.

As she entered the fencing room, the chatter of students died down. The tension in the room was immediate, Wednesday didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were on her. She had always been the odd one in this class, the only one to don a fencing uniform as black as her soul while everyone wore the casual white.

But something was different today. She caught sight of a figure seated casually in one of the chairs lining the hall but the reason her eyes found this one so fast because they dressed entirely in black fencing gear, just like her. Their mask and helmet obscured any hint of identity.

For as long as she had fenced at Nevermore, she had been the only one to wear black. This was an intrusion.

Her gaze shifted to Bianca, and for the first time, Wednesday noticed blood dripping from the other girl’s left hand. It was a small, angry trickle, barely enough to warrant alarm, but the sheer fact of it was startling. Bianca never bled. Not in fencing. Her form was too precise, her reactions too swift.

“Wait, that’s not Wednesday?” Kent was the one to speak out.

The rest of the students murmured, their gazes bouncing between her and the stranger. Even the coach was a bit confused.

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened but she said nothing.

Her dark eyes flicked back to Bianca. The siren’s usual air of superiority was gone, replaced by something raw and bitter. Humiliation.

Bianca Barclay had been beaten, and beaten badly, by... whoever this was.

“Barclay,” The coach said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Infirmary. Now.”

Bianca huffed, her glare locked on the figure in black. If looks could kill, the stranger would have been reduced to ashes. But they remained unmoved, offering no reaction.

As Bianca passed Wednesday, she slowed, her lip curling in disdain. “Not one word,” she muttered, low enough that only Wednesday could hear.

Wednesday tilted her head, her tone as cool as ever. “Careful, Barclay. Your blood loss is showing.”

Bianca huffed but she said nothing, stalking out of the hall with as much dignity as she could muster.

Wednesday’s lips curved in the faintest of smirks. Whoever this person was, they had achieved something remarkable. The idea that someone could dismantle Bianca so thoroughly sparked a flicker of excitement deep in Wednesday’s chest, a sensation she quickly quashed.

The possibility of being bested was not one she entertained lightly, but the idea of such a challenge thrilled her in a way she couldn’t deny. It was rare to find someone who could match her ruthlessness, let alone surpass it.

Her gaze returned to the masked figure. They hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even acknowledged the chaos they’d caused. They simply sat there, busy in their own world.

She took a step forward, “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

The figure didn’t respond. Their silence was deliberate, unyielding.

Wednesday’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile, dark, challenging, hungry. “If you’re going to steal my aesthetic, the least you can do is prove you’re worthy of it.”

A murmur swept through the room. Someone let out a low whistle, and the coach frowned, clearly torn between maintaining order and allowing the drama to unfold.

“Addams, this is not the time for theatrics,” the coach started, but Wednesday silenced her with a raised hand.

“It’s not theatrics. It’s a challenge,” she said, her dark eyes fixed on the seated figure. “Unless you’re too afraid to accept.”

For a moment, the figure remained motionless. Then, slowly, they stood. The black fencing uniform clung to their frame, and the mask’s darkened mesh remained inscrutable. They stepped onto the fencing strip—silent, measured, and deliberate and Wednesday adjusted her fencing mask.

The room collectively held its breath.

The coach sighed, knowing full well he can't stop Wednesday.

“En garde.” he yelled.

With her perfect stance and razor-sharp mind, Wednesday raised her blade. A precision tool she had used innumerable times, the weight of her foil in her hand was reassuring. The other fencer, whose mask concealed any emotion, mirrored her movements with eerie grace across from her.

“Prêts,” the coach said.

Wednesday’s focus narrowed. Her heart beat steadily. She would rule. She did it every time.

“Allez.”

The duel began. Wednesday moved first, her blade darting forward in a testing thrust. Her opponent’s response was immediate, a deflection so swift it was almost imperceptible.

Wednesday pressed forward, her footwork precise and aggressive. She lunged again, trying to draw her opponent into a mistake. But the figure in black sidestepped, their movements fluid and economical. They struck back, their blade skimming past her guard with alarming speed. Wednesday barely parried and dodged in time.

A flurry of attacks and counters. Wednesday’s strikes were measured, calculated to exploit any opening. Yet her opponent offered none. It was as if they were reading her mind, anticipating her every move.

Her frustration grew, simmering beneath her stoic exterior. She was Wednesday Addams. She did not lose.

Then it happened. In a single, breathtaking motion, her opponent disengaged, their blade whipping around her guard to land a clean hit on her shoulder.

The coach’s voice rang out. “Point. 1-0.”

The room exhaled collectively. Wednesday’s grip on her épée tightened. Her eyes narrowed behind the mask. She had underestimated them. That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

They reset. The coach’s whistle blew. “Allez!”

This time, Wednesday took a defensive stance, watching her opponent closely. Their movements were fast, almost inhumanly so, but there was no sound—no labored breathing, no huffs of exertion. It was as though they weren’t human at all but a ghost sent to haunt her.

Their blade darted forward in the blink of an eye. Wednesday countered, attempting to draw them into a trap. But they saw through it, disengaging and circling to her left. She pivoted, parrying a thrust aimed at her torso, but their follow-up was too quick. The tip of their blade grazed her arm.

The coach’s voice rang out again. “Point. 2-0.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. The students murmured, the shock evident in their voices. Anger flared in her chest, hot and unwelcome. She was not accustomed to being outmatched like this.

The next round began. Wednesday forced herself to focus, she studied their movements, searching for a pattern, a weakness. Their strikes were precise, but even precision had its rhythm.

Then she saw it—a slight hesitation in their retreat, a fraction of a second where their weight shifted too far back. It was enough.

When they lunged, she was ready. She sidestepped, her blade sweeping upward in a controlled arc. The tip struck their shoulder.

"Point 2-1" The coach whistled.

For the first time, her opponent faltered. It was subtle, a small hesitation as they reset, but Wednesday caught it. The way they froze for a heartbeat, their head tilting slightly as if registering the touch, was fascinating. She couldn’t see their face, but she imagined what might lie beneath the mask. Surprise? Annoyance?

She allowed herself the faintest of smirks.

But the pause was brief. The stranger reset, their stance as flawless as ever. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her foil. If they can get hit, she can win. She just needs to be patient.

The whistle sounded again, and they moved.

This time, it was a storm. The stranger’s attacks came faster, sharper, each strike more relentless than the last. Wednesday parried and countered, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to keep up. They weren't getting tired, and Wednesday for a fact understood, this was must be because one of their powers, Was it fair? No. But it was... maybe a lit... amusing.

For every move she anticipated, they had another waiting in line.

She refused to give ground, but her endurance was waning. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her breaths coming faster despite her efforts to control them. And then, just as she thought she might regain the upper hand, they struck.

The tip of their foil grazed her chest with clinical precision.

“Touché! 3-1."

The class went full silent, except a few gasphs.

Wednesday staggered back a step, her breath caught in her throat. She had lost. And it wasn’t luck or a fluke. It was a deserved victory. This opponent, whoever they were, was better.

Her gaze flicked to the masked figure, who was already lowering their blade, their movements as calm and unbothered as ever. They turned without a word, stepping off the fencing mat as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

Anger bubbled beneath Wednesday’s surface, sharp and unrelenting. Not just at her opponent, but at herself. She had lost, just as Bianca had.

But unlike Bianca, she wouldn’t accept it.

“Wait,” she said, the stranger paused mid-step but didn’t turn.

“I’m not finished.”

Taking off her gloves, Wednesday ripped off her mask, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clang. Her pale face, flushed faintly from exertion “One more match,” she said, “No helmets. No gloves. First blood.”

The figure paused mid-step. Slowly, they turned back to face her. The room held its collective breath as they reached up, removing their gloves with deliberate precision. Then, they raised their hands to their helmet and pulled it off.

Wednesday froze.

A cascade of hair fell free, framing a face that froze Wednesday in place. Deep blue eyes met hers, piercing and unreadable.

A girl.

For the first time in years, Wednesday Addams felt something foreign and unfamiliar. Her mind stumbled over itself, her usual composure shattered. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She could only stare. The sharp lines of the girl’s face, the way her eyes seemed to see straight through her.

The girl’s expression was unreadable, her silence almost oppressive. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, but there was no mockery in it, no trace of satisfaction. It was as though the outcome of their first match had been irrelevant to her.

That infuriated Wednesday more than the loss itself.

The coach hesitated before stepping back and raising his hand. His voice wavered slightly as he called out, “En garde.”

Her grip of her foil tightened as she drew her focus inward, forcing her breathing to steady. She couldn’t allow herself to think of the humiliation, This was about proving a point- to herself and to the girl who had dared to take her victory so effortlessly.

“Allez!”

The match began with a lunge from Wednesday, her blade aiming for the girl’s shoulder. It was a calculated strike, meant to gauge her opponent’s reaction. As before, the girl deflected with an unnerving ease, her blade redirecting Wednesday’s attack in a single fluid motion.

Wednesday pressed forward, her strikes coming faster, sharper, each one aimed to corner the girl into a defensive position. But her opponent was quick, impossibly quick, slipping out of reach with minimal effort.

Wednesday felt her frustration mount with each failed strike. No matter how precisely she aimed, the girl always seemed a step ahead.

Wednesday pushed harder, her movements growing more aggressive. She feinted left, aiming for the girl’s left hand, of course her attack was parried... but barely this time.

For the first time, her defense seemed less impenetrable. Wednesday seized the opening, striking with renewed vigor. But right then, Wednesday’s eyes locked on the girl’s, her heart skipping a beat. They were… haunting. Deep, unfathomable, and completely devoid of emotion.

And then, the girl did something that froze Wednesday mid-movement.

She shifted her stance; a slight adjustment to her footing, the angle of her blade. But as the girl moved, it became clear that this was something entirely different. Her grip on the foil changed, her movements adopting a fluidity that was both unfamiliar and unnerving.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. The stance was unusual, almost ceremonial in its precision. And then it clicked.

It was the stance of a katana.

The realization sent a chill down Wednesday’s spine. She had studied fencing extensively, priding herself on her knowledge of techniques from all over the world. But this was something else, something that Wednesday isn't an expert on...

The girl moved, and Wednesday barely had time to react. Her strikes came in sweeping arcs, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. The blade seemed to dance, its movements impossible to predict.

Wednesday’s defense faltered under the onslaught. She parried desperately, her mind racing to adapt to this new style. But the girl’s attacks were relentless, her blade slipping past Wednesday’s defenses with alarming frequency.

For the first time, Wednesday felt out of her depth.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t let this girl overwhelm her—not again. She lunged, aiming for a weak point in the girl’s defense, but her blade was deflected with a force that nearly knocked it from her hand.

The girl countered with a strike so precise, so swift, that Wednesday barely dodged in time.... or did she?

Because the girl had stopped.

It wasn’t a retreat or a hesitation. She simply froze, her blade lowering slightly as though she had no reason to continue.

Wednesday frowned, her gaze dropping to her arm. Her stomach dropped. A thin line of red traced its way down her pale skin, a tiny drop of blood beginning to bead at its edge.

First blood.

Wednesday’s foil slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as the weight of her loss settled over her. She stared at the girl, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

She had lost. Again.

The girl stepped back, her expression unchanged. There was no emotion in her eyes, no trace of satisfaction or smugness. It was as though the match had meant nothing to her, as though Wednesday had been just another opponent to dispatch.

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. The loss was infuriating, yes, but it was the girl’s indifference that stung the most. She didn’t care. She hadn’t even been challenged.

The girl bent to retrieve her helmet and gloves. She turned without a word, walking toward the exit as though the match had never happened.

Wednesday watched her go, her emotions a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been defeated before by Bianca, but not like this. Not by someone who had reduced her to irrelevance with so ease.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to see Bianca, her left hand freshly bandaged. Bianca stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t sure how to start.

“Now you get it?” Bianca muttered, crossing her arms.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, “Get what?”

Bianca exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Why I lost.”

Wednesday remained silent, waiting for Bianca to elaborate.

“When she showed up in the black gear, I thought it was you.” She raised her bandaged hand, her irritation palpable. “So, naturally, I challenged her. Gloves off. I wanted to prove a point to you..."

“And yet here you are,” Wednesday noted, “Unproven.”

Bianca’s jaw tightened, but she pushed past the jab. “She’s not like anyone else. The way she fights? It’s... unsettling.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “She doesn’t fence. Not really. She reads you, adapts, and then it’s like she’s a step ahead of you the whole time. You can’t even throw her off. I tried."

“And failed.” Wednesday said flatly.

"So did you. But at least you got a point against her." With that, Bianca turned and walked away.

Wednesday remained where she was, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

Why did it feel like she was everywhere and nowhere at once?

She exhaled sharply, spinning on her heel and leaving the gym.

By the time she reached quad for lunch, the words had already outrun her. As she stepped inside, the chatter shifted noticeably, students stealing glances at her as though they couldn’t believe the day’s events.

And then there was Enid.

The werewolf practically launched herself at Wednesday, her vibrant energy an unwelcome assault.

“Wednesday! Oh my gosh, is it true? Did you actually.......lose?"

Wednesday gave Enid her death glare... which Enid is immune to, unfortunately.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently, you got your butt kicked by the new girl in, like, the most epic way possible! Like, who even is this girl? And why is she just as dark and scary as you?”

“I am not discussing this.” The glare deepened.

“Okay, okay,” Enid said, holding up her hands. “But seriously, who is she? And why are you so.... intense about this?”

“I am not intense,” Wednesday said curtly.

“Come on, are you jealous? Or just annoyed that someone might actually be better than you?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or… is it something else?”

Wednesday’s turned slowly, fixing Enid with a look that could have withered flowers. “Your penchant for meddling will get you killed one day.”

Enid smirked, unfazed. “Uh-huh. So, jealous and annoyed. Got it.”

Before Wednesday could retort, her gaze shifted to the far end of the dining hall.

There she was, sitting alone at a table. She had chosen a seat far from the crowd, her posture calm and unbothered, as though the buzz around her didn’t exist. The students nearest to her stole glances at her, some murmuring, and some looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb.

“You should go talk to her,” Enid whispered, leaning closer.

Wednesday tore her gaze away, fixing Enid with an incredulous look. “And say what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. How do goths befriend each other?” Enid said earning another death glare. She shrugging. “Besides, you two have the same energy; dark and brooding. You’re practically soulmates.”

“Ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the girl. She was so still, so utterly composed, it was unnerving.

Before Wednesday could decide whether to act, the girl stood, collecting her tray and leaving the hall without so much as a glance toward anyone.

She found out your name in alchemy class.

Alchemy was Wednesday’s next class, and she had hoped it would provide a distraction, But as she sat at her desk, her mind kept going back to that girl... and as she began the delicate work of combining reagents, She glanced at the door, almost involuntarily, as though expecting something... and she wasn't disappointed.

The room fell silent. Every student turned to look as the girl walked in, unhurried and unbothered. Her expression betrayed no hint of apology, no trace of acknowledgment for the disruption. She simply stepped inside as though she owned the space.

The professor sighed, “Well, if it isn’t our newest addition. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “Y/N, I’d ask why you’re late, but something tells me you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

You said nothing, offering only a blank stare before scanning the room. The only empty seat was beside Wednesday. Without hesitation, you walked over and sat down.

Wednesday stiffened, her focus now completely obliterated. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, you seemed utterly unbothered by the attention of the room, just as she was at her start here in Nevermore.

The professor resumed his lecture, but Wednesday barely heard a word.

She pretended to focus on the lesson, her pen moving across her notebook. But her eyes betrayed her, darting toward you at every opportunity.

She should have been focused on the experiment, on proving her superiority in yet another intellectual endeavor. But all she could think about was.... those eyes.

Every time Wednesday stole a glance at you, she found herself lingering, her gaze caught by the depth of your stare. There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at the edges of her mind. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t look away.

The rest of the class passed in a haze, when the professor finally dismissed them, Wednesday gathered her things ignoring you. She refused to acknowledge you as you rose and left the room, as silent and unbothered as ever... but she did. As she watched you disappear into the corridor, Wednesday felt a twinge of something she couldn’t name. Curiosity. Frustration. Whatever it was, she was sure she didn't like it.

She first talked to you in the library.

If she could eradicate botany from this school, she would. She despised the assignment. Plants were irritatingly alive, with their need for sunlight and water and their incessant growth. And worse, they were resilient, continuing to thrive no matter how much she wished otherwise. That their existence shared the same planet as hers was one of life's more enduring inconveniences.

But what annoyed her more was giving these green nuisances even a moment of her attention. It was an indignity she had endured only to achieve perfection in her report, which, of course, had been flawless. That's why she had come to the library, she needed a book, Comprehensive Biology.

And there you were.

At the far corner of the library, you stood alone, scanning the shelves.

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. She hadn’t planned to confront you, but the sight of you, unbothered and aloof, stirred something in her. Frustration? No, she refused to acknowledge such a trivial emotion. It was something deeper. A need to understand. To assert control.

She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back as she stopped a few feet away. For a moment, she simply observed. You were searching for something, your eyes moving methodically over the spines of the books.

“Lost?” she asked finally, her tone sharp and cutting. Her voice broke the silence like a blade slicing through cloth. “Or have you simply forgotten how to read?”

You turned your head slowly, your expression unreadable as you looked at her. For a moment, there was nothing, no reaction, no flicker of recognition. Then you tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in your eyes.

“Who are you again?” you asked, your voice devoid of malice but also of any warmth.

The question hit Wednesday like a slap. Her expression didn’t falter, but inside, a slow burn began to rise. Who are you again? The words echoed in her mind, each one twisting the knife of insult deeper.

“Who am I?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief and irritation. She stepped closer, her dark gaze locked onto yours. “I’m the person you defeated. Twice. Today. The one you sat beside in class today. Or has your memory been as unimpressive as your personality?”

You blinked, unperturbed, and returned your gaze to the books. “Oh,” you said simply, as if the information had already slipped from your mind. “Right.”

The dismissiveness of your voice made Wednesday’s jaw tighten. Most people crumbled under her sharp tongue or recoiled from her glare. You, however, seemed utterly immune

“You’re remarkably unbothered for someone with so little reason to be,” Wednesday said, her voice icy.

You pulled a book from the shelf. “And you’re remarkably persistent for someone who lost.”

Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. The audacity. The nerve. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle you or applaud your ability to get under her skin.

“I don’t lose,” she said firmly.

You finally turned to face her fully, the book resting in your hands. “Then what do you call what happened earlier?”

Wednesday’s glare could have melted stone. “An anomaly. One that will not be repeated.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression still maddeningly neutral. “If you say so.”

Most people would have shifted under her gaze by now, stumbled over their words, or tried to appease her. You did none of those things. Instead, you opened the book, flipping through its pages showing your complete disinterest in the conversation.

“Why are you here?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less pointed.

“Looking for a book,” you replied simply, your tone making it clear that the answer should have been obvious.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “And what, pray tell, is so fascinating that it brought you to the library instead of, say, gloating over your victory?”

You closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf with the same quiet precision that marked everything you did. “I don’t gloat. Victory isn’t worth much if it’s expected.”

The words struck a chord.

“You’re insufferable,” she said finally, her voice a low growl.

You tilted your head again, considering her words. “So I’ve been told.”

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What type of outcast are you?”

No reply.

Her irritation spiked. “What’s your power? You must have one, unless the administration suddenly decided to admit normies."

Still no reply.

Wednesday huffed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Ignoring me is ill-advised. I’ve been known to make people regret it.”

You pulled a book off the shelf, inspected it briefly, and then replaced it with a calm that bordered on infuriating.

Wednesday stepped closer, her boots silent on the carpet. “I asked you a question.”

Without a word or any visible motion, a glint of metal appeared in your hand. A knife, sleek and deadly, materialized out of nowhere. Wednesday froze, her body tensing as her hand instinctively moved toward her own hidden knife. But she stopped short when you spun the weapon in your fingers with fluid ease, offering her the handle.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and calculating. She didn’t take it immediately, instead scrutinizing both you and the blade. After a moment’s hesitation, Wednesday stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours as she took the knife.

It wasn’t an ordinary knife; it was a parrying dagger, the kind designed to trap and break an opponent’s blade... and it looked old, centuries old.

“Conjuring weapons,” she said slowly, her tone even but laced with curiosity. “Is that your ability?”

"Something like that." you answered.

Before she could probe further, you let out a quiet sigh, your gaze drifting back to the shelves. It seemed you still hadn’t found what you were looking for. As you stepped away from the shelf and headed toward the exit, Wednesday tried to stop you. She held out the parrying dagger, “Here. Take it back.”

"Keep it." You said simply without even glancing back, leaving Wednesday standing alone in the dimly lit library, the dagger still in her hand. She slid it into her pocket, her mind already plotting how she would uncover the truth about you. She didn’t just let things go. And she certainly wasn’t about to start with you.

She understood a bit more about you during botany.

Breakfast was, at best, tolerable, and at worst, a chore. The only reason she even bothered was the unavoidable biological need to sustain herself.

She surveyed the room with her dark eyes, already calculating the path of least interaction to her usual seat with Enid.

But her gaze froze mid-scan.

You were there.

Sitting at her table.

Sitting in her seat.

And beside you, chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Did Enid mistook you as Wednesday?

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as she stood by the entrance, taking in the scene. How did you end up here? Of all the tables, all the seats in the dining hall, why hers? . You, however, were picking at your breakfast with the same disinterest Wednesday reserved for Enid’s most frivolous stories.

Enid noticed her almost immediately, waving excitedly. “Wednesday! Over here!”

Wednesday suppressed the urge to roll her eyes but failed. She stood rooted for a moment, weighing her options. She could walk away, claim another seat, and avoid the unbearable company of Enid and you. But that would mean admitting, if only to herself, that she was bothered. She was not one to surrender her territory so easily.

With a sigh that carried all the weight of her disdain, Wednesday made her way to the table. When she reached the table, she didn’t ask for her seat back. She was too mature for that.

Enid beamed. “Look who joined us! Isn’t this great?”

“It’s something,” Wednesday muttered, her tone flat as she slid onto the bench across from you.

You didn’t look up from your plate. The lack of acknowledgment was grating, though she couldn’t decide why.

“So,” Enid said, her voice a mix of excitement and curiosity, “Y/N was just telling me, well, okay, not telling, more like I was guessing, that she’s not really into breakfast food. Isn’t that funny? Like, how can anyone not love pancakes?”

Your fork paused mid-air for the briefest of moments before continuing its journey to your mouth. You didn’t respond.

Wednesday, who understood that pointless chattering annoys you as much as her... maybe she could try "The Enid Way"

“Perhaps Y/N finds pancakes as insipid as she finds conversation.”

Enid blinked, clearly unsure whether to laugh or defend herself. “Uh�� okay, rude? But honestly, you two could totally bond over being broody and, like, totally impossible to read.”

Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you then, a sharp, probing look. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Predictable, perhaps. There’s a certain monotony to Y/N’s silence and I do not find it intriguing at all.”

You glanced up, finally meeting her eyes. There was no irritation in your expression, no spark of retaliation, just an unreadable calm that only served to unnerve her further. “And yet, here you are, commenting on it,” you said evenly before returning to your plate.

It wasn’t the sharpest retort, but the way you delivered it, like an afterthought, as though Wednesday’s presence barely registered, made it sting all the same.

Enid looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement only she could muster. “Oh my gosh, this is like watching two glaciers collide! I mean, not that you guys are slow or cold or anything. Well, maybe a little cold. Anyway, isn’t this fun?”

“No,” Wednesday and you said at the same time.

Enid burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “See? You’re already bonding!”

Wednesday shot her a look that could curdle milk, but Enid was unfazed.

Eugene was approaching their table but he stopped short when he saw you, his gaze darting between you and Wednesday. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Uh… are we seeing double, or is this the person who—”

“Finish that sentence, Eugene, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Wednesday said.

Eugene’s eyes widened as he nodded quickly. “Got it. Not finishing the sentence.” And just as Eugene joined the table, her attention returning to you. You were wiping your hands with a napkin, getting ready to leave. Wednesday can tell, your hate for social interaction, raged more than her's. Perhaps, she can use that against you.

As Enid watched you stand and leave without so much as a goodbye, she sighed dramatically, "You two would make the perfect brooding couple.”

Wednesday shot her a withering look. “Your penchant for romanticizing everything is both exhausting and nauseating.”

Enid just grinned. “Admit it, Wens. You’re curious about her.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Enid was right. You were a mystery, and Wednesday Addams hated unsolved mysteries almost as much as she hated losing.

Wednesday walked into her botany class with her usual measured pace, her eyes scanning the room as she adjusted in her seat. She didn’t expect much from this class... wait... she forgot to pick up her botany book from the library last night because of you...

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. It was only fitting that you had managed to distract her into forgetting something as trivial yet necessary as a textbook. You were becoming a consistent thorn in her side. And speak of the devil,

You entered the greenhouse. Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you for a moment as you made your way to the empty seat beside her. You sat without so much as a glance in her direction.

When the class began, the new teacher, whatever her name was Wednesday doesn't care, droned on about invasive species and their effects on native flora.... just like you invaded her perfectly built world.

You weren’t writing anything down.

Your notebook remained mostly untouched, save for a few idle scribbles. Instead, you stared straight ahead, your gaze fixed on some undefined point, your expression unreadable.

For all your skill in fencing and your mysterious arrival at Nevermore, there was an emptiness in you, that Wednesday can feel now...

You didn’t belong here or maybe you belonged too much, in a way even Wednesday couldn’t define.

She first won against you during lunch....

During lunch, Wednesday sat at her usual table with Enid, who was excitedly recounting the latest gossip she’d overheard from the other werewolves. Her voice was a constant hum in Wednesday’s ear, background noise she had learned to filter out with practice.

Then Enid’s chatter abruptly halted.

“Y/N!”

Wednesday turned her head to see Enid bounding across the dining hall. You stood near the entrance, holding a tray of food with the same level of enthusiasm one might have for poison. Enid grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward their table with a persistence that could only be described as infuriating.

You shot Enid a glare that could have killed a lesser person, but the werewolf had her practice with Wednesday's death glare so she seemed unfazed. As you passed other students, you glanced down at Enid’s hand gripping yours with something bordering on confusion, as though physical contact itself was a foreign concept.

“Come on!” Enid chirped, her cheer undeterred by your visible disdain. “It’s not like it’ll kill you to sit with friends!”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends.” you said flatly.

“Not yet,” Enid said brightly, as if your protest were merely a formality.

Wednesday watched the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and irritation. How did Enid always manage to worm her way into the lives of people who radiated darkness like storm clouds? She had done it with Wednesday herself, and now it seemed you were the next victim.

When you reached the table, you didn’t sit immediately. Instead, you crossed your arms, glaring at Enid with a mix of irritation and reluctance.

“Sit!” Enid chirped, patting the bench beside her.

You exhaled sharply, muttering something under your breath, but eventually slid into the seat, placing your tray down.

Wednesday watched the exchange, her dark eyes narrowing at Enid’s ability to befriend the most unapproachable people. The werewolf had done the same with her. And though Wednesday would never admit it aloud, Enid had wormed her way into a space in her life that she didn’t entirely hate. Wednesday would be lying if she said she doesn't care for Enid at all.

Would Wednesday ever find you in that position? She quickly pushed that thought down the stairs, killing it then dumping the body.

“So,” Enid began, already bubbling with energy, “did you know that Wednesday is like, super into typewriters? It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”

“I’m right here,” Wednesday deadpanned.

“Oh, I know,” Enid said, grinning. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say you ran out of typewriter paper last night?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

“Well,” Enid continued, “I was thinking of taking Y/N to Weathervane for a tour. She’s new, after all."

You rolled your eyes. “I rejected.”

“Same thing!” Enid said brightly, brushing off your correction." Anyway, I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? You can come with us and pick up your paper, Wednesday!”

Wednesday smirked faintly. She could tell you hated the idea of being dragged into Enid’s plans. You hated company, just as she did. But that made the opportunity to spite you all the more enticing.

“Fine,” Wednesday said, her tone even. “I’ll come.”

Enid clapped her hands together. “Yay! This is going to be so fun!”

You shot Wednesday a death glare, clearly unamused.

“Oh,” Wednesday added, her voice laced with mock innocence, “perhaps Eugene would like to join us. He loves coffee.”

“Eugene!” Wednesday called the hummer who was in their hummer's table. “Join us for a trip to Weathervane later.”

“Really?” Eugene’s face lit up, and he quickly shuffled over to their table.

You looked between Wednesday and Eugene, your glare sharpening. “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Wednesday replied, meeting your glare with one of her own. “This is retribution.”

Enid, blissfully unaware of the tension, leaned forward with a grin. “This is going to be the best day ever!”

You didn’t respond, instead stabbing a piece of food on your plate with enough force to make the table tremble.

Wednesday allowed herself a small, victorious smirk. The fencing matches may have been your victories, but this round was hers.

But she hadn't seen the real you... until now.

“She’s late,” Wednesday muttered, already regretting her choice, agreeing to go just to spite you.

“Relax, Wednesday,” Enid said, though the werewolf sounded a little unsure herself. “Y/N doesn’t strike me as the punctual type. Or, you know, the type who tells people things. Like ever.”

Eugene adjusted his glasses. “Do you think she just bailed? Maybe she doesn’t actually want to come. I mean it has been almost half an hour...”

“She’s coming,” Wednesday said with conviction. She didn’t know why she was so certain, but she was.

Finally, you appeared in the distance, walking toward them with a measured, unhurried pace.

You stopped a few feet from the group, your hands shoved into your hoodie’s pockets, and regarded them with your usual, unreadable expression. You didn’t apologize for being late.

“You’re late,” Wednesday said, her tone biting.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Eugene offered an awkward wave. “Uh, hey, Y/N.”

Enid quickly stepped in. “Glad you made it! We’ve been waiting forever, but, like, no big deal or anything.”

You didn’t respond to Enid’s cheerfulness, your gaze briefly flickering to her before shifting elsewhere.

“Well,” Enid said, clapping her hands together, “let’s go! The bus should be there any minute.”

The bus ride to Jericho was quiet, at least between you and Wednesday. Enid filled the silence with her usual chatter, talking about.... everything?

“Have you been to Jericho yet, Y/N?” Enid asked, turning to you with a curious smile.

You shook your head, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the bus window.

“It’s cute,” Enid continued, unfazed by your silence. “Small, but cute. Oh, but you should know, some of the normies there aren’t super friendly to outcasts. So, it’s always good to go with people who’ve got your back, you know?”

At her words, Wednesday saw something flicker in your eyes. It was brief, barely there, but it was enough to catch her attention.

A shadow of acknowledgment, perhaps, as you gave a small nod.

The bus arrived at Jericho and the group hopped down.

Enid led the way, her excitement not affected by your clear preference for distance. You trailed behind, keeping a noticeable gap between yourself and the others.

Eugene tried to bridge the gap a few times, but each attempt was met with silence, and eventually, he gave up.

The group stopped at a small general store first. Enid immediately darted toward the cosmetics aisle, her eyes lighting up as she scanned rows of nail polishes and makeup.

“Y/N, do you need anything?” Enid asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“No,” you replied simply, your voice as flat as ever.

Enid shrugged and continued her search, while Wednesday moved toward the stationery section, searching for her typewriter paper and ink. She found the items quickly enough but lingered, her gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

You stood near the entrance of the store, your hands in your pockets, watching a pair of children playing near the candy section. The boy, no older than six, was laughing as he chased his older sister around, their footsteps light and carefree.

It was subtle, but Wednesday noticed something in the way you observed them. Wednesday noticed something in your eyes, different from your usual detached demeanor. Intrigue? Longing? It was impossible to say.

“What’s so fascinating about them?” Wednesday asked, her voice low as she approached.

You didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“That’s doubtful,” she pressed.

You finally turned your head toward her, your expression unreadable. “Who says it’s your business?”

For a moment, Wednesday considered pushing further, but something in your tone warned her off. You weren’t going to share, and she didn’t care enough yet to pry the answer from you.

“Suit yourself,” she muttered, turning back toward the shelves.

When she returned to the checkout counter, you were already standing there, waiting. Wednesday placed her items on the counter, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

You didn’t acknowledge her, your attention fixed on the glass door as though willing the others to hurry up.

“Got everything I need!” Enid chirped, appearing beside them with an armful of brightly colored products. She paid quickly, practically bouncing toward the exit.

“Come on, guys!” Enid called from the doorway, already heading outside.

Wednesday followed, her bag in hand. You moved to the door without a word.

The group had just stepped out of the store, when Wednesday’s sharp eyes caught movement near the counter, on the cashier, his shoulders hunched as five boys loomed over him. They weren’t just grabbing beers from the fridge. One of them yanked a handful of cash from the register

“C’mon, old man, don’t look at us like that,” one of them sneered. “Think of it as…taxes for keeping your store safe.”

The cashier muttered something inaudible, his voice trembling. The boys only laughed, grabbing more bottles and shoving them into their backpacks.

Enid’s cheerful demeanor shifted instantly. She grabbed Wednesday’s arm. “Wednesday…shouldn’t we do something? He needs help.”

Eugene took a step back, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, Enid. These guys look...trouble. And we’re not even supposed to be here, technically.”

Wednesday frowned. On one hand, this was a normie problem, a petty theft that would resolve itself eventually. On the other hand, there was an undeniable injustice in letting the boys get away with it.

Before she could decide, the boys finished their “business” and left, swaggering out the door with their loot. Enid sighed, clearly disappointed but not wanting to push it further. “Guess we’d better go,” she said, turning to leave.

Wednesday hesitated for a moment but followed Enid and Eugene down the street. However, something nagged at her. A presence. She glanced back, and sure enough, there you were, still standing in the store’s doorway, watching the scene unfold.

“Y/N,” Wednesday called out,

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze with your usual unreadable expression. “I need to buy something.”

Enid frowned, confused. “But you said you didn’t need anything earlier.”

You didn’t respond to her. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked back into the store.

Curiosity piqued, Wednesday followed, with Enid and Eugene trailing behind. From their spot near the door, they watched as you approached the counter and spoke to the shaken cashier in a low, even voice. “I need that, that, and that.” you said, pointing to items behind the counter.

The cashier blinked, visibly confused but too shaken to argue. He retrieved an aluminum baseball bat, a heavy chain, and a pair of black gloves, placing them on the counter.

“What is she even going to do with all that?” Eugene whispered nervously.

You slid the gloves onto your hands, gripping the bat in one arm and coiling the chain loosely in the other. Without a word, you passed them, heading toward the alley where the boys had disappeared moments earlier.

“What is she—” Enid started, but Wednesday cut her off with a raised hand.

“Follow her,” Wednesday said, her voice low and firm.

The three of them trailed after you, keeping their distance until they reached the alley’s edge. Peeking around the corner, they saw the five boys lounging against a brick wall, laughing and drinking from their stolen beers.

When they noticed you, their laughter grew louder. One of them, tall with a cocky grin, stepped forward.

“Hey, little girl,” one of them said, smirking as he stepped forward. “What’s with the bat? You gonna play baseball with us?”

The others laughed.

But you didn’t respond. You simply stared at them, your grip tightening around the bat.

The first boy took another step closer, his smirk widening. “You lost, sweetheart? Or maybe you’re here to—”

CRACK

Wednesday can swear if she blinked she would've missed the swing of the bat as it connected with the boy's temple with a sickening thud, cutting his words short as he crumpled to the ground. The sound echoed through the alley, silencing the laughter instantly.

“What the hell?!” one of the boys shouted, his eyes wide with panic.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, her eyes locked on you as you adjusted your stance. There was no hesitation in your movements, no wasted energy. You were a predator, and they were your prey.

One of them lunged at you, but you sidestepped easily, the chain in your other hand whipped out, coiling around the wrist of the next boy like a serpent. With a sharp tug, you yanked him towards you, and the bat came down again with brutal precision on his head. Another one down.

“Holy crap,” Eugene whispered, clutching at Wednesday’s sleeve. “She’s… she’s gonna kill them!”

“No,” Wednesday murmured, her voice almost reverent. “She’s too precise for that.”

The remaining boys hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized the odds weren’t in their favor. One of them pulled out a pocketknife, holding it up shakily.

“Stay back,” he warned, his voice betraying his fear.

You tilted your head slightly before the chain lashed out again, latching onto his hand. The knife clattered to the ground as you closed the distance, the bat swinging upward and catching him squarely under the chin. He collapsed in a heap.

You slowly picked up the knife and glared at the last two. With a flick of your wrist, the blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in the leg of one of them. He screamed, collapsing to the ground clutching his thigh.

The final boy tried to run, But you were faster. The chain wrapped around his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground. The bat came down once, twice, and he was out.

The boy still screaming because of the knife latched onto his leg begged, “Take it! Take the money! Take the beer! Just don’t—” Your bat silenced him with a single, calculated blow to the side of his head.

Wednesday’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. There was something captivating about the way you moved; calculated, efficient, merciless. Not a single touch landed on you, and yet you left all five of them groaning on the ground.

You crouched down, rummaging through the pockets of the nearest boy. Pulling out a wad of cash, probably way more than what they even stole. You rose and picked up the bag of beers.

As you passed the trio at the end of the alley, Wednesday’s gaze followed you, her smirk still there, she wouldn't hide it because she was, truly, for the first time in her life, impressed.

Wednesday followed you instantly, and the other two followed hesitantly... stopping just inside the doorway as you approached the cashier.

“I’d like to return this bat,” you said, placing it on the counter alongside the cash and the beer.

The cashier stared at you, wide-eyed and speechless.

Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked out of the store, passing by the trio without so much as a glance.

Wednesday watched as you made your way to the bus stand, and just stood there. The three of them stood there in stunned silence.

Enid was the first to break it. “Okay, I take it back. She’s not just like Wednesday. She’s way scarier.”

Part 2

[A/n: Tried a new route, Didn't really find much fics out there where reader is the one who is more badass , so thought about writing one myself lol, Comment how you guys like this new one]

[scherzokinn]

thinking about how star trek fans can be so hypocritical. barclay was a very anxious socially inept guy with less than desirable coping mechanisms that were frankly creepy. he outgrew them but creepy guy is still his legacy. pulaski had bigoted feelings against data because she was wary and didn't understand him. she ended up accepting him and treating him like any sentient being but her legacy is still that old bitch who's racist against data. but when garak almost succeeds in committing a genocide, his legacy is gay uwu babygirl. make it make sense

[venusintheblindspots-blog]

Now that it’s spooky season, here are some of my favorite supernatural gals…..

Queen Akasha, Queen of the Damned, 2002

Claudia de Pointe Du Lac, Interview with the Vampire, 2022

Prudence Blackwood, The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, 2018

Tabby, The Craft: Legacy, 2020

Bonnie Bennet, the Vampire Diaries, 2009

Roz Walker, The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Bianca Barclay, Wednesday, 2022

Melissa Glaser, The Secret Circle, 2011

[weepingwitchkingdom]

The Wilderlore characters on the poster based on vibes from the poster

Runa: She is coming to terms with the fact that she has apprentices now and that Audrian is alive and a very severe threat to said apprentices.

Tadg: This boy is one traumatic event away from a total mental breakdown, can someone please give him a hug.

Viola: "I must uphold this light like is my father's legacy. I must uphold this-"

Barclay: *Happy Elsie noises*

Cyril: "I am calm and collected, like a tree. I will stay calm, like a tree. I stand tall and proud, like a tree."

Hasu: She is just happy and living her best life lol

Cecily: "Yes Oudie! Attack the catboy!" (Yasha)

Shazi: "I am such a badass."

Audrian: "I want to eat... RATS!!! Tasty Rats!!"

Yasha: "If I have to stop Audrian from eating another rat, again, I am going to jump off of a mountain."

[boybff]

wait hiiiii hi hello bestie i didn’t know u like video essays!! i’ve been trying to find more to watch recently, do u have any other recs? about any topic 👀

HIIIIII bestie Robin, are you ready?? After harvesting my Youtube subscription and liked video lists here is what I have compiled. I'm gonna put my current top 5 video recommendations and then the rest of the list, under the cut, is organized by creator.

Why Are There So Many Confederate Vampires

The art of religious interpretation (midnight mass vs god’s not dead)

Defunctland: Walt Disney's City of the Future, E.P.C.O.T.

Hogwarts Legacy, JK Rowling, and Trans Advocacy

Cultural Inspirations in Avatar: The Last Airbender Book 1 - Water 

CHANNELS

biz barclay - hilarious, brilliant, my best friend who drinks wine and weaves me long insightful stories while sitting on the dresser or in the bathtub. The vast amount of knowledge, historical 

understanding snapewives: religion, fandom, sociology, & erotica

Goncharov (1973) video essay

The art of religious interpretation (midnight mass vs god’s not dead)

Xiran Jay Zhao - Author of one of my FAVE YA novels, “Iron Widow” (which is a MUST read). I always want more avatar content that focuses on cultural inspirations from trusted sources. Xiran taught me so much about the avatar universe I already loved as well as valuable critiques. They also do retellings of historical events such as- Bisexual Han Dynasty Emperors and Forgotten Warrior Queen - Fu Hao.

Cultural Inspirations in Avatar: The Last Airbender Book 1 - Water 

Cultural Inspirations in Avatar: The Last Airbender Book 2 - Earth 

Cultural Inspirations in Avatar: The Last Airbender Book 3 - Fire 

Fundie Fridays - Jen, a leftist queer feminist, and her husband James examine different aspects of Christian fundamentalism, American conservative politics and pop culture. She has remade a lot of her older videos so make sure to watch the updated versions! She was also featured in the Amazon docuseries “Shiny Happy People” which I would HIGHLY recommend. 

Vacation Bible School of Rock (3 part video series History of Contemporary Christian Music)

Ken Ham’s Creation Museum & Ark Encounter

Ask a Mortician - Caitlin Doughty!!! The adult Wednesday Addams we should have got. So compassionate, informed, and moving!! I love her work and she has taught me so much about what it means to have a relationship with death and grief. Her work deals with heavy topics and you can tell she does this work from a deeply respectful, informed place. 

The Lake That Never Gives Up Her Dead

Let’s Visit the Churches Made of Human Skulls

Why are Black and White Funeral Homes STILL Separate? With Dr. Kami Fletcher

Iconic Corpse Series

Princess Weekes -  Nuanced video essays on pop culture, race, feminism, and other social issues. Takes time to break down complex concepts, their origins and material consequences. The essay on confederate vampires and the connection later made to sci-fi media like Firefly were so paradigm shifting to me!

Why Are There So Many Confederate Vampires

The Magical Negroes of Stephen King

Ro Ramdin - Poetic, biting, and introspective essays on pop culture. 

Do Celebrities Hate Their Fans? (Doja Cat, Frank Ocean)

Hogwarts Legacy, JK Rowling, and Trans Advocacy

DefunctLand- History of extinct theme parks and themed entertainment experiences. 

Defunctland: Walt Disney's City of the Future, E.P.C.O.T.

Disney Channel’s Theme: A History Mystery

Mina Le - Fashion, movies and pop culture

WHY IS EVERYTHING SO UGLY: The Curse of Modernism

FAIRYTALE COSTUMES: it’s giving renfaire but why?

Quinton Reviews - Extensive videos covering niche topics, most popular for Nickelodeon deep dive retrospectives.

How Documentaries Lie to You

The ICarly/Victorious Saga Playlist

TheEpicNate315 - yea i fucking love endless hours of useless skyrim lore because the conspiracies are so deep and I have to do 0 of the research to get all of the information years of scouts worked to piece together! 

The Skyrim Mysteries Iceberg (Part 1 of 4)

The Fallout Mysteries Iceberg (Part 1 of 2, incomplete series)

Mike’s Mic - Silly, goofy, and thorough breakdowns of nostalgic TV shows

Any of his unhinged recaps - LOST, Pretty Little Liars, Glee

Tiffanyferg - Media criticism and commentary

Internet Analysis Series 

Zoë Ligon - sex educator, artist, and writer, who also owns SpectrumBoutique.com, a health and education oriented sex toy store. Such a special place in my heart for her!! Her bondage mini-documentary with Midori was so touching. 

Sex Stuff | Japanese Rope Bondage with Midori

Channels Newer to Me

Broey Deschanel - a mixture of film analyses, retrospectives, politics and just absolutely overthinking anything to do with pop culture

Elvis (2022) and the Utter Mediocrity of Biopics 

Meeptop - rambling about movies and stuff

Who is Dahmer Even Made For?

LadyJenevia - discussing entertainment media content including films, television series, etc. Expect to find reviews of recent cinematic releases, video essays on older releases, and interviews with talent from the film/television industry

Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery and The Art of Hiding in Plain Sight (Netflix Review/Video Essay)

As a disclaimer, I am not endorsing any creator fully and if you see someone you think I should not promote please reach out to me so I can edit this list. As a general rule of thumb the more I had to write about someone, the more informed the recommendation.

[hopeonmyphone]

BTS’ J-Hope Announces First Solo Tour ‘Hope On The Stage’: Details [Forbes]

After much speculation, J-Hope of BTS officially announced his first-ever solo tour.

Set to begin at the end of February, the 30-date Hope on the Stage trek spans major cities in Asia and North America, making live history as the BTS rapper-dancer-producer steps into the solo spotlight.

The tour kicks off with a three-night stay at Seoul’s massive KSPO Dome from February 28 to March 2, marking J-Hope’s first standalone concerts in his home country. From there, Hobi heads stateside, performing multiple nights at iconic venues such as New York’s Barclays Center and Chicago’s Allstate Arena. Notably, in April, J-Hope becomes the first BTS member to headline a stadium show solo when he plays Los Angeles’ BMO Stadium and also the first Korean soloist to book the LA stadium, solidifying his status as a pioneering force in his group and K-pop at large.

Out of respect for the large-scale wildfires in California, BTS’ official accounts shared that more details for the tour’s North American leg will come later.

Although Hope on the Stage marks the star’s solo touring debut, J-Hope is no stranger to commanding massive audiences. In 2022, he became the first-ever South Korean artist to headline a major U.S. music festival at Lollapalooza. His solo material also offers a wealth of options for his setlist, ranging from his acclaimed 2022 solo album Jack in the Box (which peaked at Number 6 on the Billboard 200), to fan favorites collaborations like “On the Street” with J. Cole and “Chicken Noodle Soup” featuring Becky G (the latter of which saw him become the first member of BTS to send a single the Billboard Hot 100 chart), as well as material from his 2018 Hope World mixtape (which still charted in the Top 40 on the Billboard 200 despite being released for free and only in digital formats).

More recently, J-Hope dropped the Hope on the Street Vol. 1 EP and an accompanying six-part docu-series last March that explored the roots of his inspiration and passion for street dance.

J-Hope’s tour comes shortly after completing his 18-month mandatory military service. Upon his discharge in October 2024, J-Hope has kept a lower profile by attending just a few fan events and other engagements. However, this tour signals the start of an exciting new chapter for the performer and his return to the global stage.

Though there has been no official announcement, fans speculate that new music may accompany the tour. If past releases like “Chicken Noodle Soup,” “On the Street,” or his “Rush Hour” collaboration with Crush are any indication, J-Hope will likely keep blending global sounds and styles that resonate with an international audience.

While ARMY fans eagerly anticipate BTS’ group comeback, long rumored for late 2025, J-Hope’s solo tour is a testament to the continuing creativity and ambition fueling the members during their hiatus. Following Suga’s Agust D World Tour in 2023, J-Hope’s tour adds another layer to BTS’s evolving legacy to further establish them as superstars, whether in a group or working solo.

J-Hope Hope on the Stage Tour 2025 Dates

February 28 - Seoul, South Korea @ KSPO Dome

March 1 - Seoul, South Korea @ KSPO Dome

March 2 - Seoul, South Korea @ KSPO Dome

March 13 - New York, NY @ Barclays Center

March 14 - New York, NY @ Barclays Center

March 17 - Chicago, IL @ Allstate Arena

March 18 - Chicago, IL @ Allstate Arena

March 22 - Mexico City, Mexico @ Palacio de los Deportes

March 23 - Mexico City, Mexico @ Palacio de los Deportes

March 26 - San Antonio, TX @ Frost Bank Center

March 27 - San Antonio, TX @ Frost Bank Center

March 31 - Oakland, CA @ Oakland Arena

April 1 - Oakland, CA @ Oakland Arena

April 4 - Los Angeles, CA @ BMO Stadium

April 6 - Los Angeles, CA @ BMO Stadium

April 12 - Manila, The Philippines @ SM Mall of Asia Arena

April 13 - Manila, The Philippines @ SM Mall of Asia Arena

April 19 - Saitama, Japan @ Saitama Super Arena

April 20 - Saitama, Japan @ Saitama Super Arena

April 26 - Singapore @ Singapore Indoor Stadium

April 27 - Singapore @ Singapore Indoor Stadium

May 3 - Jakarta, Indonesia @ Indonesia Arena, GBK

May 4 - Jakarta, Indonesia @ Indonesia Arena, GBK

May 10 - Bangkok, Thailand @ Impact Arena

May 11 - Bangkok, Thailand @ Impact Arena

May 17 - Macau @ Galaxy Arena

May 18 - Macau @ Galaxy Arena

May 24 - Taipei, Taiwan @ NTSU Arena (Linkou Arena)

May 25 - Taipei, Taiwan @ NTSU Arena (Linkou Arena)

May 31 - Osaka, Japan @ Kyocera Dome Osaka

June 1 - Osaka, Japan @ Kyocera Dome Osaka

As ARMY counts down the days to reunite with J-Hope in person on the Hope on the Stage world tour, one thing is clear: Hobi’s star continues to shine brightly on a journey to even greater heights as a solo superstar.

Source: Forbes

[kindred-sims]

A letter to Matthew Dailey from his daughter Agnes, 189x

Dearest Papa,

You must give Auntie my thanks for me – though I intend on doing so myself in a separate letter, I’m very grateful for all the extra baby clothes she’s sent us recently. I cannot begin to overstate how much they are needed, you would hardly believe that Tommy was so small when he was born, but that doesn’t seem to be the case lately as he’s begun to outgrow all his old things. Will says its the Barclay in him, all Barclay boys grow to be big eventually – and I daresay he is correct. Both of my boys have been growing so much and so fast, I can barely keep up with them these days.

It has been a change, I’ll admit, going from one to two small children. I don’t know how I would manage without Martha’s help, she has been so wonderful in her visits. Playing with Charlie, keeping him distracted in the instance that Tommy was fussy and needed my attention. I worry that I’m taking advantage of her eagerness to help, but she has told me time and time again that helping me look after my little ones is a delight for her.

Charlie, meanwhile, I would say is ecstatic to be a big brother. He was admittedly rather reserved about it at first, but he’s taken to Tommy much like a duck to water. I suspect they shall be very good friends someday.

The farm is also doing well. We received quite a handsome payout from our recent harvest, and I’m so glad for it, not just for my own sake but especially Will’s. He’s been working so hard lately, I can't think of a time where he isn't out in the crop fields or tending to some other grueling task that requires his attention, I fear I barely see him these days.

I worry for him sometimes, as much as he tells me not to.

I suppose all I really can do is pray for him, in the meantime. I always do, every night before bed I utter a small prayer for him. He’d scoff at it, I know – he’s not a God-fearing man at all, but it gives me some comfort rather than doing nothing.

Yours,

Mrs. Agnes Barclay

[spacerangersam]

I got carried away with thoughts on a good omens au, whoops-

Pat is an angel who's job is to look over humans. He's not the biggest fan of God on account of her continually allowing things to happen which harm the very humans he's supposed to look over, but keeps it quiet, lest he loose his powers and be unable to help anyone. He owns a library in Surrey and runs a scouts group where he tries to teach the local kids good behaviours. Just a nice, friendly angel who's occasionally consumed by an apocalyptic rage and has to be dragged away from a fight by a demon. You know how it is.

Julian is his demonic friend who's been bothering him since the beginning of time, a initial wildcard who was all about inflicting lust and tempting people. He's mellowed over time, though still a troublemaker, and would very much like it if Hell would back off and just let him enjoy eternity. He occasionally joins in the scout sessions to cause havoc and teach the kids lessons they probably shouldn't be taught, but Pat allows it. Sometimes. He does have a very expensive flat, but somehow always ends up at the library. He does, of course, have a very expensive car.

Daley is the cheery antichrist who's been misplaced for a number of years (funnily enough, Pat visits Yorkshire quite often and knows him quite well, but doesn't know he was one of the two babies involved in the switcharoo), while Rachel is the grumpy daughter of a politician who's mistaken as the antichrist for a number of years. She's not happy about her nanny and gardener disappearing after her birthday, managing to find her way to Yorkshire to be a part of the fuss. Her and Daley learn the truth, become friends, and she's only a bit disappointed that she doesn't have the cool powers. She does insist Pat and Julian visit occasionally, and they do.

I know the obvious choice would be to make Alison the witch since her actress voiced Anathema in the radio show, but I want it to be Mike. Mike, the only one out of his immediate family who has any aptitude for magic and is constantly worried about messing up and ruining his family legacy.

Alison is the clumsy descendant of a witch hunters who just wants a job she won't muck up and also for this weird witch hunter guy called Barclay to leave her alone.

Captain is a high-ranking angel who's never left heaven and still hasn't gotten over his second in command leaving him for earth (whether that be Havers, Pat or someone else is up to you). He's not fond of any angels stationed in earth because of it, and would prefer if no angels went to earth, actually.

Fanny is his replacement secondhand who's a very traditional angel and not a big fan of how human all these earth angels are. She and the Captain are bad guys, per se, they just have some stuff to work through.

Mary is a low ranking angel who's initially very devout, but nevertheless ends up befriending a friendly but mischevious demon named Robin and falling for another called Annie (previously called Lilith). Humphrey is also a demon, a very polite one who didn't actually mean to fall, but he's a demon now regardless so tries to get on with life. Thomas is an angel who'd rather be a demon so he can 'suffer for his art' but somehow keeps failing at falling.

Kitty is a perfectly normal human who, because of a miracle gone wrong, is somehow immortal. No one bar Pat and Julian have clocked onto that yet, and they just sort of leave her be. She seems happy enough.

[my-timing-is-digital]

❝  i’m a fan of your work,  actually.  ❞ ~galacticforces, the EMH

Needless to say, the android had assessed all the information relative to the EMH Mark I that was available to him; the second the Enterprise-E was commissioned to Captain Picard, Data had analysed the specifications of the new vessel with vehement rigour. The discovery that the Sovereign-class starship had access to an artificial intelligence that was similar to himself in multitudinous ways rendered him fascinated. Unfortunately, a collision of unfortunate events, setbacks, and high expectations not being met entailed the deactivation and subsequent removal of the Mark I series, ultimately preventing him from interacting with the hologram.

Therefore, the fact that his services were currently administered to assist Lieutenant Reginald Barclay in collaboration with Voyager’s EMH was beyond extraordinary, a true delight — to utilise a more eloquent and colloquial description. It genuinely was a phenomenal partnership. A former holodeck addict, an obsolete EMH, and an emotionless android... An enumeration that sounded like the primary ingredients of a disastrous bar joke.

His slender, pearlescent fingers fleeted nimbly across the console display, engaging the LCARS interface with considerable ease and finesse. Chartreuse optical components were solely trained on the information popping up in front of him, determined to ascertain the deficiency in Barclay’s concept to transport the U.S.S. Voyager and her crew safely back to the Alpha Quadrant — without anyone suffering unnecessary detriment or reptilian metamorphoses.. Data scanned all the particulars, accumulated and processed every detail, every component, every feature of the Lieutenant’s equation at frighteningly high computational speeds. That was until his concentration was disrupted by the distinctive voice of the EMH.

A meagre frown rumpled his smooth bioplast sheeting, a precipitation of the Doctor’s ambiguous, albeit generous, statement. Tentatively, he hands discontinued their tasks and rested on the outer frame of the console as his gaze, his countenance imbued with cogitation, was diverted from the luminescent display up to the EMH. The android did not quite fathom what the other AI was implying.

‘Thank you, but I am afraid I do not understand... My work?’ he asked quizzically, his light eyebrows ascended marginally, expectantly, patiently waiting for an elucidation. ‘Did you mean: Doctor Noonian Soong’s work? The cyberneticist who created me.’

As far as the android was concerned, he had not achieved anything worthy of praise; he was simply the legacy of one man’s dreams, the offshoot of resilient aspirations and an unprecedented ambition, the end product of years, decades, of laborious experiments, groundwork and extensive research in the discipline of robotics.

@galacticforces

[cultfaction]

Arrow to release Chucky/Child's Play Limited Edition 4K UHD Bluray Collection

YOU JUST CAN’T KEEP A GOOD GUY DOWN! From his very first outing in 1988, Chucky the pint-sized, plastic ‘Good Guy’ doll has managed to carve out a unique and enduring legacy while trying his (plastic) hand at some truly creative, blood-soaked mayhem! In Tom Holland (Fright Night)’s Child’s Play, a young Andy Barclay (Alex Vincent) receives his very own Good Guy doll. Unluckily for both him and…

[itsrattysworld]

Without Prejudice Mervelee Myers Must End 2024 Launch Mental Health SEND Advocacy Grandson Speech Language Difficulties LEYF June O'Sullivan UEL Richard Harty MIC Jumping Ship EYFS Petition Reinstated HMCTS CPS CJS SRA BSB IOPC JCIO HMPPS CCMCC MOPAC CLCC DBS Criminals Need ERT Metropolitan Police Tried Section Murder Kidnap 30th October 2017... Barclays Santander Nationwide FOS Action Fraud Lloyds Join In Trevor Tomlinson Executor Tell Him Collect Deed For 19 Wilson Road District Judge Beecham Responsibility Protect Tenants Housing For Women K02CL827 K05EC530 Unlawful Injunction Ms Presley Zombie Where Were Dr Phil Gregory 10 Years After Perline Louise Chambers-Nembhard Died Dementia My Entitlements Denied Put On Benefits To Do Capability For Work Assessments Endorsed LinkedIn Professors Chris Pascal Tony Bertram Meet Middlesex University £46-55,000.00 SENCO Job Offer Smart Teachers Kicked Out Everywhere Faeces O m Left To Clean The Do-Do Like Crab We Eat Knowing They Eat Shit Dr Nicola Funnell Clinical Director Shorayi Nyamupanda Service Director South London Maudsley NHS Foundation Trust Psychological Medicine Older Adukts (PMOA) Directorate Debbie Gilchrist Joe Hooper Hate Crimes Log Online Nothing Can Be Worse Than Chiildren Turn Against Their Mother Sins Of Fathers Visit Generations Except Those Who Fear Good Charmaine Mahabeir Murdered At Bus Stop If Am Not Careful I Will Die For My Rights I Refuse To Take Respiredone So I Can Function Not Be A Zombie To Be Manipulated Reasons I Ask God Forgive Families Friend Left Me To Suffer Legacies Created I Will Be Remembered In Death Like Eulogy For Mama Lou 15/12/24

1 Refer to NHS Without Prejudice Mervelee Myers Address South London Maudsley NHS Foundation Trust Dr Nicola Funnell Clinical Director Psychological Medicine Older Adults (PMOA) Directorate HCT Group Impact Report 2016 1 In 5 Of All Suicides Associated With Unemployment Dr Faith Matcham Kings College London RADAR-CNS Why Dr Phil Gregory Named For Medical Gaslighting Misogyny Breach Equality…