Just A Loon

Neurodivergent kid: *follows instructions in the way that they assumed teacher wanted*

Teacher: “that’s not what I meant. You should know better.”

Kid: “but I didn’t know”

Teacher: “if you didn’t understand the instructions you should’ve asked for help”

Teacher, later: *gives instructions*

Neurodivergent kid: *asks clarifying question to make sure they understand*

Teacher: “Why weren’t you paying attention the first time I explained it?” Or “Don’t argue with me.” Or “Stop being snarky. You know what I meant.” Or even “I’m done answering your questions. Go ask your friends for help instead.”

Kid: *asks friends for help*

Teacher: “stop talking during class!! That is so disrespectful.”

Kid: *stops asking for help and tries to just figure it out themselves*

Teacher: “you’re doing it wrong!! Why don’t you ever listen to my instructions? You are such a disrespectful child”

The fish in Mabel’s hands was not having a good time

These pictures are now on a fridge in the mystery shack

They stole the cat (along with couple other things)

What can i say, they left Mabel unsupervised in a shopping mall

I feel like audio (do i even weigh anything to you ‘no, its like holding a couple of grapes) would fit this situation perfectly

In the first scene between Wednesday and Tyler at the Weathervane, Tyler did not know Wednesday was important to Laurel’s plot.

So all that amazing, juicy, delicious banter and flirting (yes your honor they were flirting!) was 100% real.

Audience member: the question is about Tyler. I would like to know if he was really in love with Wednesday

I COMPLETELY MISSED THE LAST BIT BC I WAS FOCUSED ON THE TRANSLATOR WHO MESSED UP THIS TRANSLATION

Pairing: Tyler Galpin x Wednesday Addams

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of past grooming/abuse (canon-typical), trauma, emotional intimacy, affectionate biting

Word Count: ~2,600

Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Intimacy

---

Wednesday had always been wary of closeness—not because she feared people, but because people so often came with expectations. Expectations to be held, kissed, soothed. She found most affection to be an inconvenient smothering of the senses.

But Tyler was different.

They didn’t cuddle, not in the traditional sense. There was no spooning, no tangling of limbs, no whispered sweet nothings. When they lay side by side, it was with a deliberate distance—one that allowed air, space, and clarity of mind.

Tyler didn’t mind the distance.

Maybe because he was just as wary of touch.

After what Thornhill had done to him—what she’d made him do to himself—it was no wonder he recoiled from softness disguised as chains.

But in this space, quiet and still, Tyler found peace.

He lay on his side facing her, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other resting on the bed between them. She lay on her back, arms folded across her chest like she was already preparing for the grave. Their eyes locked, breathing slow and matched.

Neither of them had spoken in several minutes.

“Your dorm ceiling is cracked,” Tyler murmured.

Wednesday blinked slowly. “I know. I count the fractures before I sleep.”

“That’s… weirdly comforting.”

“I find entropy soothing.”

Tyler gave a breath of a laugh—no teeth, no loudness. Just the curl of a smile that made her stomach twist in an inconvenient way.

She hated how often she noticed his smile.

He shifted a little, inching closer—but not enough to touch. “You ever think about what this would look like to someone else?”

“This?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Us. Just lying here like corpses who accidentally made eye contact.”

Wednesday tilted her head slightly toward him. “Are you implying we look like a crime scene?”

Tyler grinned. “No, just saying… most couples cuddle or kiss or do the whole wrapped-up-in-each-other thing. You know. Normal stuff.”

She stared at him flatly. “Then it’s fortunate we are not normal.”

“No,” he said quietly. “We’re not.”

He reached for her hand—not with confidence, but with tentative deliberation. He brushed his fingers along hers, as if asking permission. She didn’t pull away.

Her skin was cool. His was warm.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, like he always did. Something about the motion was old-fashioned, reverent. She tolerated it because it was… his.

But this time, his lips lingered. And then—

He bit her.

Not harshly. Not hard. Just a soft, grazing nibble against her thumb. Teeth brushing skin.

She went still.

Tyler froze, her hand still in his, his lips hovering as if he was suddenly unsure whether to retreat or wait for impact.

He didn’t apologize.

Instead, his thumb rubbed small circles against the side of her hand—almost soothing, like a silent acknowledgment.

She turned her head to look at him, her expression unreadable. “Was that an attempt to devour me?”

His eyes flicked up to hers, cautious but not regretful. “No. Just… kind of happened. I meant to kiss your hand, but the Hyde—” He stopped. “It’s like this reflex. When I feel… comfortable. Safe.”

“Instinctual affection,” she said thoughtfully. “Like grooming behavior in wolves.”

“I guess?” He gave a small shrug. “I don’t really think about it. I didn’t plan it. It’s just—sometimes I do that when I’m not thinking.”

“To other people?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Never.”

She studied him, still expressionless. But inside, something pulled taut. Not alarm. Not discomfort.

Something closer to curiosity.

“You didn’t apologize.”

Tyler looked like he might tense, but then let out a quiet breath. “Would it have helped?”

“No,” she said. “And I don’t want you to.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “You don’t mind?”

Wednesday withdrew her hand—not out of anger, but simply to move. She turned onto her side to face him more directly, her gaze sharp and curious.

“I detest when people touch me to make themselves feel better. When they cling or grab or hover as if proximity equals meaning.”

She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “What you did wasn’t restraining. It wasn’t about control. It was… honest.”

A flicker of something passed across Tyler’s face—relief, maybe. Or something deeper.

“I don’t like touching either. Not… after her,” he said, voice dipping lower. “It used to make me feel like I was being handled. Like a weapon.”

Wednesday didn’t interrupt. She let him speak.

“But sometimes… when I’m with you, it’s different,” he said, softer now. “Because you’re not trying to fix me. You’re not trying to hold me together or make me forget it happened. You just… see it.”

She nodded. “I don’t need you to be whole. Wholeness is a lie, anyway.”

That made him smile—barely.

There was another silence, but it wasn’t heavy. Tyler watched her carefully. Then, slowly, he leaned in again.

He kissed her wrist this time, warm and slow.

Then gently, cautiously, he nibbled just beneath the bone.

This time, she didn’t flinch.

“You’re odd,” she murmured.

He looked up, meeting her eyes. “You say that like it’s not why you like me.”

“I like you despite your predictability.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m predictable?”

“And because of your unpredictability,” she added dryly.

Tyler chuckled. “Nice save.”

She let her fingers reach out—not dramatically, not sweetly, just enough to brush along his jaw. A quiet acknowledgment.

“I’m not going to pull away when you’re being yourself,” she said.

His eyes softened at that. The fear that had edged his voice earlier began to dissipate.

“It’s stupid,” he admitted. “I used to be terrified the Hyde made me… wrong. Like I couldn’t do normal things. Like I’d never be safe to be around. But with you, I don’t have to pretend I’m just the human part. I can just… be.”

She nodded once. “You’re a monster. But you’re my monster.”

Tyler blinked, a crooked smile growing across his face. “That might be the sweetest and creepiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Wednesday smirked. “I strive for balance.”

He inched just a little closer again—not touching, not quite. “So you’re okay with… that? With the nibbling?”

“It’s far less offensive than hand-holding.”

Tyler laughed quietly. “You’re seriously comparing affectionate biting to hand-holding?”

“Hand-holding is sweaty and unnecessarily symbolic. Teeth are honest.”

He looked at her like he could both laugh and cry. “God, I like you.”

She didn’t say it back. She rarely did. But she didn’t look away. Didn’t push him back or withdraw.

Instead, she let him bite her again. Just a small graze at her wrist.

And when he settled beside her, this time their arms touched—barely, but deliberately.

Not quite cuddling. But not alone, either.

For once, the Hyde didn’t growl or scream or press at the inside of his ribs.

It was calm.

Alex Dimitrov, from Love and Other Poems; “The Weather of Our Lives”