Nevermore Academy has always welcomed monsters — but what happens when one wears a human face? Beneath locked cages and moonlight, something ancient whispers Brock’s his name. And it’s hungry.
“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil (1886)
I assumed today was any other Wednesday.
It was supposed to be just another lecture on cryptid behavioral patterns. But I could barely hear a word of it.
It was Ms. Thornhills third period class that I had, wasn’t by choice I would have preferred Mr Stiend’s Biology and brewing skills, unfortunately we don’t get what we ask for sometimes.
Every sound — every heartbeat, every breath, every whisper — it clawed at my senses like nails dragging across dreary chalkboard. I heard the Thump of my heartbeat and fingers twitched around my pencil, tapping it against the desk in an uneven rhythm, like my fingers felt as if I had no control, numbness sometimes hits, The noise didn’t help. Nothing did.
The Other was hungry again.
A low, guttural voice rolled through my skull like smoke through a room, flooding my thoughts with this ever grossing feeling of hunger and, rage.
“Feed…”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a split second, trying to shut it out this god damn voice, The voice never shouted — it didn’t have to. It was heavy and cold and impossibly close, like it was behind my eyelids every time I closed my eyes.
“Not now,” I tried to say under his breath.
My Eyes, which from what people said were, dreary and tired, scanned the room for some sense of normality and comfort. And they laid on a girl who looked more worried than me. I think her name is Enid Sinclair.
Wolf, funny enough a social butterfly I think. She’s already gave me an easy time. Most people didn’t, kept their distance as it seemed even I was too weird for Nevermore standards if you could believe it, maybe I was staring too hard at the slight corner of her face, the way it scrunched up when she was thinking, although the thoughts behind that blonde hair, i wouldn’t— or couldn’t— fathom.
My thoughts were pure in my eyes, but, the other one saw it as some hunger or perversion, and he made it very clear
“She looks delicious, doesn’t she?” It said on my head with another round of throbbing pain. I couldn’t yell, scream or make much movement but I clenched my pencil Hard, Harder, HARDER, Until It—
SNAP.
The Pencil in my hand snapped clean in half. Seems I squeezed enough to force the broken tip into the edge of my palm. Blood bled across his palm, sliding down between my fingers like warm candle wax.
“Mr. Brock,” Ms. Thornhill’s voice cut through the dark demented thoughts, light and curious. “Is everything alright?”
I blinked. My mind went blank and i couldn’t fathom a reasonable response, but i was able to horse something out.
“I— yeah. Just… not feeling great,” I said quickly, shoving my bleeding palm into my bag before anyone could see my hand was trembling.
Ms. Thornhill nodded sympathetically and went back to her lesson. Class ended finally and I left in a slight hurry, as walked down the hallway, trying to focus on anything besides the whispering, scratching voice in my skull. The walls felt narrower, the Boards of the doors looming like growing gnawing teeth, and every shadow seemed to flicker with motion.
“Wait!”
I froze. I hear purple sneakers squeaking lightly against the polished floor. And as I turned around I was met with its wearer, Enid. She stopped a few steps away, breathing slightly hard but smiling. “Hey… you’re (Y/n), right? I think we’ve had Biology together?” She said, which rad odd because we just had history, but I guess we share more than one class.
Enid Sinclair was a California Dream to put it nicely, bubbly and over optimistic so much it sometimes actually made me a little sick. Not her fault she had a good personality of course. She was blonde, had these pink highlights and sapphire blue eyes, very pleasant face.
To Consume..
“Stop talking.” I sadly forced a small smile, rubbing the back of my neck. I felt it crawl up my spine a second.” Yeah… that’s me. You’re… Enid?” I tried to sound casual and not like a mentally disassociating cat, but the voice inside hissed: So naive. Too bright. We could play with her… maybe later.
“I like your hair,” Enid said, brushing a strand behind her ear. “It’s… messy, but in a cool way. You look like you don’t care, but you probably do.” She grinned, and Honestly, at that moment I felt a twinge of something like normalcy. Which is a lot considering where I am.
I cleared my throat. “Uh… thanks. I… try.”
“You’re… quiet,” Enid said, tilting her head. “Not in a bad way like my Roomate.”
Wednesday.
I remembered that name from the rumors and Ajax’s weird discussions about it, but then again he was probably stoned. “Yeah, her names, Wednesday right?” I said, “I mean if the standards are that low, it’s a bar I can just walker over.” I said as a joke, didn’t know if it would even land but I just had to try. I was groaning silently in my head.
Enid actually laughed —lightly, a soft, musical sound that seemed out of place in the harsh hallway lights. “Well… it’s kind of nice. Not everyone listens so…” She said, a slight drone on. Admittedly I was enjoying myself but, it couldn’t last long and I had to end it.
“I… need to get to my next class,” I said finally, forcing a polite smile. “See you around?” I asked, hoping, Praying for a reply.
Enid nodded, a little disappointed but still smiling. “Yeah. See you around.”
I watched her walk to class and it felt, good. Normal perhaps, but unfortunately tonight was the least normal night I’ve had in the past four months of being here.
I clenched my bloody fist and tried not to think about it. Not now, not tonight.
The moon was a pale coin above Nevermore, silver light slipping through the cracks of the iron bars. The Lupin cages were built During Nevermores spring youth, built strong enough to handle the outbursts of werewolves, Weems made it a good idea to let me stay you’re for certain nights, praying the cage would hold, it.
I sat cross-legged in the center, knees trembling. My breath came slow — measured. I’d been here for hours, trying to meditate, to keep it down, to sleep.
It’s just noise, I told myself. Just another night. You’re in control.
You are lying to yourself.
The voice slithered through the back of my mind.
You brought us here to starve. We don’t like starving.
We’re not doing this tonight. I gritted my teeth, pressing my palms into the cold stone floor. You’ll hurt someone.
They deserve it. All of them. Especially the ones who stare.
I shut my eyes, forcing my breathing to steady. The sound of my pulse pounded louder than the wind.
And then — footsteps.
The faint click of polished shoes against stone. A shadow shifted beyond the bars.
“Brock,” came a voice. Flat. Calm. Inescapably curious.
My eyes snapped open. And I saw her, her visage was pale like the moon, black braids hang behind her head and her dark eyes met mine, Wednesday. She stood in front of the cage door, candlelight painting her face in flickers of gold and black. Her hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable.
“I was told this area was off limits.” Her gaze flicked to the chains near the wall, I don’t use them unless it’s an emergency “That usually means it’s worth investigating.”
“Bad idea,” I muttered, standing slowly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “On the contrary. I think I’m exactly where I need to be.”
We like her.
Shut up.
She’s small. But her eyes— they don’t flinch. Maybe we should eat them last.
“I said shut up!” I said out loud on accident, Wednesday tilted her head slightly, obviously confused on just who I was talking to.
My head throbbed. The candlelight wavered. I staggered forward and gripped the bars.
“Wednesday,” I said through clenched teeth, “you need to go. Now.”
“Why?” she asked, voice cool as ice. “Because your inner demons might escape?”
“What?” It was the only phrase I could make out.
“Rowan, you killed him, the question is why..”
I remembered hearing about it but I didn’t know anything about it but, maybe I lied to hope she would leave me alone,. “I didn’t see anything. I just… heard screaming.”
“Lies bore me,” Wednesday said, folding her hands behind her back. “What did you see?”
“I didn’t see anything!” I yelled, and that throbbing pain hit my spine and I slumped down, the pain began to physically burn though my body. Wave of unbearable skin tearing pain. As I slowly began to lose it, I look up and.. saw myself standing there, smiling.
The double smiled wider, leaning close until its mouth brushed my ear.
“Knock knock… let the devil in.”
Something snapped.
Wednesday watched, A black vein spiderwebbed across his neck. His eyes rolled back. The chains rattled violently as the air thickened with a low, animal growl.
Tendrils burst from his back — slick and serpentine — slamming against the cage bars. His reflection dissolved into darkness that rushed toward him, flooding his body, pouring into his mouth, his eyes, his skin.
He screamed — but the sound twisted mid-breath, deepening into a snarl that didn’t belong to him.
When the moonlight cleared the haze, a hulking figure crouched where the boy had been. Breathing heavy. Shoulders rising like a storm. A grin stretched across its dripping, inky face.
“What… are you?” Wednesday asked, and the voice, wasn’t him.
“You? No… We…“We are…” the creature rumbled. Its jaw split too wide, fangs gleaming like wet glass.
“…VENOM.”
The monster breathed. Steam rolled from its chest as it straightened, towering over the girl who stood on the other side of the bars.
Venom’s eyes — twin pools of shifting white ink — locked onto Wednesday Addams. She didn’t move. She didn’t scream. The candlelight near the wall weakly in the draft.
The creature tilted its head.
“Fascinating,” Wednesday whispered.
A deep, guttural chuckle rattled through the chamber. Venom stepped forward, taloned fingers wrapping around the metal bars.
CREEEEAK.
Steel groaned beneath the pressure. The silver bent like clay as Venom’s muscles flexed, dark fluid rippling across its form. Each pull sent sparks of friction and screeches echoing down the corridor.
Wednesday realized that this, is death. If this monsters maw got a hold of her she’d be with Rowan soon. The creature’s jaw split open, dripping black saliva that hissed as it hit the floor.
“We… are… hungry.”
Venom tore one of the bars clean off. The cage shook. Another bar followed, clattering to the ground. The gap widened, the monster leaning through — claws reaching, close enough for Wednesday to feel its breath.
And then—
BEEEEEEEEEEP—
The siren blared.
The sound tore through the air, sharp and metallic, vibrating through bone and iron alike. Venom shrieked — a sound more animal than human — recoiling instantly. The symbiote rippled like boiling oil, its form breaking apart, peeling back into smoke and shadow that clawed at the air before sinking beneath Back under his skin.
He collapsed to his knees. Half of his face still black, tendrils twitching as they receded under his eye and back into his mouth, His breaths came out ragged, eyes unfocused.
“(Y/n)!”
Principal Weems appeared in the doorway, her expression flickering from authority to heartbreak in seconds. She knelt by the cage, pressing a hand to the silver blend of steel that once held many wolves at bay
The boys eyes fluttered open for a moment — long enough to see her face.
“I’m sorry, Mr Brock.” She whispered. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
His vision blurred. The world tilted sideways. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Weems turning sharply toward Wednesday, her voice like a whip.
“Back to your room, Miss Addams. Now.”
Wednesday didn’t move.
“I said now,” Weems snapped, standing tall. “I will not tolerate you torturing him like one of your little experiments.”
For the first time that night, Wednesday hesitated — eyes flicking to the unconscious boy inside the cage — then turned silently, the echo of her footsteps fading into the dark stone, it seems that they will have to discuss this once more.
Venom.
The name clung to her mind like a stain.
She had seen monsters before — the self-righteous, the delusional, the pathetic. People who wore masks of civility over their harrowing true forms. But this… this was different.
(Y/n) Brock was not a boy wearing a monster. He was a boy sharing his skin with one. And when the creature had looked at her — when those eyes like pools of ink had focused on her without blinking — something had stirred in her mind
Recognition.
For a brief moment, she thought of all the hours she’d spent yearning for something truly otherworldly — something that wasn’t bound by the tedium of morality or the dullness of normal human fear or normality.
Now, she had found it.
Or perhaps, it had found her.
Wednesday’s lips curled faintly as she reached her dormitory door.
Perhaps I’ve finally met Death, she thought. And for once, Death has manners, and had delivered it to her, it seems now she’s found a monster, her monster.
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Had this created on my other site so i decided to post chapter 1, if you guys enjoy it or not, let me know. I based this off a previous post I did and decided I enjoyed the concept so much to make a whole story from it.
Chapter 1: Rūklon Hen Zaldrīzes
(The Dragons Tongue)
As the Son of Otto Hightower you have obligations to uphold, but that does not mean your heart cannot want for something more: Rhenerya.
———
“As the first century of the Targaryen dynasty came to a close, the health of the Old King, Jaehaerys, was failing. In those days, House Targaryen stood at the height of its strength with adult dragons under its yoke. No power in the world could stand against it. King Jaehaerys reigned over nearly years of peace and prosperity.
But tragedy had claimed both his sons, leaving his succession in doubt. So, in the year, the Old King called a Great Council to choose an heir.
Over a thousand lords made the journey to Harrenhal. Fourteen succession claims were heard but only two were truly considered: Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the King's eldest descendant, and her younger cousin, Prince Viserys Targaryen, the King's eldest male descendant. Rhaenys, a woman, would not inherit the Iron Throne.
The lords instead chose Viserys... my father. Jaehaerys called the Great Council to prevent a war being fought over his succession. For he knew the cold truth. The only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon... was itself, this was the fist ember of the war, the Dance of the Dragons.”
———
Dust from Syrax’s wings settles across the courtyard stones. Sand scatters like startled birds. The dragon landed and stepping off of it was the one and only, Rhaenerya Targaryen. She had long, Platinum blonde and a beautiful face of high cheekbones and gorgeous eyes.
Rhaenerya walked forward, still glowing with that post-flight exhilaration.
Ser Harrold was awaiting.
“Welcome back, Princess. I trust your ride was pleasant.”
“Try not to look too relieved, ser.” She jokes, and he replies on kind.
“I am relieved. Every time that golden beast brings you back unspoiled, it saves my head from a spike.” Rhaenyra smirks and walks toward the waiting carriage. Stepping out of the carriage was Alient Hightower, the daughter of the hand of the King, Otto Hightower.
“Syrax is growing quickly.” Alicent says,
“She’ll soon be as large as Caraxes. That’s almost large enough to saddle two.”
“I believe I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you.” Alicent admits.
Rhaenyra studies her friend with a teasing glint. Rhaenerya and Alicent made their way back to the massive city of kings landing. A herald of prosperity for the last hundreds years of Targaryen Rule. Inside a bedchamber a handmaiden has stepped out. But not before quickly bowing in reverence to Rhaenerya before she enters to see her mother. Queen Aemma Targaryen.
“Ah... Rhaenyra.” She says, “You know I don't like you to go flying while I'm in this condition.”
“You don't like me to go flying while you're in any condition.” She poked back, Alicent enters as well and immediately bows.
“Your Grace.”
“Good morrow, Alicent.”
“Did you sleep?” Rhaenerya asks her mother, who smiled weakly. The labors of pregnancy were upon her.
“I slept.” She says sternly.
“How long?”
“I don't need mothering, Rhaenyra.”
“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants, all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.” She says to her mother, and Aemma sighs.
“You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.” She explained, but Rhaenerya had higher dream.
“I'd rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.” A warm laugh comes from her mother. “We have royal wombs, you and I. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip. Now take a bath. You stink of dragon, Lady Cuperbearer.”
Rhenerya had made herself scarce and left, she had to prepare for her duties as the Cuperbearer for the most Poweful Man in Westeros, her father, the King of Them all, Viserys Targaryen. Viseryes, a slightly plump faced but pleasant man.
Viseryes sat at the head of the small council, enjoying the revels of his lordship. But a man spoke up, dark skin and grey hair adorned in amazing dreadlocks. This was Lord Corlys, Master of Ships and the legendary seafarer and the head of House Velaryon, a wealthy and powerful Valyrian house from Driftmark.
“My lords.” He begins, “The growing alliance among the Free Cities has taken to styling itself "the Triarchy." They have massed on Bloodstone and are presently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation.” He says.
“Well, that sounds suspiciously like good news, Lord Corlys.”
“A man called Craghas Drahar has styled himself the prince-admiral of this Triarchy. They call him "The Crabfeeder" due to his inventive methods of punishing his enemies.”
“And are we meant to weep for dead pirates?” Viseryes asks.
“No, Your Grace.”
“Pray, Your Grace, at Prince Daemon's urging, the crown has invested significant capital in the re-training and re-equipping of his City Watch.” A man says, Lyman Beesbury, Master of Coin and Treasurer of Kings Landing. A slickly frail older man with graying hair.
“I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on the council and provide an assessment of his progress as commander of the Watch.”
“Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks?” Viseryes asks. “And that his thoughts and energies are occupied?”
“Well, one would hope so, considering the associated costs.”
“Then let us all consider your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury.”
“I would urge that you not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports.” Corlys says, trying to divert attention to the more pressing matter.
“.The crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement.” Says the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, a stout but older gentleman with a strong face, stern eyes and a cold voice. It silences the Master of ships.
“Shall we discuss the Heir's Tournament, Your Grace?” Otto asks, as Viseryes smiles. Rhenerya pours wine for everyone, except Corlys who politely declines.
“I would be delighted. Will the maesters' name day prediction hold, Mellos?” Viserys asks Mellos, Grand Maester.
“You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my King, but we have all been poring over the moon charts, and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be.”
“The cost of the tournament is not negligible. Perhaps we might delay until the child is in hand? Lyman says.
“Ugh, most of the lords and knights are certainly on their way to King's Landing already.” Lyionel strong, Master of Laws says, “To turn them back now—“
“The tourney will take the better part of a week. Before the games are over, my son will be born, and the whole realm will celebrate.”
“We have no way of predicting the sex of the child.” Mellos says.
“Of course, no maester's capable of rendering an opinion free of conditions, are they now? There's a boy in the Queen's belly. I know it. And my heir will soon put all of this damnable hand-wringing to rest himself…” Viseryes says. As the meeting ends, Harrold catches up to Rhenerya, who’s looking a bit, conflicted. Her status as daughter of the king puts her in a position but, no Woman has become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and perhaps she shall be thrown to the wayside.
“..He passed through the Red Keep's gates at first light.” Harrold say to her, and she slowly turns to her.
“..Does my father know he's here?”
“No.”
“..Good.”
————
Night had Fallen upon the Realm, and thus the evil of this world was given a blanket to enjoy.
Thirty men huddle around stolen wine and stolen bread. Armor mismatched. Teeth rotten and broken. Their laughter climbs into the trees and disturbs the night birds. At their center sits Kam, hands like mallets, beard slick with grease. A girl is tied near the wagon, gagged, eyes wide as a hunted doe. Ransom coin already counted in Kam’s mind.
A crack. Not thunder. Not a branch. An arrow. One of the men drops mid-laugh, a feathered shaft blooming from his throat, blood leaked from his mouth mixing with wine to create a disgusting concoction, The wine cup spills. Silence comes in, confused.
Then the woods exhale wind and arrows.
Arrows rain from black branches. Another man falls on the cask, Another. Horses neigh and buck. Someone shouts to form ranks but the command dies as a second volley punches through his leather and bones.
From the trees came riders in dark cloaks, sigils barely visible in the night. They move around, surrounding them and either putting arrows in them or cutting them down.
Like Hawks circling mice.
Kam bellows and charges toward the nearest soldier, splitting a helm with his axe. For a breath, the brute believes the night can still be broken.
Then a shape steps from the firelight.
(Y/n) Hightower.
His cloak catches the flame-glow, the pale green of Oldtown woven into shadow. His blade is clean, though the ground around him is not. One bandit lunges from behind, desperate. (Y/n) does not look. He pivots, catches the man’s wrist before the blade could fully puncture, and draws his dagger across his throat in a single line. The body folds before the scream finishes as blood pours on his plate.
(Y/n) wipes the blade on the fallen man’s sleeve, almost polite about it.
Kam is breathing hard now. The camp that rang with laughter moments ago is a field of groans and stillness. Hightower men move through it like gardeners pruning a diseased hedge.
(Y/n) walks forward and lowers himself onto an overturned crate across from Kam. Close enough that the firelight shows the sharp cut of his jaw, the calm in his eyes.
He studies Kam the way a maester studies an unpleasant specimen.
“You’ve made the road… inconvenient,” (Y/n) says, voice smooth, measured. Not loud. It does not need to be.
Kam swings.
(Y/n) ducks just enough that the axe cleaves air. In the same motion, he kicks the brute’s knee. Bone cracks. Kam drops with a roar, half kneeling.
Steel rests against his throat.
“You stole from smallfolk,” (Y/n) continues, tilting his head slightly. “Kidnapped a child, Raper, Murderer, Brigand..”
He glances toward the girl. One of his men is already cutting her bonds.
“That is poor judgment.” Kam spits at his boots. “Who are you supposed to be? Hightower cunt.”
A faint smile touches (Y/n)’s mouth. Behind him, the Hightower banner rises from the darkness, caught by the wind like a watchful eye opening.
Kam understands then. (Y/n) stands.
“You,” (Y/n) adds softly, almost conversational, “will answer for your accounts.”
The girl stands wrapped in a soldier’s cloak far too large for her. Dirt streaks her face. She looks small again now that the terror has passed.
(Y/n) is cleaning his blade beside the fire, methodical as Kam is dragged away.
She approaches him hesitantly.
“My lord…” Her voice trembles but holds. “Thank you.”
He looks at her.
Not unkindly, Not really warmly either.
“You are unharmed?”
She nods quickly.
“Good.”
A beat.
She waits for something else. A soft word. A reassuring smile. A promise of safety.
Instead, he rises.
“You’ll be returned to your father’s holdfast before midday,” he says, already turning to his captain. “See that she’s provisioned.. Men, any survivors? Cut their throats or put an arrow in their eyes.”
The Next morning had risen, Rhaenyra is laughing at something scandalous with Alicent, sun warm on her hair, when a Hightower soldier approaches with rigid formality.
“My lady Alicent. Ser (Y/n) has returned. Lord Otto requests your presence at the Gate.”
Rhaenyra’s smile sharpens.
“So soon? Has he conquered Dorne already?” She say sarcastically.
Alicent sighs softly. She knows that tone.
“I shall return shortly.”
Rhaenyra watches her go, thoughtful.
⸻
The Gate of the Red Keep
The gates creak open. (Y/n) rides in at the head of his men, armor marked with dried blood and road dust. Behind him, a wagon rattles forward. In it: Stolen grain sacks, many Silver goblets, some Torn banners And Kam the Brute, bound, bruised, furious.
Alicent stands composed at the steps. Hands folded. Expression practiced.
Their eyes meet and (Y/n) dismounts smoothly.
“Sister.”
“Brother.”
Her gaze flicks briefly to the wagon of stolen items. “You’ve been busy.”
“The Kingsroad will be safer.” he says, his eyes then turn to another wagon. Corpses, some, others full of mutilated body parts. Fingers, hands… Cocks.
“I see the City Watch has also been busy..”
Kam chooses that moment to grin through blood.
“So this is the pious little flower? Shame, id love to prick her little petals, give that Hightower Whore a—“
He doesn’t finish.
(Y/n) steps forward calmly, as though adjusting his gauntlet. His elbow drives into Kam’s nose with controlled, brutal precision.
A crack. Kam slumps back with a howl, blood pouring down his beard. (Y/n) does not even look at him afterward.
“Mind your tongue,” he says mildly, “Before you lose it.” He turns to the guards: “Gag him. Let the king make the decision upon hanging him.”
Alicent watches carefully. There’s the faintest tightening in her jaw.
“You needn’t have struck him,” she says quietly once they begin walking.
“He shan’t speak ill of you, I may but not him.” (Y/n) replies. Alicent scowls and he chuckles.
The twins retire to the Bedchamber of Ser Hightower, Books stacked neatly. An Armor stand polished. A map of the Crownlands pinned with markers, as (Y/n) has been cleaning up around Kings Landing.
(Y/n) removes his gloves.
“You look tired,” Alicent observes.
“I am not.” He replies.
“You always say that.”
He pours wine. Offers her some. She declines. (Y/n) stands near the window, goblet in hand, recounting the raid as though narrating a well-played board match.
“They scattered immediately,” he says, the faint smirk returning. “Poor discipline. Thirty men and not one thought to fortify the tree line. Kam was larger than I expected. Slower than I hoped. But he fell nonetheless.”
Alicent moves behind him, fingers deft as she begins unfastening the buckles of his breastplate. She has done this before.
“You make it sound effortless,” she says softly.
“It was.”
The armor loosens. She pulls it away and lays it down and pauses. Beneath the steel, dark patches stain his tunic.
Not all of it is someone else’s blood. She steps around him, lifting the fabric slightly. To see his abdomen, a cut, perhaps a days old.
“You were struck.” She said.
“A glancing cut.”
“You said nothing.”
“It was insignificant, I cut the man down after.” He says and drinks, Her jaw tightens.
“Foolish Endeavors..”
“You sound like Mother.”
The words slip out easy, Alicent always spoke so earnestly. She is the only girl of Otto Hightower. She has to carry some weight.
Alicent meets his eyes in the room.
“Perhaps someone must.”
His smugness drains just a touch. He sighs and can’t look her in the eyes. “I. Apologize for making you worry then. It sounds like You think me reckless,” he says, quieter now,
“Would you prefer me fat and lazing about in Oldtown?” He jokes.
“I prefer you alive.” Alicent replied.
“Thank you.” He says, “And Father?”
———-
“It was an unprecedented roundup of criminals of every ilk.”
Otto Hightower and King Viseryes were walking into the council room. “Your brother made a public show of it, meting out the summary judgments himself. I'm told they needed a two-horse cart to haul away the resulting dismemberments when it was done.”
“Gods be good.”
“The Prince cannot be allowed to act with this kind of unchecked impunity.” Otto said, as the two meet the chamber, with Daemon there.
“Brother.”
“Daemon.” Viserys says.
“Carry on. You were saying something about my impunity.” He asks, and they get right into it.
“You are to explain your doings with the City Watch. Your new "gold cloaks" made quite the impression last night, didn't they?”
“Did they?” Daemon replied with a grin.
“The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim. They're an extension of the crown.” Otto says.
“The Watch was enforcing the crown's laws.
Wouldn't you agree, Lord Strong?”
“My Prince, I don't think—“ Strong begins but Otto cuts him off.
“Making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws.”
“Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending upon King's Landing for my brother's tourney. Do you want them mugged, raped, murdered? You mightn't know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep, but much of King's Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying.”
“Our city should be safe for all its people.” Viserys says. “I agree. I just hope you don't have to maim half of my city to achieve this.”
“Time will tell.”
“We installed Prince Daemon as commander to promote law and order. The criminal element should fear the City Watch.” Lord Corlys says.
“Thank you for your support, Lord Corlys.”
“If only the Prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does his work, Your Grace.” Otto says, vying for some level of scorns, “You've not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone for quite some time.”
“I think my bronze bitch is happier for my absence.”
“Lady Rhea is your wife, a good and honorable lady of the Vale.” Otto chastises him, but it does little to sway Daemons opinion.
“In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women. I can assure you, the sheep are prettier.”
“You made a vow before the Seven to honor your wife in marriage—“
“Well, I'd gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you're in want of a woman to warm your bed. Your own lady wife passed recently.” Daemon says, Otto rose, and silence filled the room. The tension was strong, lingering in the air.
“Perhaps you aren't ready to move on just yet.” Daemon says, stoking the fire even more, but Viseryes calms it.
“You know how my brother makes sport of provoking you. Must you indulge him?”
“My apologies, Your Grace.” Otto say and calmly sits down.
“This council has, at great expense, bettered the City Watch to your exacting standards. Enforce my laws, but understand... any further performances like last night's will be answered.” Viserys says, and Daemon nods and rises.
“Understood, Your Grace.”
———-
The Bedchamber.
Steam coils through the chamber like pale silk. The tub is carved marble, water perfumed faintly with myrrh and rosemary. Candlelight trembles along tiled walls.
(Y/n) reclines in the bath, shoulders bare above the waterline, hair slicked back. Two handmaidens move quietly around him, one pouring warm water from a silver pitcher, another setting folded cloths nearby, both giggle as his eyes lock with one’s.
“One would think,” he muses lazily, “that the treasures of the realm are only for the king. But I have two adorning me at this moment.”
A faint smile touches one of the girls’ lips. But suddenly there is a knock. Before permission is granted, the door opens.
Otto Hightower enters. The handmaidens bow and lower their eyes. He turns his head slightly. “Father,” he says lightly. “You honor me. Care to join? The Revels is quite invigorating this season.”
Otto does not smile. The women glance between them uncertainly. Otto steps forward. “Speak father, you’re scaring the handmaidens, or perhaps—“
“In the council chamber,” he says evenly, “Prince Daemon spoke of your mother.”
The room stills, the hissing steam even halts. The sound of dripping water on the stone floors becomes painfully loud.
“How.”
Otto does not embellish. He recounts it exactly. The crude offer. The reference to her passing. The mockery.
The boys jaw tightens once. Then he speaks, calm and firm.
“Leave us.”
The women bow quickly and slip from the chamber, the door closing with urgency. He rises from the bath without haste. Water runs down his shoulders, hitting stone like soft rain. He steps onto the stone floor and reaches for a linen cloth.
Otto watches him, measuring, beginning to sow his seeds of dissent.
“You did nothing,” he says while drying his arms.
“I did not give him the spectacle he desired.”
(Y/n) pulls on a tunic.
“He insulted her.”
“Yes.” He fastens the ties at his collar, angrily fumbling it.
“And you did nothing.”
Otto’s tone hardens slightly.
“I kept the King’s council from devolving into a senseless spouting match.”
“That was my mother. Not just Lady Hightower. Not just your wife. My mother, Alicent’s..”
Otto absorbs that.
“She is beyond his reach,” Otto replies quietly. “His words cannot touch her. Find peace in that.”
(Y/n) steps closer, eyes colder now.
“They can touch me. And I should gut him for such disrespect to my family, to ours.”
“I presume you would, hence my attempt to inform you, lest he stokes your ire and challenges you, do not.. give him the satisfaction.”
“I will give the Prince more than he bargained for..” (Y/n) said, venom in his voice.
——-
The tourney grounds roar with noise. Lances splinter, banners ripple, nobles gossip behind silk fans. The stands glitter with color and gold. The King rises in his chair, around him are the high council and the children of those, Alicent sits alone, for whatever reason her brother.. is missing. Viseryes stands up and bellows.
“Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games.
But I promise, you will not be disappointed. When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news... that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!”
Many cheer at this, Rhenerya slips in unannounced.
“May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!”
The Tournament continues with its Revels, but a lone dark horse catches the eye of the Princess.
“A mystery knight?” She asks Alicent.
“No, a Cole, of the Stormlands.”
“I've never heard of House Cole.” Rhenerya says.
“Lord Stokeworth's daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire.
“Lord Massey's son?”
“They're to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.”
“Best get on with it.”
“I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.”
The First Bracket ends and incoming was th next, many houses trot in and the last, Daemon arrives.
“Master of Revels: Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!”
“For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King!” Otto’s jaw tightens.
Daemon smirks behind his visor. A knight wearing the green and silver of House Hightower rides forward. But before the lances are set, another voice cuts across the arena.
The herald raises a hand. “Correction!” The murmuring grows louder. “The knight wearing the colors of House Hightower is not Ser Gwayne.” Then the proclamation rings out.
“He is Ser (Y/n) Hightower, second son of the Hand!”
The crowd erupts in surprise, Otto looks worried now, Alicent and Rhenerya look at each other and back.
“Five dragons on Daemon.” Someone whispers. But before the two can joust, daemon rubs salt into the wound.
“Nine on the Hightower.”
“Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.” Daemon said, Alicent had little choice but smiled, and placed her garland upon his Lance.
“Good luck, my Prince.” She said, Daemon trots back over, but another came. He rides slowly toward the royal gallery. The crowd quiets. He stops beneath the stand and looks up at the princess.
“Princess.” He says smiling. “If the prince may claim the favor of my sister… perhaps I might ask one of you.” Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, The entire court leans forward.
(Y/n) continues: “Would you grant me yours?”
Now everyone is watching, a scandalous scene. Rhaenyra smiles slightly, clearly amused by the audacity. She unties a ribbon from her sleeve and lets it fall.
“Good Luck, Ser (Y/n)” she said with a smile.
(Y/n) catches it perfectly and He ties it around his lance, Then, with a faint smile: “My thanks, Princess. I shall win in your honor. And for you as well Dear sister.”
He rides back toward the stall.
The riders took their places. The horn sounded. Round one began in a thunder of hooves.
“YA!” The men yell and charge, thunderous hooves dance along the ground as they charge, lances ready. They met in the center of the lists with explosive force. Lances shattered against shield and armor, splinters flying through the air like wooden birds. Both men stayed in the saddle.
The crowd roared in approval. Yet as (Y/n) wheeled his horse around, a dark stain began spreading along his side where Daemon’s lance had slipped beneath the rim of his shield. The wound he suffered has gone to a worse degree.
High above, Alicent noticed immediately. Her fingers tightened around her own hands in anxiety, Otto winces.
⸻
Fresh lances were handed up. The horn sounded again. And Once they charged once more. This time the collision was even more violent, wood exploding into fragments as both riders struck cleanly and were yanked hard. But again, and Again neither man fell.
Another draw.
But as (Y/n) turned his horse, Alicent could see him press an arm briefly against his side.
He was wounded And hiding it. Rhaenyra followed her gaze down to the field. Below, Daemon had noticed as well, The prince smiled as his Prey was weakened.
⸻
The third pass was called. A hush fell across the tourney grounds. Both riders lowered their lances. The horn cried out and they charged.
Tunnel vision hits Daemon and he aims to deliver a killing blow, At the last instant (Y/n) adjusted his aim. His lance struck Daemon square in the chest. The prince was torn from his saddle and slammed into the hard dirt.
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers as (Y/n) dropped the lance and threw his arm in the air.
But the triumph lasted only a heartbeat.
(Y/n)’s own horse stumbled from the impact.
He fell hard beside the barrier. For a moment the field lay still. Then Daemon rose, ripping off his helm.“Sword!” he barked. A blade was handed to him at once.
(Y/n) pushed himself to his feet, blood staining the edge of his armor. A squire hurried forward with a weapon.
(Y/n) growls, “Axe!” Steel flashed as he lifted it. “It seems the Princes wish to continue in one on one combat!” The Herald bellows.
The crowd roared louder than before. Daemon advanced. Their weapons met with a ringing crack.
Sword against axe.
Again.
Again. Even the king had risen from his seat, but only to leave for something.
(Y/n) shoved the blade away and swung his axe again, but the movement was slower now. Daemon slipped past the strike easily.
The next blow knocked the axe aside. (Y/n) was now on defense, badly. Another strike clipped his shoulder and forced him down to one knee. He was sundered by a powerful uppercut by Daemon. And the Prince of Oldtown fell.
The crowd gasped.
High above the lists, Alicent gasps, and Rheanerya Held her breath, leaning halfway from her seat before she could stop herself.
On the field, Daemon stepped back and raised his sword. He turned toward the stands, spreading his arms wide to soak in the cheers. The crowd roared for him, they always roared for the one of revels.
That moment of triumph lasted only a heartbeat. (Y/n) ripped off his helmet. Before anyone realized what he meant to do, he swung it. Daemon turned but it was too late.
The heavy steel helm crashed into Daemon’s jaw with a brutal crack.
The prince staggered.
The crowd’s roar turned to shocked laughter and shouts.
He struck again. The helmet slammed into Daemon’s shoulder this time, knocking the sword wide. Dirt and splits of blood sprayed as the prince stumbled backward.
The axe was gone. But the helmet was heavy. And he swung it like a mace.
Daemon recovered quickly, ducking the next strike and lunging forward again. Steel flashed between them, sword biting against a dented helm and battered shield. The two men crashed together and tumbled into the blood soaked dirt.
For a moment neither had the advantage.
Then (Y/n) drove his shoulder forward, shoving Daemon onto his back. The prince hit the ground hard. Before he could rise with his dagger, he mounted him, knees pinning his arms. With one hand he seized Daemon’s shield, With the other he raised it high. The edge gleamed, an executioner’s blade. The arena fell silent.
His chest heaved as he looked down at the prince beneath him, ready to Kill. Daemon stared back then, slowly, he smiled.
The Boys arm trembled with the weight of the shield.
“Yield,” he said.
For a long moment Daemon said nothing.
Then, with that same crooked grin still on his lips, he gave the slightest nod.
“I yield.” The tension shattered and the crowd erupted again.
The shield slipped from his grasp. The strength drained from his arms all at once.
He staggered to his feet—and then collapsed into the dirt.
Blood spread darkly beneath him where the lance had torn his side open.
High above the field, Alicent’s hand flew to her mouth.
Rhaenyra leaned back, eyes wide.
Daemon looked down at the fallen Hightower with something almost like admiration, he could cut the boys throat now. But with all these around him, not now.
He chuckled softly to himself.
Then turned away as the healers rushed forward, (Y/n) sat up, still holding it together as he looks to the kings council, looks of somber and sadness was on them, and his eye trail to Rhenerya, who looked to be holding back tears.
What fate was beheld for the Queen and the Heir to be?
————
The wind coming off Blackwater Bay was cold that morning.
Grey clouds rolled slowly across the sky, swallowing the sunlight and casting the cliffs of Dragonstone in a dull, mournful light. Below them the sea churned restlessly against the rocks.
A funeral pyre had been built near the water’s edge.
Upon it lay two bodies wrapped in fine cloth and linen: Queen Aemma and the infant prince who had never drawn breath.
The gathered court stood in quiet rows along the cliff. No music played. No voices carried across the wind. Even the dragons circling the island seemed distant and silent.
At the head of the gathering stood Viseryes, shoulders bent beneath a grief no crown could lighten. Beside him stood his daughter, Rhaenerya, Sorroful and silent, her silver hair stirred by the wind.
Further back among the court stood the Hightowers.
Otto with his usual composure, hands clasped before him. His expression was solemn, though his sharp eyes watched everything.
Beside him stood Alicent and (Y/n)
Her green dress moved softly in the breeze as she kept her gaze fixed on the pyre. Grief weighed on her face, though whether for the queen or the king she could not yet say.
The bandages beneath his tunic pulled painfully with every breath. The maesters had done what they could after the tournament, but the wound from Daemon’s lance still burned like a coal beneath his ribs.
He stood anyway.
That Victory felt strangely hollow now.
He glanced once toward the royal family.
Rhaenyra stood rigid beside her father, her eyes fixed on the pyre with a look that was entirely bloody grief. The warmth of her eyes were fading.
Viserys stepped forward slowly. For a moment the king simply stared at the bodies of his wife and child.
The wind tugged at his cloak. Beside the king, Rhaenyra stepped forward. Her dragon waited with her, wings folded and restless.
Syrax lifted her head as the princess approached.
Rhaenyra rested a hand against the dragon’s neck.
For a long moment she said nothing. Then she spoke a single word in High Valyrian.
“Dracarys.”
The dragon’s jaws opened. Flame burst forth in a roaring torrent, feeding the growing fire of the pyre. The heat washed across the cliffside as the flames rose higher.
Behind the gathered mourners, silence, suffering. The flames climbed higher into the darkening sky.
And somewhere within the crackling fire, the first chapter of grief in King’s Landing began.
————
Otto and Viseryes at night were rerunning to The Council.
“Where's Rhaenyra?” Viseryes asks. But Otto Begins.
“Your Grace. This is the last thing any of us wish to discuss at this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent.”
“What matter?” Viseryes asks.
“…That of your succession. These recent tragedies have left you without an obvious heir.”
“The King has an heir, my Lord Hand—“
“Despite how difficult this time is, Your Grace, I feel it important the succession be firmly in place for the stability of the realm.”
“The succession is already set... by precedent and by law.” Strong says.
“Shall we say his name?l Corlys says, “Daemon Targaryen.”
“If Daemon were to remain the uncontested heir, it could destabilize the realm.” The Maester adds in.
“The realm? Or this council?” Corlys fires back.
“No one here can know what Daemon would do were he king, but no one can doubt his ambition.” The Master of Coin adds in but Otto is firm.
“Look at what he did with the gold cloaks. The City Watch is fiercely loyal to him. An army two thousand, strong.” He says, and Viseryes finally speaks up.
“An army you gave him, Otto. I named Daemon Master of Laws, but you said he was a tyrant. As Master of Coin, you said he was a spendthrift that would beggar the realm. Putting Daemon in command of the City Watch was your solution!”
“…A half-measure, Your Grace. The truth is, Daemon should be far away from this court.”
“Daemon is my brother. My blood. And he will have his place at my court.” Viseryes says.
“Let him keep his place at court, Your Grace, but if the gods should visit some further tragedy on you, either by design or by accident—“
“Hmm. "Design"? What are you saying? My brother would murder me, take my crown? Are you?! Please. Daemon has ambition, yes, but not for the throne. He lacks the patience for it.”
“The gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power, Your Grace.” Otto says.
“Under such circumstances, it would not be an aberration for the King to name a successor.” The Maester
“Well, who else would have a claim?” Strong asks.
“..The King's firstborn child.” Otto admits
“Rhaenyra? A girl? No queen has ever sat the Iron Throne.” Strong scoffs.
“That is only by tradition and precedent, Lord Strong—“
“If order and stability so concerns this council, then perhaps we shouldn't break years of it by naming a girl heir.”
“Daemon would be a second Maegor, or worse. He is impulsive and violent. It is the duty of this council to protect the King and the realm from him. I'm sorry, Your Grace, but that is the truth as I see it, and I know that others here agree.” Otto says.
“I will not be made to choose between my brother and my daughter.”
“You wouldn't have to, Your Grace.” Corlys said, “There are others who would have a claim.”
“Such as your wife, Lord Corlys?” Strong laughs at such a concept.
“Just moments ago, you announced your support for Daemon!”
“If we cannot agree on an heir, then how can we expect—“
“My wife and son are dead!” Viseryes screamed, silence cut though the room and everyone’s breath was held for a moment.
“I will not sit here and suffer crows that come to feast on their corpses!” Viseryes stormed off, and Otto had to set a new plan.
Outside the princess’s chambers stood Ser Harrold, silent like the armor he wore.
Footsteps approached slowly down the hall.
Ser (Y/n) Hightower stopped before him. The knight of the Kingsguard studied him for a moment. His gaze lingered briefly on the faint stain of blood still visible at the side of his tunic. Then Westerling stepped aside.
The door opened quietly. Inside, the chamber was dark save for a few candles burning low beside the bed.
Rhaenerya was near the window, her back to the door. The black sea beyond the world reflected faint moonlight, turning the room into shadows and silver.
She did not turn when he entered. The door closed behind him with a soft sound. For a moment neither of them moved, he didn’t know what to say.
Rhaenyra’s shoulders trembled once. Then again. The sound that followed was small at first. A breath catching itself before the weep. She lifted a hand to her face. The grief she had held through the funeral finally broke.
Tears fell silently as she tried and failed to steady herself. (Y/n) watched her for a moment. Then he crossed the room. He simply placed his arms around her. Rhaenyra turned into him immediately, burying her face against his shoulder as the quiet sobs came harder now.
He held her there. One hand resting gently against the back of her head, the other steady at her back.
The candles flickered softly around them. While he held the woman he loved dearly, Otto was playing a deadly game, as Alicent walked to the Bedchambers of the King.
———
The Next morning rose like an eerie Dawn. And Otto began the meeting a bit, fractured.
“Before we begin, Your Grace, I have a report I feel compelled to share. Last night... Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the Street of Silk... to entertain officers of the City Watch and other friends of his….He toasted Prince Baelon. Styling him "The Heir for a Day."
I corroborated this report with three separate witnesses. The evening was, by all accounts a... celebration.” Otto says, Rhenerya, the Cupbearer also heard this, and it was not good.
Daemon was ordered to meet with the king inside the throne room. Daemon entered, unbeknownst to him, into a viper nest.
“You cut the image of the conqueror, brother.” Daemon begins the interaction friendly.
“Did you say it?” Viseryes say cutting it short, silence fell as Daemon slightly played dumb.
“..I don't know what you mean—“
“You will address me as "Your Grace," or I will have my Kingsguard cut out your tongue…"The Heir for a Day." Did you say it?” He asked once more, Daemon, now caught had little to respond with.
“We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace.” He said, but Viseryes anger was hot, passionate by the guilt, rage and grief he was feeling.
“My family has just been destroyed. But instead of being by my side, or Rhaenyra's, you chose to celebrate your own rise Laughing with your whores and your lickspittles! You have no allies at court but me! I have only ever defended you! Yet everything I've given you, you've thrown back in my face.” Viseryes says, an Daemon, finally allowed his heart to sing.
“You've only ever tried to send me away. To the Vale, to the City Watch, anywhere but by your side. Ten years you've been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand!”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I'm your brother. And the blood of the dragon runs thick.”
“Then why do you cut me so deeply?”
“I've only ever spoken the truth. I see Otto Hightower for what he is.
“An unwavering and loyal Hand?”
“A Cunt.” A second son who stands to inherit nothing he doesn't seize for himself.
“Otto Hightower is a more honorable man
than you could ever be.”
“He doesn't protect you. I would.”
“From what?”
“…Yourself. You're weak... Viserys. And that council of leeches knows it. They all prey on you for their own ends.” Daemon says, Viseryes, rather give response, declares a new word.
“I have decided to name a new heir.”
“I'm your heir.”
“Not anymore. You are to return to Runestone and your lady wife at once, and you are to do so without quarrel by order of your King.” With that decree, daemon is left with no choice.
Night falls once more, and Viseryes meets his daughter, who he barely has spoken to, she walks down the stone steps into the crypt, adorned by candles and the massive dragons skull that lay itself upon display.
“Father.” She says.
“Balerion was the last living creature to have seen Old Valyria before the Doom. Its greatness and its flaws. When you look at the dragons, what do you see?”
“What?” Rhenerya asks, “You haven't spoken a word to me since Mother's funeral,
and now you send your Kingsguard down...”
“Answer me. It's important. What do you see?”
“I suppose I see us.” She admits.
“Tell me. Everyone says Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, but they say that because of our dragons. Without them, we're just like everyone else. The idea that we control the dragons... is an illusion.
They're a power man should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria its doom. If we don't mind our own histories, it will do the same to us. Targaryen must understand this to be King... or Queen.” He explained, Rhenerya saw the guilt in her fathers eyes.
“I'm sorry, Rhaenyra. I have wasted the years since you were born... wanting for a son. You are the very best of your mother.
And I believe it, I know she did, that you could be a great ruling queen.”
“Daemon is your heir—“
“Daemon was not made to wear the crown. But I believe that you were. This is no trivial gesture, Rhaenyra. A dragon's saddle is one thing, but the Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the realm. There's something else that I need to tell you.” He said, and she took a step closer, Viseryes sighs.
“It might be difficult for you to understand, but you must hear it. Our histories... they tell us that Aegon looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone, and saw a rich land ripe for the capture. But ambition alone is not what drove him to conquest. It was a dream.
And just as Daenys foresaw the end of Valyria, Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men. 'Tis to begin with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant north. Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds.
And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living.
When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra... all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream "The Song of Ice and Fire." This secret... it's been passed from king to heir since Aegon's time. Now you must promise to carry it... and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra. Promise me.”
——-
That promise was kept, and on that day, as many gathered to swear fealty and honor to the King they also acknowledge the Princess and now, Heir. Everyone gathered to kneel. Boratheon, Stark, Lannister, Hightower. Everyone turned to the King for his decree and he spoke as such:
“I, Viserys Targaryen, first of his name... King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name...”
“Rhaenyra Targaryen; Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.”
Please don’t expect a long story, just something short n cute after I finished Superman finally. And lo and grind my dear Rhenerya Targaryen is now Supergirl
A wide, breathtaking view of the Arctic. Ice sheets glisten in the sun, the Fortress of Solitude looms in the background. There’s silence except for the wind. Then — laughter breaks the stillness.
Superman, the answer to all evil in the world was just tossing a football with a friend, a guy in a windbreaker and jeans, seemingly normal.
“You know, when I was a kid, Pa and I used to play catch out behind the barn for hours. Never thought I’d be doing the same thing here.”
“Yeah, except your barn didn’t have polar bears watching from the sidelines. Or, uh… a dog that can fly.”
Krypto, Superman’s dog barks happily, tail wagging, prancing in the snow. With impacts that nearly shake the ground.
“You ready, boy? Go long!”
Superman tosses the ball gently. Krypto zooms off in a blur of white, leaps impossibly high, and snatches it midair before circling back proudly.
There’s a beat — the two men stand there, just breathing in the frozen air, snow crunching under their boots. It feels normal, even ordinary, despite the extraordinary circumstances.
“Normal’s not so bad, huh?” The man said, Superman gave a silent but gentle nod
“No. It isn’t, but..”
Superman suddenly grips the ball with a mischievous smirk. He steps back, winds up like a quarterback. He rockets the ball into the sky — it vanishes into the clouds. The man’s jaw drops for half a second and back at Superman.
“Probably nearing Greenland. I got it.” He said, flicking out a pair of black visor glasses and puts them on, definitely made for biking or, high speed activity. He gets into a running man stance, legs bent, body angled and in a rush, he took off in a blur of Red. Silence followed for a second, then-
A crack of thunder.
A red streak of lightning rips across the Arctic snow.
The blur is gone before the sound even hits, carving a glowing scar in the ice. The wind roars in its wake, flinging snow into a spinning cyclone.
From a fisherman’s boat off Greenland, the blur passes in an instant — the old man blinks, hat nearly ripped off his head, and the sea behind him froths like it’s boiling.
Across the Atlantic, cargo ship workers see only a streak bouncing across waves, each footfall detonating spray high into the air. One worker shields his eyes and yells,
“¡Dios mío! What was that?!”
In beautiful lovely Paris, café tables rattle. Papers swirl. A croissant disappears from a tray in a blink — only crumbs left fluttering to the cobblestones. The blur is gone before the baker even turns his head.
In Brazil. A soccer stadium was mid-game. The crowd gasps as a ball appears in the goal — no one saw the man in red lightning who kicked it there. The referee throws up his hands, stunned, before the roar of “GOOOOL!” fills the air.
Beautiful China. Tourists gape as red lightning streaks along the Great Wall, rippling banners and hats into the air. By the time they fumble for their phones, it’s gone, nothing but scorched footprints in the stone.
In the Himalayas, Tibeten monks are meditating in silence, they feel the ground quake as the blur scales Everest. Snow cascades down the peak in avalanches that mysteriously stop short, as though held back by some unseen hand.
At the summit — the blur snaps into shape.
He slows down and holds the ball and zooms back, Superman waits a moment until the sonic boom comes back and his friends return.
“Back.” He said flatly. And tossed Superman the Ball Back.
“Golly, gotta admit I thought that was another ball I lost.”
“Faster than I look.” He said jokingly, and the two walked back to the fortress of Solitude. Superman pressed his palm to the surface. The ice shimmered — and with a low groan, a massive crystalline doorway began to part, refracting light like a prism.
Stepping inside was all white but, warm somehow. He followed the man of Steel inside another chamber to a surround number of what seems to be anutmatronic humans. The central automaton’s optics pulsed as it spoke, voice calm, formal, yet strangely warm.
“Welcome, (Y/n) the honored guest. You stand in the House of El.”
“House of El, fancy… anyone else I should be aware of?” He asked, his answer was swift, sudden and a crash. The sound of something breaking into a wall and thudded on the ground broke their silence.
“Aw. Shoot.” They said, “Sir, I think your cousin has returned.” One robot said.
“Cousin?” (Y/n) asked, eyebrow raised. The two turn to a side entrance of the cave and watch as a figure stepped out of the cold shadow, stumbling.
“Yup” Clark said flatly.
“What.. the hell dude?” They said and (Y/n) got an eyeful. The same heroic costume as Clark’s just built with a skirt and a… dirty brown trench coat? (Y/n) wanted to ask but was stopped by staring at her face. Her saw beauty, the first stretch of her hair was this beautiful auburn brown that slowly transitioned into a sly and fantastic dirty blonde. He saw these beautiful— albeit glossy— beautiful ocean like blue eyes. It almost overlooked the fact she was completely hammered.
“Why did you move the door?” She asked in a slur.
“I didn’t move the door.” Clark replied, and she ignored his response and eyed (Y/n). Who was staring. “And who’s this guy? You didn’t tell me you had…. friends.” She said, “Yeah I’m uh.. the Flash. Can run round the planet in like, a couple of seconds.” He said, Kara tilts her head.
“You’re kinda… super. Good for you.” She then looked at Clark. “Where’s my dog?”
“That’s Your dog?” (Y/n) asked and watched as Krypto came flying to tackle his owner and shaking her around, she laughs. Obviously it does little to hurt her, moreso fun for her. (Y/n) slowly turns his head to Clark, who was silent.
“Well this is why he has behavioral issues..” he said. Kara gets up from her thrashing and walks off with Krypto to, God knows where but not without leaving her cousin a parting thanks:
“Thanks for watching him, bitch!”
Which lead to even more silence, “she likes to go and party on other planets, planets with red suns.”
“Why red?”
“Because of our metabolism you can’t get drunk on a planet with a yellow sun.” He explained, (Y/n) continues to watch her face past the snow.
“So she goes and parties off on other solar systems while you, fight to the death here, fair enough. Gotta say though Clark, your cousin is…” (Y/n) drones on, a smile creeps along his lips.
Bitterly Beautiful II Part 1: Back Like Eye Never Left
“It's been an eventful summer.”
Wednesday Addams awakens inside a Killers very uncomfortable basement, a gag in her mouth, bound to a chair with Priceline dolls eyeing her. She’s sitting at the head of a table, with dolls all adored by her, their cold, blank eyes all locking towards her.
“I'm tied up in a serial killer's basement. Who said nightmares don't come true? He's under the delusion that I'm his next victim. I'll let him cherish that notion while I explain my predicament. I spent my vacation mastering my psychic ability. All the answers were in Goody's book of spells. With my ability now under control, I set my sights on an obsession I've had since I was six years old:
The Kansas City Scalper, America's most elusive serial killer.
To psychically locate him, all I needed was an object from one of his crime scenes. Funny enough, The Scalper's 11th victim dropped her prized bowling ball when she was snatched. Thing has his uses. With the Scalper finally in my crosshairs, I had one final harrowing obstacle to overcome..
The TSA.
Wednesday, all by her lonesome placed her bag in the tray and stepped through the metal detector which obviously went off, one of the Agent gives her a glare and Wednesday pulls out Brass Knuckles and places them in the bin.
“Anything else on your person?” They ask.
Wednesday reluctantly puts away a knife, scissors, taser, machete, gothic themed pizza cutter, more knives. A cane sword, The agent looks at Wednesday as she finally takes all of her weapons out.
“Which part of "prohibited items" don't you understand, young lady?”
“The part where you believe cramming hundreds of people into a metal tube flying through the air creates some sort of utopia where weapons aren't needed.”
The man Rolls his eyes in response to her quip and turns to the others.
“Can we get a bag check?”
Her Bag goes though the X-Ray and something picks the interest of the agents, funny enough, thing was tagging a long. Which made it seem like Wednesday had a Severed hand in her bag, which.. she did. The man opens the case and grabs thing, looking at Wednesday.
“I'm headed to the Junior Embalmers Convention in Kansas City. It's a prosthetic hand.” She said, the man shook his head.
“Yeah, that's not the problem. You care to explain this?” He places thing down and grabs a small body of, sunscreen lotion.
“Curious.” Wednesday said, clenching her jaw as her eyes shift to thing.
“I have no idea how that ended up there.”
“This is over 3.4 ounces, which means it's a big no-no. I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste our time.”
“Right..” Wednesday, after the little tussle she gets to Kansas, and unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your viewpoint, Wednesday was captured by the killer. And she once again, awakens in the Basement, the old, heavy door opens and a large, disheveled man crept out, his eyes slowly move to Wednesday. The man oddly enough looks like Haley Joel Osment, funny he was in a film called A.I. and perhaps Wednesday’s sixth sense is telling her to off him.
The Scalper leans down near Wednesday.
“I made you a gift.” He said, and reveals it, to be a doll, just like the others, but it’s oddly enough much in her likeness.
“It's how I remember all my... special guests.” He said, Wednesday spits out the gag
“Let me show you some of my own handiwork.” She replied, the scalper turns to one of the dolls as it creaks, and he watches as its head, turns to him. From the doll thing bursts from it and grabs the face of the scalper who’s having a panic attack trying to fight thing off. Wednesday casually begins to untie herself as the scalper flails around. As he realizes he’s far, far out of his league it was already over, Wednesday stood over him with a knife, and an, uncomfortable grin.
“Now. Let's play dolls.”
The Scalper was apprehend somehow, by a mysterious girl and is serving multiple life sentences, or death, whichever he prefers. But unfortunately for Wednesday her summer break ends, which means back to school.
“This is the first time you've ever willingly returned to a school, How does it feel?”
Outside Nevermore, a black car pulls into the driveway of Nevermore, and the famous, or infamous, Addams Family arrives.
“Like returning to the scene of the crime.
I already know where the bodies are buried. No more uncontrolled chaos. I will bend this place to my will.” Wednesday says to her mother.
“Be careful, dear. Control is often an illusion.
Like I let your father believe he's in charge of this family.” Her mother, Morticia said, the much more grown Pugsley, now a fond member of Nevermore himself looks to his father Gomez.
“Do you think I'll actually make a friend here?” Pugsley asks his father, Gomez.
“You'll make lots of friends. These are our people.” Gomez says, as the women of the Addams family watch.
“Poor Pugsley. Your father and I will get him settled in. Promise me... you will take care of your brother.”
“I always do.” Wednesday replied, she and Pugsley walk to the Quad and she gives him a sharp rundown.
“Here are the ground rules. No eye contact without permission. Bullying assistance requests must be submitted through writing. And Thing reports to me. Understand?” She says, before he can reply, Wednesday noticed the, eyes.. people watching, talking.
“Wednesday!”
“There she is!”
“Right there, in black!”
A set of four Nevermore girls approach her.
“Can I get your autograph?” One asks.
“I only sign my name in blood.” Wednesday replied
“I would expect nothing less.”
“I never said it was my own blood.” Wednesday fired back again, but it actually was accepted by the girls who giggled. Which even creeps her out, Bianca, ever the idealist uses her power and speaks to the minds of the girls.
“You are done here, Shoo.” She said, using her siren powers, the girls leave.
“That was disturbing.” Wednesday said.
“You better get used to it. You and (Y/n) are a big deal after the whole saving the school from the demon pilgrim thing.”
“Why does anyone still care?” Wednesday asks.
“You're not much of a clout chaser, are you?”
“Popularity doesn't play by the laws of physics. The harder you repel it, the harder it comes for you.” Bianca said, and unfortunately it wasn’t just students.
“Wednesday Addams!” A voice called out, Wednesday turns to a man, dressed in Nevermore purple with an odd mustache and hair.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh! It is an honor to meet one the saviors of Nevermore. Allow me to introduce myself. Barry Dort, your new principal. Um...Would you like a sticker?”
“Only if you have one that says "do not resuscitate."
“There's that wicked tongue I've heard about. I love it. I am reinstating the Founder's Pyre ceremony. It's an old Outcast tradition. Big bonfire. Tomorrow night. And the best part is, I want you to be our student of honor, Mr Healy hasn’t arrived yet unfortunately.”
“I'd rather be burned at the stake.”
“Aw! Please consider it. I want us to be allies in this struggle.”
“What struggle?”
“Returning Nevermore to its glory days.
I hate to speak ill of the dead, but in this case, Weems really fudged up.”
“I don't like to speak ill of the dead either. It's much more fun to demonize the living, and you said (Y/n) hasn’t arrived yet? Why?”
Suddenly, Crows Caw, Wednesday looks up to see a few swirling the sky, The cawing of crows grows louder until the sky erupts into a black storm of wings. They swirl in a perfect spiral over the Quad of Nevermore before diving down toward the courtyard.
“Much like you, my love..”
The murder of crows lands in a tight formation — when the wings fold, Mr Healy is standing there in their place, his long coat swaying in the morning wind, hair slightly ruffled from the journey. He adjusts his glasses as he taps his cane.
“I love to make an entrance.” He said with that classic smile, students watch as he chuckled, he looked back somehow to his bags behind him and then turned back and towards the ground.
“Crom… grab my bags, will you?” He asked, Wednesday watched as A shadow at his feet begins to move independently of his body. It stretches unnaturally, writhing like spilled ink before taking form — the height of a giant, but impossibly thin, with limbs that seem too long to belong in this world, the beast sits up and takes form, he takes the bag and slowly walks away with them. (Y/n) approaches Wednesday and gives a short bow.
“My love.” He said, Wednesday stood tall. “I can see you made an entrance to placate our new cult. “I don’t see a problem with people thinking we’re amazing.” He offered his hand, Wednesday took it and he leans and gently kissed her palm. A few whistles and “Oos” erupt from the students and Wednesday quickly pulls back.
“Not here, we agreed—“
“I know, I apologize but, you never called.. or, even attempted to text me. I did get your letters, a bit hard to get translated.”
“I find modern technology—“
“To be a soulless pathology of human behavior to a waste.” I know my dear, so shall we?” He walks forward, the tap of his cane against the cobblestone.
“You didn’t write back.” Wednesday says
“I did. The demon ate the letter.”
“Convenient excuse.”
“You’re one to talk. I heard you spent your summer hunting.”
“Research.”
“On?” He replied smirking.
“A serial killer.” She admits.
“Convenient, would I have to start hiding bodies so you’ll notice me?~” He says jokingly, “Shut up.” She replied.
The Dastardly Duo reach Wednesdays Dorm room and open it up, and came to a literal nightmare. Fellow students everywhere, swapping spit and howling, Wednesday was the first to enter. And was greeted by the one and only, new wolf out queen, Enid Sinclair!
“Howdy, roomie!” She said.
“Enid.” Wednesday replied.
“All right! Everyone out. Thanks for the help.” She said, the Wolves depart, talking and chatting, and Enid turns to Wednesday.
“How was your vacay? Because I had the best summer ever, and I've been dying to tell you all about it.”
As this happens, another enters, (Y/n) looks around.
“I could smell the fur from down the hall. I see you have a pack now.” He smiled. Before (Y/n) can make another joke, Enid barrels into him, wrapping her arms around him in a crushing hug. His cane wobbles but he holds on, laughing.
“Careful, Enid… bones are a limited resource.”
“I haven’t seen you in forever!” Enid whined.
“Been a few months.” He said. “But seasons do fly by.” He admits, Enid lets her bestie go finally.
“Did you bring me something?”
“I did.” He said and showed her a box, Enid it took it and carefully opened it and saw a silver charm bracelet. “All genuine Irish Silver, totally not robbed from someone dead.”
“Oh, M, G! It goes with my eyes, how did you know?”
“It’s a Secret. And for My Dear Wednesday.” He reaches into his back pocket to a smaller box, rectangle, she took it and opened it to a pen, old, made of wood.
“Wooden Pen, Simple.”
“Yes, it’s made from Wood of one of Cailleach’s trees.”
A beat of silence from both women, (Y/n) sighs. “The ancient hag goddess of winter, death, and fate, She planted seven dark yew trees on burial grounds across Ireland. Each one was fed with the blood of a sacrifice every Samhain, also known as Halloween, to keep its power alive. One such tree, this one— is known as Crann na nAmadán. It grew on a hill where traitors and oath-breakers were executed. Locals whispered that if you pressed your ear to its bark, you could hear the condemned muttering their final regrets.” He said, Wednesday leaned the pen to her ear and the faint whisper of despair creeps into her ear, and an uncomfortable smirk along her face.
“That reminds me! I did get you two gifts at Lupinpalooza in Golden Gate Park. Don't worry. It's not a snood.” Enid shows two shirts, one was a beautiful graphic of a parody of Beowulf’s literacy.
“Get it? Like Beowulf? I thought you'd love the literary reference.”
“Nothing like a bad pun to throw dirt on the coffin of epic poetry.” Wednesday says, but (Y/n) tilts his head. “And mine?”
Wednesday hesitates, “It’s.. of a rat, which says “Countless Horrors await, yet I remain faithful to the cheese.”
(Y/n) said nothing, There’s a beat of silence. Then he starts chuckling. Then laughing harder. Then it spirals into this half-wheeze, half-cackle, like he’s remembering every cursed thing he’s seen in his life and applying it to the stupid rat.
“Enid, thank you.” He said wiping a tear from his glasses, he walks over as the girls talk. Enid began to drone on about her vacay, Wednesday’s attention, however, had drifted. She glanced over Enid’s shoulder and froze. (Y/n) was pulling off his shirt behind her, unaware of her gaze. The scars and wounds from Thornhill were visible on his back, bullet holes that have healed thankfully, but underneath them in the front, his abs were perfectly defined—strong and unblemished except for the occasional faint mark.
Enid, mid-sentence, didn’t notice Wednesday’s distraction at first. “—and I thought it might—Wednesday? You’re not listening.”
Wednesday blinked, and quickly changed the subject. “I got you a gift as well. From my summer travels.”
Wednesday gives Enid her gift, a bit, excitedly. It was a doll that had a slight resembling to Enid.
“Uh... Oh. Thank you. I mean, it is a little creepy, but, um, the curls are super soft.”
“It's made from real human hair.”
Enid puts the Doll away and the Three finally get a chance to talk.
“I just have so many goals this year. I wanna secure my place in the pack, become dance troupe captain, and finally join the Nightshades.”
“What about you two?”
“Avoid people and work on my new Viper de la Muerte novel.”
“Doesn't sound like much of a personal evolution.”
“I don't evolve. I cocoon.”
“Sounds like you, I on the other hand have one goal, become King. People already worship the ground I walk on here.”
“Because your eyes vaporized crsckstone.” Wednesday said flatly.
“And Thornhill and saved your life— also where’s my gift—“
“Speaking of your novel, was that publisher interested?” Enid cut though, taking more of an assertion.
“I call it death by a thousand notes.” Wednesday reveals to Enid the manuscript, having many red edits.
“Ooh... This one here just looks like a typo.” Enid said.
“It's not. That's the Old English spelling for dismemberment.”
“desmembrer.” If I do recall.” (Y/n) chimed in.
“This novel was two years of my life.!They'll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands before I change a single word.”
There was a knocking at door. (Y/n) walked to the door with his new rat shirt on.
“That better not be any more brattish autograph hounds.” Wednesday frowns.
“Tell me about it. We seriously need to set some boundaries. Let's post hours to sign stuff in the student lounge.” Enid said, (Y/n) opens the door and spots Ajax, before he can even say anything, Enid quickly cowers behind the door, (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as Ajax Saw (Y/n) and Wednesday.
“Hi, Wednesday, (Y/n) How was your summers?”
“I scalped a serial killer.”
“I.. made pottery..” (Y/n) said.
“Is, uh... Is Enid around?” He asked, (Y/n) heard Enid’s heart pick up and wanted to ask but Wednesday came in.
“She left earlier with the pack. I threatened to neuter them if they didn't get out.” She said.
“Well, would you mind giving her this?” Ajax hands (Y/n) a Stuffed unicorn. He looks down and feels it. “Uh yeah I’ll give her this spleen.”
“It’s.. not a.. yeah, thanks man.” Ajax left as Enid sighs stepping from the door and taking the unicorn.
“Thanks for covering. I know the only thing you hate more than color is relationship drama.”
“Machiavelli once said that friendship is watching a person's slow drip of miseries and feeling honored to be present for their most dismal moments.” Wednesday said.
“Does that mean...” Enid muttered and (Y/n) loudly clears his throat. He sits on Enid’s bed and pats the side.
“Alright let’s hear it. Edgar Allen Poe once said Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality. So let’s hear your Dating Drama.”
“In 25 words or less. Go.” Wednesday adds in.
“I'm not sure how I feel about Ajax anymore.
He's sweet and cute, but he's still in love with the old me, and I've changed. Hey, look at that. Exactly 25 words.”
“Talk to him and get it over with.” Wednesday says, (Y/n) nods.
“Just say you aren’t feeling that connection, you’ve grown into a, young woman and Ajax is… Ajax. It happens.”
“But, how do you two do it? You two are literally perfect for each other.” She said, Wednesday folds her arms and a sly grin creeps along (Y/n)’s face.
She looked at Enid with her usual deadpan expression. “We’re not perfect. We just… understand each other in a way most people don’t.”
“Exactly, there’s no such thing as perfect we just, mesh well, I love Wednesday for who she is, not who she used to be.”
“And I tolerate (Y/n) for his actual good qualities.”
“Love you too Babe… so just be upfront with the man.” (Y/n) stands up to walk to the wall “If not, you’ll be stuck in an endless well.”
“If I do that, then it'll be like an arrow through his—“ Wednesday opens her closet and a mechanical ting echoes, a crossbow set up fires from it. The bolt whizzes to (Y/n) and without breaking his focus on Enid pulls his arm up and catches the bolt. (Y/n) looks at it, confused. Wednesday noticed something attached to it, a photo.
“What is it?” He asks.
“Those old Polaroid.” Enid said.
“A, Polaroid? You know what a Polaroid is?” (Y/n) replied
“Yeah, I was going though a 90’s aesthetic phase.. don’t judge.” Enid said.
"Welcome back, Wednesday. I'm still watching." Wednesday reads the writing under it, and the photo was of (Y/n) Kissing her hand this morning.
“Wait. You have a stalker?” (Y/n) said.
“Don't be jealous.” Wednesday replied, she grips the photo and concentrates, then images of the past flash in her head, Enid watches as, something black leaks from Wednesdays eye.
“I didn't see the stalker.” She said, Enid notices the leaking blood.
“You've got a little something.” Enid says, and Wednesday wiped her cheek, (Y/n) raised an eyebrow.
“Got a little what?”
“It's nothing.”
Wednesday leaves, (Y/n) turns to Enid and follows Wednesday as she walks back.
“You’re hiding something again.” He starts.
“I hide many things. You’ll have to be more specific.” Wednesday replied avoiding his face.
“When it happens… your breathing changes. I can hear it. And afterwards, you act like nothing’s wrong. But something is. You need to be honest with me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. My visions are unpleasant, but they’ve always been that way.”
“Wednesday……if it’s hurting you, I want to know. We made a promise, be honest if something bothers you.. is it the Stalker?” He asks. They stop walking and stand in a long hallway.
“This stalker does not bother me.”
“And why not?”
“I doubt they have capabilities to hurt me, and besides, if it were to occur I know you’d end up vaporizing them for me.. I’d do the same for you.” Wednesday said and for a moment she seems, human and (y/n) clears his throat and nods. “Of course, I love you Wednesday.”
Before she can reply he gently takes her hand. “You don’t have to say it back, I know you do.” (Y/n) walks the opposite direction as she watches him go, she tries to clear her head and go with her family. (Y/n) was enjoying the Nevermore air outside, but a distant wail of a siren catches his ear. Just as he comes back, something happens. He approaches from the wood to sense the crime scene, crows, many of his.. he heard the talking of two officers.
“The victim's Carl Bradbury, local private investigator. Real sleaze. Witnesses are Greg Mulligan and Debbie Prizeman. Greg's the manager of the Piggly Wiggly and Debbie's one of his cashiers.”
“So Bradbury was out here catching our supermarket sweethearts in a tryst, when he got attacked by a squad of kamikaze crows.”
“Get the body to the morgue before he gets ripe.” Another officer said, a black woman who used to be the secondary deputy to the former, Tyler’s Father. She senses an unease and turned around to (Y/n) kneeling, looking at the crows.
“(Y/n), can I help you?”
“Just admiring the view, Sheriff Santiago is it now?”
“I promise to be better than my predecessor.”
“Isn’t saying much but, thank you.. these crows.”
“What about them?”
“They’re… sick, this wasn’t a natural killing, something or someone..” he droned on but, stood up, using his sensory he felt unease again. Someone was watching from the Woods, (Y/n) jerked his head in the direction and the figure ran off.
They assumed they had gotten far but even for a blind man, (Y/n) is quite skillful, a root appears and trips the man hard. (Y/n) casually strolls over and grips his cane, that groan of Pain was, familiar.
“Galpin? What are you doing here?” He asked.
“The victim was a friend of mine. Carl Bradbury. We were working a case together, and that's what got him killed.”
“Okay, what case?” (Y/n) asked.
“Bradbury stumbled onto something. Said it could affect Outcasts.!We're starting to scratch the surface.”
“Oh, You care about Outcasts now?”
“My son is an Outcast.” He said, (Y/n) gripped his cane: “Yeah, I know what he's done, but—“
“Your son, Tyler? Would that be the same Tyler that killed all those people? That same Tyler who tried to Kill Eugene? The same Tyler who tried to Kill me? Wednesday?! Enid?!” (Y/n) was raising his voice, stepping closer.
“Ms. Thornhill, she turned him into a monster.”
“Tyler was always a monster, Thornhill just manipulated the monster.”
“I could use your help getting to the bottom of this. You didn't just wind up at that crime scene by accident, Healy. You were drawn to it like a moth to a flame.” Galpin says.
“…I understand your need to protect your son, it’s what any dad would do, but your son got everything that was coming to him.” (Y/n) turns to leave.
“If you change your mind, you come find me. Just remember... the birds are always watching.” Galpin leaves as (Y/n) looks up, the caws of crows. They aren’t responding to his calls, something truly is wrong.
(Y/n) returns back to the Dorm at night, all of this is itching the back of his head. The stalker, the killing, the crows, maybe he should speak to the one person who knows and understands this weird world: Wednesday.
He enters the dorm at the worst time, Wednesday was hovering over her typewriter. “Have you been using my typewriter without permission?” She said accusatory to Enid, both girls see the door open and (Y/n) there. Before she can accuse him he points to his face, specifically the glasses. Wednesday looks at the typewriter and finds a message.
"Read any good books lately?" It said, Wednesday checks the drawer and notices it.
“My novel. It's gone.” She checks the second drawer and another written message awaits.
"Higher, higher, higher, I am demon of the fire, and each blazing roof's my pyre!" My stalker's going to burn my manuscript at the Founder's Pyre.”
“I mean, that’s fine right? That's not your only copy, right?” (Y/n) said, the silence was, palpable. (Y/n) frowns and walks to the door.
“Let’s go get your script.”
The Nevermore Trio arrives at the Pyre, students gather, talk, chat, teachers alike. The pyre was shaped of a raven, ready to be lit ablaze.
“The stalker is here. Be on the lookout for anyone watching us.” Wednesday says, and walks off, leaving the Dynamic duo of (Y/n) and Enid.
“I mean, Who isn't watching us?” He points out, and both were quickly accosted by students wanting pictures. (Y/n) slips away, and follows Wednesday to the Pyre as she’s reading.
“Another Letter?” He asks.
"If you don't want your novel to go up in smoke, meet me under the pyre. P.S. I found a few more typos." Wednesday kneels down and starts removing sticks and (Y/n) grabs her arm.
“Wednesday! What are you doing?”
“Getting my Novel and crucifying the person who took it.”
“By crawling under a pile of wood they’re about set on fire?! Does this not sound like a trap?”
As (Y/n) and Wednesday argue, Enid spots them and walks over but Ajax finally spots her.
“Hey! Enid.” He starts, a bit surprised she quickly turns.
“Ajax. Hi.”
“What's going on? Hey, you kind of ghosted me this summer. I texted a bunch. I left a crazy number of voicemails.”
“Ah... Sorry. My bad. Wolf Camp was strictly device-free. I was unplugged for a whole month. Can you believe it? I think I have PTSD.”
“We've been back two days. It kind of feels like you've been avoiding me.”
“Uh, well, I've been busy with the pack, and you have your RA thing. Plus I've got the Wednesday factor, and she never disappoints.”
(Y/n) taps his foot, Wednesday has been gone for a minute and worry creeps in. The sounds nearly overloading his senses. He sighs, drops his cane and takes off his coat, he rolls up his sleeves and Bear crawls to through the hole to follow Wednesday. As he crept through the splinters and dirt. A sudden heat washed though the pyre, and (Y/n) knew that meant trouble.
“Wednesday… Wednesday!” He calls out, silence. The fire crackles violently, sparks showering down as wood collapses. He doesn’t hesitate. Burning eyes closed, his face streaked with soot, he crawls on hands and knees under the splintering beams. Heat scorches his skin instantly, singeing his clothes, but he presses forward, coughing as smoke hits his lungs.
The world is reduced to fire and suffocation—the roar of the flames, the choking smoke clawing at his lungs, the blistering pain across his hands as he drags himself deeper.
“Answer me… please—!”
His fingers scrape over splintered boards and ash. He can’t see, but he feels—desperately—searching with his palms, tracing broken wood and fallen debris, pushing aside burning chunks even as they sear him.
Then—he catches it. The faintest brush of fabric. Her coat.
With a guttural cry, he lunges forward, pulling Wednesday’s limp form against his chest. He feels her, she held on to her book for dear life. Her determination was, impressive. The fire howls around them, collapsing timbers showering sparks across his back, but he shields her with his own body, but had an option. Reaching for the ground he grabbed a piece of wood. He dropped it as a part singed his finger but picked it up from another angle.
He quickly lies Wednesday down and traces a circle in the burning ground. He pulls a small blade from his belt — his hand steady despite the chaos — and drags it across his palm. Blood wells instantly. He clenches hard and blood drops down on Wednesday as he whispers.
“Fuil is tine, cosain sinn. Ciorcal na bhfear, ciorcal na n-anam. Ná lig bás teacht.”
The flames dance along the pyre until Enid sees the feint of the pile break open, the heat forcing the wood to splinter and an epic unfolds, (Y/n) and Wednesday walk out of the fire unharmed. Wednesday clutching her Novel. Like a pair of phoenixes reborn from the flames of desperation.
“Our students of honor, (Y/n) Healy and Wednesday Addams! None of us would be here today without your bravery.” The Nee Principal smiles.
“Wednesday, would you help me unveil something very special? I had this commissioned to commemorate how you and your ragtag group of Nevermore buddies saved our school!” He unveils a painting, of the group who saved Nevermore and specifically, had Wednesday smiling.
“Could you give us a few words of inspiration to launch us into the new era?” He hands her the Mic and (Y/n) leans to Wednesday.
“You’re up champ. I think I’ve been on the grill too long.” He steps back and claps for his girlfriend as people chant.
“Wednesday! Wednesday! Wednesday! Wednesday!” The crowd chants. She grabs the mic and looks out to the valley of people.
“Tonight...”
“Yeah!”
“...is our banquet of discontent. And we shall gladly feast on those who would subdue us. Our fight is just beginning. And I'm ripping the Band-Aid off the scab of civility, and will not cease until our enemies have been vanquished! And by enemies, I mean any imbecile stupid enough to cheer on some shallow, rabble-rousing diatribe like that.” Which lead to a few confused looks by others.
“You thought I was your hero? I'm not. I always play dirty, and I never fight fair. The only side I'm on is my own, and the only place I'll lead you is off a cliff. So do not put me on a pedestal, because I will burn it down.” Wednesday literally Drops the Mic and walked off, and Enid gave chase. (Y/n) sighs. “And there she goes, (Y/n) sits down near the stand as Enid and Wednesday depart though the crowd. I think he’s been through enough today.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I never agreed to this.”
“So you're going to torpedo it for us? You're my best friend, but can you be less Wednesday? This is supposed to be our best year ever! Wednesday, will you wait up?”
Enid grabs Wednesday to slow her down, only for a macabre of pain to shoot through Wednesday. As she has another painful vision, standing at a grave. She looks down at the name and what she saw she couldn’t understand.
Here Lies: Enid Sinclair.
Wednesday turned around saw Enid, blood on her face, broken and in pain, but her eyes locked onto hers
“This is all your fault, Wednesday. This is all your fault. I died because of you.
I died because of you!”
Wednesday roughly awakens from what seems to be the most painful vision yet, a harrowing experience of what’s to come.
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Bitterly Beautiful II, Chapter III: How Eye Met Your Mother
Nearing the Cottage around Nevermore, Morticia and Gomez watch as Thing was getting a fantastic massage from a woman. The pressure and soothing but morbid movements were heaven, or hell depending on one’s perspective.
“Stassa's waiting list is six months long. How did you get her up to Jericho on a moment's notice?” Morticia asked Gomez.
“She has a sore spot for disembodied appendages. And I tripled her usual fee.” He said. Morticia had a grim smile and looked at thing.
“I'm so mortified we forgot Thing's birthday. It's unforgivable. I've been so preoccupied with the children and chairing the fundraising gala—“ Morticia droned on.
“No, no, no, no, no...” Gomez shushes his love, Fret not, cara bella. Another hour under Stassa's deft touch, Thing will be a new hand. Tell me, how goes the fundraising?”
“Agonizing. Last night, I had the sudden urge to call Mama, and ask her to be guest of honor at the gala.”
“How very distressing.”
“She is Nevermore's wealthiest alumni. Doubtless that's why Principal Dort recruited me.”
“Of course not, darling.”
“I will never understand why my...dearest Mama has to make every interaction so torturous. Fortunately, I have a very high threshold for pain.”
“Which I find intoxicating. Perhaps I can help you take your mind off your... mother.”
Gomez strolls over to their recons player, and turning on some sensual tango music, and waltz over to her.
The two dance as they waltz along the creaming wood, in a dance of morbid love. As they stroll, hand and hand, Morticia picks up on something, her bat like ears perk up to a sound. As the waltz ends, Morticia smiled.
“Darling, I'm going to slip into something a little bit more ..uncomfortable.”
“Make sure it has a lot of spikes and buckles.” Gomez replies with a kiss, Morticia heads to their bed chamber and spots the origin of the sound, a figure had broken in to take Goodys Book, the only person who would have known where is their dutiful daughter, Wednesday.
“I underestimated your bat-like hearing.” Wednesday began.
“And my maternal intuition. Did you honestly think I would hide Goody's book in there?”
“You used to hide our Dia de los Muertospresents in here.”
“Because I wanted you to find those.” Morticia responded, Wednesday blinked quickly and started once more.
“Do you remember my favorite bedtime story?”
“Mm-hmm. The Salem Witch Trial transcripts. Nothing put you to sleep faster than the rantings of the condemned.”
“They were allowed to make their case to the magistrate. Allow me the same courtesy?” Wednesday asked, Morticia nodded, listening.
“In my most recent vision, I learned that I am responsible for Enid's death.”
“What did you see?”
“A headstone with Enid's name. It was in the middle of a graveyard filled with crows. They were being led by a one-eyed crow. Then Enid appeared and claimed it was my fault. Galpin was murdered by that same one-eyed crow. And his former partner was also killed by these birds. These aren't random attacks. Someone is behind it all. i need to find the killer before they get to Enid. I am not appealing to you as my mother, but as a fellow psychic.” Wednesday gave a strong and convincing Argument, but Morticia was not entirely convinced.
“As a fellow psychic, you understand your visions are unreliable and open to many interpretations.”
“Not mine. I had mastered my ability. It showed me exactly what I needed to see.” Wednesday retorts.
“Like that serial killer, hmm? In Kansas City.”
“Every artist needs their own signature.”
“You've made a very compelling argument... to never give you back that book. You haven't mastered anything.”
“But the only answers I have are in that book—“
“They're not answers. They're shortcuts that will lead you down a treacherous path filled with pain.”
“Your treacherous path is my walk in the park.”
“You sound just like Ophelia. She was impatient and strong-willed, and allowed her ability to drive her to madness.”
“I'm not your sister.”
“No, you're my daughter. And I won't fail you the way that my mother failed Ophelia…”
“…This isn't over.” Wednesday left, obviously not out the front door. It seems her plan had been foiled once more, and she must do this on her own accord.
“Until I can thwart my mother and get Goody's book back, I might have to solve this case the old-fashioned way. Galpin may have finally left a useful clue.”
The next morning Wednesday was analyzing the Eye at her desk, Enid panicking in the background.
“Yet even in death, he refuses to cooperate.”
“Ugh! I'm doomed. I have nothing to wear. And where's the top to my zebra-striped bikini?” Enid asks.
“Hiding in shame.” Wednesday fired.
“Are you gonna stare at that disgusting eyeball, or help out your friend?” Enid said, and from the front of Wednesdays desk, a hand was placed on it. (Y/n).
“It's an overnight camping trip, I mean How many outfits could you need?” He asked.
“There's the bus fit, and then the opening campfire, then the late-night swim, then the morning hike, and the final jamboree. Not to mention breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If you two came, it would be the perfect opportunity to get to know the Wolf Pack better.”
“I’d rather, not, i don’t need more seeing eye dogs.
“As Voltaire once said, "The happiest of lives is a busy solitude." Wednesday adds in.
“You can't avoid people forever.” Enid said,
“Ironic, considering you've been avoiding Ajax. He keeps dropping gifts at the door like some desperate raccoon.”
“Ugh! I just didn't expect my relationship with Bruno to heat up so quickly. We literally skipped right past the talking phase.”
“I really don’t want to hear that.” (Y/n) said, leaning against the desk.
“Oh, I don't know how to break things off with Ajax.” Enid whined.
“A quick blow to the head should suffice.” Wednesday chimes in, (Y/n) taps the phone, thinking.
“I don't want to hurt his feelings. It's not his fault we grew apart.”
“..Didn't Divina borrow your swimsuit top?” Wednesday asked.
“Oh my God. Maybe she did. Thank you!” Enid rushes out to check, (Y/n) raised an eyebrow.
“Divina took it?” (Y/n) asked. “I don't know if Divina borrowed her bikini top. I needed the decibel level to go down so I could think.” Wednesday said.
“Fair enough, but you sure we shouldn’t tell her? Seems unfair to not inform her of her impending doom..” (y/n) asks.
“That premonition stays between us. She's gone full Sylvia Plath over a bikini top. Who knows how she'd react if she knew I had a vision of her death?” Wednesday replied, and her stalker, Agnes appeared before them.
“Enid's dying? Can I sing at the funeral?
"Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Feels very Enid. I already know the lyrics.”
“..How long have you been here?” Wednesday asked.
“Since... this.” Agnes shows the zebra bikini top and (Y/n) slowly grips his glasses.
“Make it disappear again.” (Y/n) ordered, “Put it down… and stop creeping around.”
“Like how you are? I doubt the teachers would appreciate a boy in the girls dorm.” Agnes said, (Y/n) stood up. “Excuse me?” (Y/n) fired back, “Subtle Blackmail is all. I’m sure Wednesday would approve.”
“Enid's not going to die, because I'm going to find the murderer first. Breathe a word—“ Wednesday started.
“And you'll find some fiendishly exotic way to kill me. I know. So what's our next move?”
“There is no “next move.” I already have a right hand. I don't need another. Go find somebody else to stalk.”
“The more you push me away, the more I'll want to please you. Classic emotional manipulation technique.” Agnes smiled. “You literally can’t find a better person to stalk?” (Y/n) said.
“Besides, we’re late for a funeral. If you're here when I get back, I'll be early for another.” Wednesday gave the perfectly veiled threat and left with (Y/n).
Inside Jericho’s Local Graveyard, Dr Fairburn and the Local Sheriff Santiago stood by to listen to the eulogy.
“May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be at your back. May the sunshine warm your face, and may the rains fall upon your fields. May God hold you always. Amen.” The priest leaves and the two detectives look up to see (Y/n) standing across the grave.
“Two mourners. That's two more than Galpin ever deserved in my opinion, but who am I to judge who mourns.”
“The department had to send an official. He was a former sheriff. I lost the coin toss with Ryken.”
“And I'm here representing Tyler. He rather grimly asked me to make sure his father was really dead. What's your excuse?”
“My girlfriend loves these types of outings, Being a supportive partner is good in a relationship.” He said, he casually side steps and Wednesday was behind him.
“I'm mixing business with pleasure. Funerals are a hobby. And killers have a habit of showing up to their victims' interments.” She said.
“Dr. Fairburn tells me you visited Tyler at Willow Hill. He won't give you clues. He'll send you down rabbit holes. It doesn't take years of police work to see that.” Santiago said, (Y/n) leans in slightly.
“It wasn't years of police work that exposed Tyler as a Hyde, that was Wednesday.”
“Then I shouldn't have to warn you to stay out of the crosshairs of another unhinged Outcast. Whoever killed Galpin and Bradbury means business. Don't tempt fate.” Santiago leaves, fulfilling her duties.
“You don't really expect me to tell you that.” She said, she looks at the two teenagers and immediately gives in.
“Once. Within seconds, Tyler transformed. Almost ripped through those titanium bars. It took five minutes with a shock collar before he returned to his human form. Never seen anything like it. Pure, undiluted rage.” Fairburn explained, (Y/n) rubs his chin.
“This killer, we think they're an Avian..The ability to control birds.” (Y/n) explained, Fairburn nods.
“Intriguing theory. Rest assured, we have no Avian patients at Willow Hill.”
“No.. Patients?” (Y/n) said to himself, odd phrase to consider.
“I appreciate your candor.” Wednesday said.
“Like he said, the only reason that Tyler is safely locked away is because of you two. I think that's worth a little off-the-record quid pro quo.”
“That's more than Galpin ever gave me.” Wednesday and (Y/n) left, the two walk in silence and (Y/n) thinks.
“Wednesday..”
“Yes?”
“A query if I may, Watson.” He starts as a joke.
“….” Wednesday was silent, obviously annoyed.
“Cmon play along.” He said.
“You’re going to be buried next to Galpin..”
“Fine, do toy remember the texts Agnes sent from the Sherrifs Phone?”
“I do..”
“Did it ever occur to you, how she opened the phone?” He asked, which Wednesday pondered for a moment. “I hadn’t, interesting observation, I suppose we know who to ask now.”
Wednesday and (Y/n) Approach Agnes and her little gang of mischievous friends. Much to their joy.
“Agnes, when you sent me those stalker text messages, how did you unlock Galpin's phone?” She asked, and she simply had to show them.
——
Inside the dorm, one of Agnes’ friends had transformed into Galpin using their power. An almost one for one copy of the former sheriff. They then hold the phone to their face and boom, they’re in.
“I'm in.” Wednesday took the phone and began to fiddle with it.
“Nice shape-shifting, Josephine.”
“Anything for Wednesday Addams.”
“I grabbed what I could from Galpin's house before the cops did a sweep. For our first case together, I wanted to over-deliver.”
“Our?” (Y/n) tilts his head slightly, “I find your lack of boundaries infuriating and your fawning devotion irksome. But your ability does have its investigative perks.” Wednesday with certainty and sternly said. Much to their enjoyment.
“She's even crueler in person.” One smiled.
“Leave. You're both dismissed.” Wednesday walked back to her desk and the two reluctantly, departed, and she listens to the last message from Bradbury.
“They're onto me. If I don't make it, the evidence is safe at the bullpen.” He said, the caws of crows echo in the recording and it ends quickly.
“Bullpen?” Wednesday asked.
“Bradbury hasn't been a cop for years. Doubt he was talking about the bullpen at the sheriff's station as he wouldn’t have access, I think we're looking for an address to a house or apartment, something hidden..” (Y/n) starts. Wednesday rummages though the evidence box, and a few photos catch her eye. One of Galpin and Bradbury, the other of an old cabin, and witting on the back.
“Pine Crest, 2015.” Wednesday said, and plotted it out. She laid an old map out on her desk, plotting and searching. A warm weight settles at her waist — his hand, steady, grounding. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t pull her closer, just rests there, anchoring her.
“So, what’d you find?” He asked.
“Pine Crest is their Bullpen. Old Cabin.” She explained, “Their house of horrors is deep inside some old Jericho trail.” Wednesday said. He leans in slightly, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes her neck. His free hand traces the map with two fingers, careful not to smudge anything.
“A Genius, as usual. You know I was thinking” He said.
“Should I prepare a hearse.”
“Funny, but no— maybe, once you and I finish at this hell on earth boarding school semester—we can enjoy a nice vacation. Ireland, family’s got a beautiful graveyard that spans an acre or two. Would be nice to go sightseeing, or robbing, my ancestors would forgive.”
Her lips twitch — almost a smile — before she catches herself. She doesn’t move his hand from her waist, though.
“I, will consider your request, back to the task at hand, how do we get there?”
“Center of Jericho, which, oddly enough.. is near where they’re having that camp outings no?” He points out, and Wednesday looks back at the Mal.
“Looks like the great outdoors beckons after all…Pack weapons.”
The couple exit the dorms, ready to take on the wilderness, or whatever decrepit hell to face. (Y/n) and Wednesday skip their Nevermore attires for more, urban looks, Wednesday in a black and white design, (Y/n) with a hint of cream and black attire. Enid, who picked a rainbow vomit of colors spots them.
“Oh my God, yes! You two decided to come. We're gonna have so much fun.”
“Tamp down the exuberance. This is merely a cover for our ongoing murder investigation.”
“A Wednesday slay-cation.”
(Y/n) sighed and turned to his left as Agnes appeared, hearing her breathing. “What?” He said, which also freaks out Enid.
“Scram, psycho, before my claws slip.”
“Don't get your fur balls in a snarl. I'm assisting Wednesday. I managed to triangulate the exact coordinates of the cabin. It's a brisk 30-minute hike from our camp. I took the liberty of plotting multiple routes.” Agnes said.
“She tried to kill me, remember?” Enid points out.
“Yes, but she failed, which proves she's only an amateur.” Wednesday replied, Enid looked to (Y/n) in a sort of ‘help me’ way.
“Enid, all three of you have tried to kill me at some point in my life be it purpose or accidental, if I can forgive so can you. Besides you’ll be fine with your pack” he said and Wednesday tossed Agnes her bag.
“Take my pack. Secure me a window seat.” She ordered, Agnes walks past Enid and the two glare.
“I'll be sleeping with one eye open.”
“Don't bother, pup. You wouldn't see me coming anyway.” The two walk off and (Y/n) strolls forward, “I’ll make sure we share a seat together. what you’d do without me.” He laughs and walks forward, Wednesday would roll her eyes if she was so condescending. The bus rattled as it wound its way down the misty backroad, carrying the Nevermore students toward the camping grounds. Students whispered, played cards, or dozed. Except four.
Agnes sat two rows ahead, her head tilted just slightly toward them as if eavesdropping, while Enid leaned against the window on Wednesday’s other side, earbuds in but clearly sulking.
(Y/n) was seated beside Wednesday, leaned close, his tone low enough that only she could hear.
“You’ve noticed the drift, haven’t you?”
“Drift implies movement. Enid is stationary. Agnes is orbiting.”
“Orbiting you. And it’s pulling— or pushing —Enid away.”
Wednesday’s eyelids fluttered — that nervous tic she had learned, Wednesday had a fantastic poker face but when she blinks suddenly, it’s a tell.
“You know she won’t say it. But Enid feels replaced. Betrayed, maybe. Even if you don’t see it that way.”
“Agnes has… uses. Enid is sentimental, Agnes is efficient.”
“And where does that leave you? In the middle, you want to save Enid, but paying her away just might be what does her in, or you try to keep that, freak near, I’ll admit she had some good investigative qualities—You can’t have both sides of the board playing for you without them turning on each other.”
For the first time, Wednesday paused, her map lowering slightly. The faintest crease formed between her brows.
“Enid’s feelings are… an inconvenience.”
“Feelings aren’t an inconvenience, they’re Motivation.” He gave her a bit of wisdom before the busses finally came to a halt.
The couple exited and noticed at the front of another, was Wednesdays brother, Pugsley, pushing a.. Coffin. The two approach which did slightly put him off.
“Despite my attempts to exsanguinate, you're not completely bloodless.” Wednesday said.
“Sis, what... what's up?” Pugsley said and (Y/n) leans forward.
“So, What's with the vampire coffin?”
“Uh...I used it to smuggle signal flares and gasoline. You know, for the forest fire?”
“You mean campfire.”
“Wh... Whatever. As long as something burns.” Pugsley said, and they hear decrepit groaning from the coffin, (Y/n), somehow tilts his head down and back up to sort of make the animation that he’s eyeing Pugsley. Before he can ask about it, the horn of an old vehicle bellows, the origin of the sound closes in and Wednesday, Pugsley and (Y/n) watch as the Addams family vehicle arrives, Lurch steps out and opens the door for Morticia, and Gomez steps out himself, dressed as a decrepit forester.
“Hello, my pernicious prodigy.
Don't you find the smell of fresh air positively nauseating?”
“To what do we owe this ghastly apparition?”
“The call went out for parent chaperones, and I've spent my fair share of time under nature's canopy.”
“You know the concrete jungle doesn't count.” Wednesday said, eyeing her mother,What's she doing here? Her idea of "communing with nature" is deadheading roses in the greenhouse.”
“I thought we'd make it a family affair. (Y/n), Pugsley and I can engage in some father and son bonding.”
“Uh, no... no thanks, Dad. I... I think I'm going to stick with Eugene. Lurch, can you give me a hand?” Pugsley asked, Lurch groans and helps him, (Y/n) laughs it off.
“As, much as I’d love to spend time with my future nightmare-in-law.” I’ll be unfortunately preoccupied with assisting the new students, I’m sure a man of your tenure of Nevermore would understand.” (Y/n) said and Gomez nods. “A Student of the game and a future devout Nevermore alumni.” He said, Gomez and (Y/n) both side step, letting Morticia and Wednesday have their space.
“Maybe you two could work it out.” Gomez. Said, but Wednesday simply left, (Y/n), even as a blind man could feel the tension in the air, (Y/n) followed Wednesday.
The Addams Family tent was set up by Lurch, and Gomez and Morticia sat, watching the current festivities.
“You have the look of a predator. Allow me to be your helpless prey.” Gomez winks at his wife but, she’s not in the mood.
“Not now, caro mio.”
“Tish, I hate seeing you so out of sorts. Maybe you should give Wednesday the book.”
“I know your instinct is to give in to her, but we can't. I can deal with the venomous resentment, but I won't lose her. And darling, I need your full support.” She said, as much as Gomez hates to deny his dutiful daughter, it would be best in the perspective of Morticia.
As the two plan, Principal Dort rallies everyone to have a little bit more enthusiasm.
“For the next two days, Camp Jericho is now known as...Camp Outcast! This is a new annual tradition at Nevermore. A wilderness retreat that promotes community building, team spirit, and most importantly...Outcast pride! Yes! At Camp Outcast, there are no cell phones. And no Normies for miles!”
“Incorrect!”
A sound bellowed after a whistle, synchronized stomping follows as a man followed by what seems to be overgrown Boy Scouts follow, they march cadence and halt. About face and parade rest.
“I beg to differ with your last point. Ron Kruger, Phoenix cadet master. I reserved this campground six months ago for my annual Camp CLAW. Cadets... what does CLAW mean?” He said to them, and they reiterate.
“Camping, learning, adventure, wilderness!”
“We have a signed contract. Which means you need to pack your tents and vacate the woods immediately.” Ron shows the written paper to Dort who clears his throat.
“Well, I also have a contract signed by the camp's owner.” He says and shows his own.
“Old Jack. Yeah, he retired to Orlando. His sons run the business now. Must have double-booked.”
“Sounds like Normie incompetence. Well, see you around, Sarge.”
“I've been preparing these boys for the last 364 days for my ultimate wilderness challenge. That is happening this weekend!Cadets, help them pack and load. Outcast taillights at 1600 hours.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
(Y/n) and Wednesday watch the two men argue.
“Well, if this continues I doubt we’ll be able to investigate anything, you have an idea in that twisted mind of yours?” He looks over to Wednesday, looking isn’t the best term but, senses she’s holding something up.
“Is that a—“
BLEEEEEEEE
A Deafening, ringing and sudden blast of sound bellows, startling students and specifically (Y/n) who closed his ears, Hurting his only real sense of echo location. Wednesday then approached the Phoenix.
“If you and your dead-eyed drones want this campground so badly, then fight us for it.”
“Excuse me?” The man said.
“Winner takes all. Loser goes home.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Unless you and your boys are not up for the challenge.” Wednesday scowled, and Ron stepped up.
“Okay, pigtails. We speak the same language.” He replied. “What are you proposing?”
“In an unexpected change to our schedule, I am announcing the first Cadets vs. Outcast color war.”
“Each side will have their own team zephyr, designed by our DaVinci students.”
“The rules of engagement are simple. The teams will comprise of up to ten members. They will be divided into defenders and attackers. The defenders will hold the other side's zephyr hostage. The attackers are allowed to recapture the zephyr by any means necessary.”
“Once a team has reclaimed their zephyr, they will fire a flare. Then it's a race to the finish, across Ciderback Falls, back here to the lookout tower. The first team to place their zephyr on the tripod at the top wins.
You have five minutes to select your teammates.” Dort said, and the five are selected.
“Guess the Nightshades are back.” Ajax says to Bianca. But Enid and Bruno approach.
“Bruno and I want in.”
“So do I.” Eugene, now older adds in, but Ajax shrugs. Ah, man. I'm sorry. This is a Nightshades-only team.” Ajax said, and a few glare at him.
“…But, sure. Go ahead.”
“So what's the plan?” Ajax asks, and it was set.
———
“I only traded my bed for a tent to find Galpin's cabin. A troop of testosterone-fueled jarheads is not compromising that mission.”
The Event Began and it seems that Bruno and Ajax are up for the defense. In a flash, an arrow zips to Ajax and snags his beanie, the gorgons snakes appear and he turns to Bruno.
“No. Close your eyes!” But it was too late, Bruno, was turned to stoned, and after a comical boxing glove arrow catches Ajax hard in the jaw, he drops down unconscious. One Phoenix scout rushes ahead to grab the zephyr but spots one more opponent.
(Y/n) strolls over, pretending to be as helpless as possible.
“Really? They left the blind kid to guard it?”
The group laughs—five against one.
But he tilts his head, listening. The crunch of boots in the dirt. The cocky snickers in their throats. His cane taps once, steady.
“If you’re that confident, try it”
They rush him.
He doesn’t move until the last second—sidestepping, sweeping his cane across a Cadet’s ankles, dropping him flat. He pivots, slamming the butt of the cane into another’s chest, knocking the wind from him.
The others charge in, one tries a sweeping kick, aiming for (Y/n)’s legs. Without looking down, (Y/n) vaults lightly over the leg, and jabs the cane backward into the Cadet’s ribs. The boy folds with a grunt. He ducks an arrow and swung, knowing one was coming and one cadet catches a hard cane to the nose. Five were regrouping and (Y/n) cleaning his nails.
One decided to finally exploit, his one weakness, he cocked back and used an air horn, the sound deafens (Y/n) bad, His face contorts in pain as his hands fly to his head. The delicate sonar web he builds in his mind collapses, replaced with a deafening tidal wave of noise. The Cadets see this as the perfect opportunity to literally beat up a blind guy.
One slams into his ribs. Another cracks him across the back with his cane. The third kicks the back of his knee, dropping him down. His cane clatters to the ground. For the first time, he looks vulnerable. The cadets finally snag their zephyr. But as they prepared to fire, the sound blares, and they realize that he held them off that long, a dry chuckle came from the blind guy, and he shrugs as he lies on the ground.
“Hey, you win some, you lose some.”
———
“Galpin's cabin's approximately two and a half miles east from the camp. Be on alert for our black-winged tormentor's return.” Wednesday enters (Y/n) and Ajax’s tent, Ajax was away and (Y/n) sits on a wooden crate, shirt tugged open, cane leaning against the wall. His lip is split, a bruise forming on his jaw. He dabs at the blood with a rag, but his hands shake slightly — exhaustion creeping in.
A shadow falls over him.
“You missed a spot.” She takes the cloth from him without asking,
“You sound disappointed I’m still alive.”
“If I were disappointed, I’d let you bleed.”
There’s a beat of silence. She tilts his chin toward her, inspecting the cut. Her brows knit the faintest bit — almost imperceptible, but he hears the flutter of her lashes, that nervous tic. “Besides, I need you alive and in somewhat working condition.
“If we leave now, we can get back before anyone realizes we've gone.”
———
The cabin is abandoned, dust motes floating in the stale air. The floorboards creak with each step. Wednesday carries her flashlight, her eyes scanning every corner with surgical precision. (Y/n) trails slightly behind, cane tapping in front of him, head tilted like he’s listening to the room breathe. The two continue to search for whatever they could to help their investigation.
“Charming. Mold, rot, and a faint smell of desperation. Almost like home.” Wednesday said. (Y/n) runs his fingers along the wall, pausing at a cracked mirror hanging crookedly. His hand lingers, tracing the edges.
“This mirror… it doesn’t sound right.”
“Mirrors rarely sound like anything.”
He taps his cane gently against the rim of the mirror Instead of the dull thud of solid wood, it produces a faint hollow echo. He smiles faintly.
“Not this one. There’s space behind it.”
Wednesday steps closer, studying it with narrowed eyes. She presses against the mirror frame, and with a subtle click, the mirror shifts. A hidden compartment swings open with a groan of old hinges, multiple Obituaries. All leading to one name.
“Patricia Redcar, Bronte Wigan, Julian Meiojas. These are all Outcast obituaries. Some died more than 15 years ago. All Willow Hill patients.”
“This is what Galpin was searching for? All obituaries of patients of where Tyler’s held, but… why?”
"Lois." Wednesday said, and (Y/n) raised an eyebrow. “All the obituaries have red lines drawn towards them. “If she's the one targeting Outcasts, Enid could be her next victim.”
“But, it doesn’t make sense, why target Enid? why target outcasts? And Lois? Is she, is she the woman behind all of this?”
“Goody's book is the only way to get my ability back. I've asked nicely. It's time to try something more pointed.” Wednesday says, and (Y/n) looks at her with concern.
“Just.. what do you have planned?” He said, and Wednesday prepared her final gambit.
Morticia returned back to Camp to freshen up her already dark demeanor, and her bat like hearing did come in handy as she turned around to the titular couple.
“(Y/n), Wednesday, you two missed all the campfire activities.”
“Then my timing is perfect.”
“Are you here to talk?”
“We don't solve anything in this family with words. We do it with deeds. Most of them dirty. Case in point, your theft of Goody's book. I'm giving you one last chance to return it to me.” Wednesday said, noticing the boiling animosity. He took a step back.
“You know I won't do that. Then you leave me no choice. I'm challenging you to a duelo-a-ciegas.” Wednesday said, the slightest crack of a smirk came from Morticia.
“You want to cross blades in a blind duel? I feel your grandmama's bony fingerprints all over this gambit. I know you two have been talking. She used to pit me against Ophelia in the same way.”
“This has nothing to do with Grandmama. It has to do with you crossing boundaries. We duel tonight, under the full moon. Do you accept my challenge?”
“Wait, you two are doing what?” (Y/n) said.
“Sweetheart, Wednesday and I are going to sword fight in the woods and settle our differences.”
“Ah… knew I was going crazy.” Morticia leaves to prepare and Wednesday turned to (Y/n).
“So, you’re going to sword fight your mom. I mean who am I to judge just, be careful.”
“I’ll be fine, I’ve watched your moves long enough to give her a challenge.”
“I knew I was a good influence on you. So, then to give you one last gift.” He hands her his cane. She twists the handle and hears the click of the blade. “You win back your book now, I need to get some rest anyway I love—“ he stated but stops when she leans forward. The kiss is brief, sharp, but deliberate. A brush of her lips against his, held just long enough to prove it was no mistake.
When she pulls back, her expression is unreadable, but her dark eyes linger on his.
“I, uh.. yeah.” He clears his throat. “Be, be seeing you.” He rushes out, trying to hide a giddy smile.
He stepped out and walked back to his tent but, a sense of dread hit him. Something was wrong, the faint sounds of sirens close in, police cars, the faint sounds of chains echo. Somebody truly had had happened.
“Unfortunately, Im no closer to saving Enid. I'm exposed to a predator that's always watching. Hiding in plain sight, unfortunately my lack of sight is really holding me back, but they’ve got their eyes on me Waiting for the right time to strike. Time is running out on this investigation. Why was Galpin keeping track of deceased Outcasts? Who is Lois? And how is she tied to Enid's doom? Unfortunately it seems that the only connecting thing is; Willow Hill.”
Bitterly Beautiful II Finale: “Eye Love You, Wednesday Addams.”
Wednesday Addams X Male Reader
All Good Things Must Come to a harrowing end, wouldn’t you agree? The conclusion to the dark finale
“William Faulkner said, "The past is never dead. "It's not even the past." In fact, it's all still happening. If Isaac's goal is to save his sister, why kidnap (Y/n)? What does a brain-eating genius need with my Somehow Genius but half-wit Partner?”
“Any idea why someone would kidnap him?”
Office Santiago was inside the main office, with the Addams. Morticia and Gomez were obviously upset, Pugsley couldn’t force himself to look at Wednesday.
“It's a total mystery, Sheriff.” Gomez says.
“Could this be some kind of revenge?” She replies, which Raised the ire of Morticia.
“Are you blaming us for his kidnapping?” She said, Santiago simply shook her head.
“The search parties will run through the night. Parents who were at the gala have already left with their kids. All other students will be packed up and on their way home by tomorrow afternoon. Unfortunately his guardians across the world so, a message has been sent. It seems you’re the closest to Family he has..” she explained and left.
As the family departs Morticia caught up with Wednesday.
“I sent your father and Lurch out to join the search parties.” She said, but Wednesday wasn’t having it.
“They won't find him. Isaac's too smart.” She said, and Weems approached, looking at both of them.
“You need to work together, and to pool your psychic abilities to locate him.” Weems said.
“My mother is a Dove who's blind to malevolence, and my psychic ability is currently on an unauthorized leave of absence.” Wednesday fired back, and Weems approached it, differently.
“That's why you must turn to the other Raven in your family.” She said, and Wednesday turned to her Mother, knowing what she means.
Morticia and Wednesday met up with Grandmama, who was less than interested about helping them. The trio sit inside the cottage at the circular table, mortica at center, Hester on one end and Wednesday at the other.
“Mama, I appreciate you coming back on such short notice.” Morticia said, but Hester rolls her eyes.
“Why would anyone bother kidnapping Him? Granted those eyes could level a forest into a fine graveyard, if they wanted that, just gouge the boys eyes out.” She said, and gets a glare from Wednesday.
“His kidnapper isn't looking for ransom money. He's being used as a pawn to keep us away, or a ploy to draw us in.” Wednesday said, and Hester chuckled.
“So many delightful memories of this room.
I can still hear the terrified shrieks of my classmates during Rotwood's Advanced Possession Class. Scaredy-cats.” She said, mortica extends her hands and Hester took one, her eyes turn to Wednesday.
“This does require actual physical connection.” She spoke, and Wednesday reluctantly took her mother’s hand.
“Now we must clear our minds of all past grievances.” Morticia began, and Hester grumbled.
“My past grievances are like fine wine. They get better with age.” Hester said, “Likewise.” Wednesday chimed in. Morticia decided to ignore that and simply concentrate.
“Doves and Ravens together ignite With wings of darkness and piercing eyes Guide us to truth through night and morn To this let our powers be sworn—“
“I didn't drive all this way to hold hands in the dark. How long do we have to keep this up?”
“Mama! For once just be quiet. We're trying to find (Y/n).” Morticia said, and halted.
“I feel something.”
“I feel it too.”
“Do you sense it, Wednesday?” Morticia asked, and a sudden shock of light catches Wednesday as a vision finally came before her. It was long ago, her Mother and Father, former Nevermore students burying a body. Under the same tree Issac was buried.
“Hurry, Gomez!”
“No one will ever know we were here.”
Those haunting voices cascaded into her mind and she snapped back into reality.
“I saw you and Father burying Isaac under the Skull Tree back when you were students. If there was ever a time to unburden yourself of the truth, now is it.” Wednesday said to her mother. She didn’t seem Keen on answering but Wednesday spoke up.
“Your hesitation and weakness is wasting more time, Every moment you keep silent is another moment he suffers. Your stubbornness is wasting time I don’t have to lose.” She said, Morticias face twisted and she sighs, and begins to speak.
“The night of Isaac's accident, your father and I were at his laboratory in Iago Tower. Isaac was certain his machine would permanently cure Francoise. That she would never again live in fear of turning into a Hyde. But the machine required a great amount of energy to power it. And for that, Isaac turned to his best friend.”
“…Father.” Wednesday said.
“What could Gomez have possibly contributed?” Hester asks.
“Back then, Gomez was just as electrifying as Pugsley. And Gomez was more than happy to help his friend. But Isaac tricked him. He needed more than a spark. Unbeknownst to Francoise, Isaac was willing to sacrifice your father's life to save hers. He even dug your father's grave under the Skull Tree in preparation. By the time I arrived, my darling Gomez was close to death. My sabotage sent the machine into a frenzy. Francoise, she survived the explosion, but Isaac didn't. And as for your father, the experience permanently robbed him of his Outcast ability…” Morticia explained, Hester and Wednesday were surprised by all of this, the truth.
“Why cover it up?” Wednesday asked. “Because Augustus Stonehurst threatened us! We knew he built Isaac the lab in secret.!If we breathed a word, he would've turned us in for murder…”
“So you buried Isaac in the same grave he intended for Father?”
“Yes. Isaac must be trying again. This time using (Y/n) as the power source, his eyes are a portal to infinite power..”
“But That Addams headstone, the one I saw in my premonition, it said one of us dies. He’s not an Addams.”
“Tell me, my raven. Do you love him?” She asked.
Wednesday freezes. Her mouth opens slightly, then closes. She turns her gaze aside, jaw tightening. For the first time in a long time, her words fail her.
“I…“
Morticia glides closer, her hand brushing against Wednesday’s cheek with maternal tenderness. Wednesday doesn’t flinch — for once, she doesn’t resist.
Then it is time you came to your own conclusions. As far as I am concerned, (Y/n) is already one of us. He is family. A stalwart, valiant soul who would bleed for you without hesitation. A lover so devoted he makes even your father proud, a famous man once said that if a man has not found something he is willing to die for, he is not fit to live. He knows this, and still is beside you to the very end, it seems you have given him something he couldn’t give himself.” Morticia said, Wednesday couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes until she had to speak.
“What could I have given him?”
“Something to live for…” Morticia replied, but her eyes are a bit sullen. “I think it's best that you, Pugsley and Thing go with Grandmama until he is found.”
“For once, your mother and I are in agreement.” Grandmama chimed in.
“These are our sins, Wednesday.”
We will face them, and we will bring him back, he shouldn’t suffer for our choices..” Morticia said.
———
(Y/n) sits bound to a wooden chair, wrists lashed tight, and a thick leather strap forcing his eyes closed. He tilts his head slightly, listening. In the distance, Issac’s voice drones on about the machine, about power, about stripping the outcasts of what makes them… themselves. He couldn’t tell where he was, but it smelled.
“You think this is gonna stop Wednesday or me? Cute?” He said. Issac slowly turned his attention to (Y/n). “And yet, here you are. Bound. Helpless. You’ll fuel my machine, whether you spit venom or not. Do you want your last words wasted on defiance?”
(Y/n) scoffs, “Listen carefully, because I’ll only say this once. If you lay your necrotic hands on Wednesday, I’ll feed you your own heart.“
Issac stills, the cruel smile faltering for just a moment. Until a hard punch to the nose knocks (Y/n) hard, blood drips as he coughs. Issac walks over to a board. It has photos of Tyler with his dad, better times it seems, before all of this, before the nightmare.
“I wish I was at least in one of these pictures.” Francious said, Issac approached.
“I never understood your desire for a Normie life. But... knowing what Stonehurst did to you in that lab... Neither of us got the end that we deserved, but That changes tonight.” He said, and she looked at him.
“Promise me, no matter what happens, you'll do it. What we discussed. I need your word…” silence was the signal for something. Suddenly Tyler made his return.
“I made Hyde tracks about 20 miles north and dropped part of his costume, then made an anonymous tip like you said.”
“Good, huh?”
“That'll keep the cops off our trail. Now, it's time to position your old flame onto the board.”
“Wednesday will know she's being played.”
“Definitely smarter than all of you.” (Y/n) chimed in. “Cover his ears next time.” Issac said with venom.
————-
Wednesday, Agnes and Enid look over the slowly thinning crowd of Nevermore students. “Is (Y/n) okay?” Enid asks, so much worry in her voice.
“Still missing. But he's alive..” Wednesday said, she could see the worry on her face. “(Y/n)’s fine, it would take more than a zombie and two Hyde’s to kill him. Isaac is hellbent on saving his sister. I know he needs (Y/n). Just need to figure out when and where.”
“Crap. He's here.” Agnes said, which sent alarm bells in Enid’s brain.
“Who? Isaac?”
“No. My dad.” Agnes said, and looks more invisible emotionally than physically.
“He usually sends some rando assistant to collect me.”
“Your mom couldn't come get you?” Enid asked.
“She's busy with her new Normie husband and baby, I was the mistake that kept her and my dad together long past their sell-by date.”
“Gunpowder, penicillin, the rack. Those were all mistakes.” Wednesday said.
“I just want to say that I love us. We're like the three musketeers.” Agnes smiled, Wednesday gave a side eye.
“Careful…” she said, as that third slots still taken, and still very much alive.
“Agnes!” Someone called out to the girl and she shifts uncontrollably.
“Bye. See you next year.” Agnes leaves and Enid turned to Wednesday.
“I wish I could help, but I have to get to the Lupin cages. Capri read me the riot act. Lock in early and stay calm. So I have my meditation app, my fave playlist, and an extra supply of colloidal silver.” Enid says, and Wednesday looked her up and down only for an instant. “It’s fine, besides (Y/n) would rather you take care of yourself than risk saving him, and I know he’d never forgive me if I made you come with me.”
“That sounds like him.” Enid gave a sad smile. “When you two come back, you’ll let me out, right?” Enid said. “We will be there first thing in the morning to let you out.” Wednesday gave Enid that sense of reassurance, and left, bumbling into Officer Santiago.
“Wednesday, I'm on my way to see your parents. A hiker found part of his costume. I'm redeploying the search from Jericho to Burlington.”
“Sounds like a ploy to draw you off the scent.”
“I follow evidence, not hunches.” She said, which would be a foolish endeavor. Wednesday watched him leave and turns back to The Office, which has Weems sitting at her Desk.
“Finally, I get my office back. Dort's crashing downfall has validated my legacy. The board will now look back upon the Weems era with fondness. Nevermore clearly needs a steady hand on the rudder. A leader of impeccable moral character!” Weems said.
“..You covered up Rowan's murder and the existence of a Hyde.” Wednesday said very flatly, Weems just pushed it away.
“Mistakes were made. But that's all in the past, oh.. here comes your brother.” She says as Pugsley is standing nervously before her, clutching a small wooden box with both hands.
“He… he gave it to me. Said if I didn’t deliver it straight to you… if I told anyone else… he’d kill (Y/n). I didn’t know what to do, Wednesday…”
Wednesday reaches out, her pale hand hovering over the box for a moment before she takes it. The air feels heavier instantly, as if the object itself carries a curse. She slowly lifts the lid.
Inside were glasses, the signature black, round lenses that (Y/n) wears, now shattered and streaked with dried blood. The metal is bent, twisted like it had been torn from his face.
Wednesday’s gaze narrows, but her fingers tremble slightly as she lifts the cracked frames. Beneath them lies something worse:
A smeared, crimson scrawl across the bottom of the box. Not ink. Not paint. Blood. His blood.
It reads:
“My grave, tonight.”
“Go back to mother. Now!” Wednesday said. It seems that now is her chance.
The moon is veiled by a thick quilt of clouds. Wind hisses through the treeline, and there — shadows emerge. Wednesday waits, her posture straight as stone, her black boots blending into the gloom. “Isaac thinks he can lure me out to finish me off.” She thinks.
Near some trees, Thing is ready to take a shot with a crossbow. Wednesday already has this planned. Out of the woods, Issac steps, a cruel smile pulling at his lips.
Beside him, (Y/n) stumbles forward, shackled at the wrists, a thick leather strap across his eyes. His usually stern posture is gone, his body sluggish and trembling. Issac jerks a chain tethered to his restraints, leading him like a broken animal.
Amazing, isn’t it, what a little cocktail of chemistry can do? Bit of Xylazine in the bloodstream and Turns your feral little friend into a tame gelding. Horse tranquilizers — a marvel of modern science against people stronger than you.”
He tugs the chain again, and (Y/n) stumbles to his knees, coughing. His lips move, but only a hoarse murmur escapes. He can’t summon his usual jokes or quips, his raspy breath was the only sound he was alive. Wednesday stared, an uncouth rage building.
“Tyler warned me you were formidable. And now I've witnessed the havoc you can wreak.” Issac jokes, Wednesday holds her composure.
“Give me my… Boyfriend, crawl back into your hole, and stay dead this time. I know what you did to my father.” Wednesday said, but Issac fired with rage.
“Yet I'm the one who died! Thanks to him and your dear mother. Why don't you let your bitter half pay for their mistakes, and we'll call it even? Your meddlesome lover parents were my downfall, so it’s only fair I take your heart.”
“You don't have the machine. Willow Hill and Iago Tower have been destroyed. It would take months to rebuild. By the time you did, it'd be too late to save your sister.” Wednesday said, and thing had the shoot and took it. Issac predicted it and lifted his “hand” up. Which caught the bolt, and Tyler was also there, snagging Thing
“I... I applaud the effort. You keep me talking while your faithful right hand takes his shot.” Issac laughs, and Wednesday is forced to watch as Tyler drags things over and Issac removes his glove, showing his bare wrist.
“Except he's never been yours. He's mine.
Turns out your parents didn't kill all of me that night.
ISSAC NIGHT
NIGHT, replace a few letters
THING!
Wednesday stared at him deadpan.
“Cute…”
“L…lame..” (Y/n) was able to mutter that single word.
“Imagine my surprise when I saw my right hand wandering the halls of Willow Hill without me. And a DaVinci... is nothing without his right hand. Your mother cut it off. Causing my machine to go out of control and explode. The power surge must have somehow animated my hand.”
“In your case, the part is greater than the whole.” Wednesday fired, but could only watch as the switches from thing slowly unravel and attack themselves to Issac, as thing, dissipates into the mind of madness.
“Now I am complete. The Addams family ends tonight. Starting with you.” Issac uses his power, a sense of force yanked Wednesday by the neck, lifting her up. The hole that Issac crawled out of opens back up and Issac hurls Wednesday inside, and buries her alive. The roots succumb around her and finally, it seems all is well for the Galpin family.
“We have an appointment at Iago Tower.” Issac leaves and Tyler follows, leaving Wednesday buried alive and (Y/n) dragged off to meet his maker. Little did they know, Agnes was watching, she rushed off into the dark back to Nevermore as there was only one more person who could save them.
Agnes rushes into the Lupin cages, Enid is there, still trying to calm down. But the time for calm has faded.
“Enid! I need you.” Agnes called out, the sound was barely enough for Enid to hear and she turned, her eyes went wide at Agnes and she quickly removed her headphones.
“Agnes? I thought you left.”
“I couldn't abandon Wednesday. So I ditched my dad when he stopped for gas. Isaac buried Wednesday under the Skull Tree. And I can't dig her out.”
“What? Oh my God. Where's Thing?”
“Longer story. I'll fill you in on the way. We haven't got much time!”
Agnes and Enid rush to the scene, the moonlight slowly peering past the clouds as the two are desperately clawing at the dirt to save Wednesday.
“Wednesday, we're here! Hang on!” Enid plants her ear on the dirt.
“I hear a heartbeat, but it's weak. We aren't gonna get to her in time.” Enid said, and looks at her hands. And had one chest, her nails began to grow and Agnes looked at her.
“…You won't be able to turn back. You're an Alpha.” She said, but there was no other choice, Enid closed her eyes.
“I can't let them die…” she said, and Agnes watched as Enid transformed, perhaps once and for all. The massive blonde wolf tore though the dirt and dug Wednesday up who stayed in her coffin like pose.
“Wednesday, wake up. Wake up! Please. Please.” Agnes pleaded, silence came, until Wednesday’s cold, dead eyes open.
“I enjoyed that…” she said, her eyes went left to see the werewolf before her.
“…Enid?”
“..It was the only way to save you.” Agnes admits, Enid snarled and ran off into the forest. Wednesday ever the quick witted turns to Agnes.
“Go track her. Now!” She gave the order, Agnes follows suit.
————
“It's all still here. Good.”
(Y/n) was yanked to Iago tower and tossed into the ground, Issac looks around at all of his old equipment in shambles.
“How are we gonna put this junk back together?” Tyler asked
“We're not. I am.” Issac flexes his new hand, power echoes from it and the knocked over and tossed machinery begins to move on its own, slowly but surely coming back to its original form.
“Secure the power source.” Issac said, and Tyler did as ordered, strapping the slowly recovering (Y/n) to the same chair he did Gomez, roughly slammed the helmet on his head.
“I've been waiting for this moment for 30 years.” Issac said, and Tyler tightens the bonds on his wrist
“We're about to fry your battery.” Tyler said, and Issac’s plan was about to unfold, he looks at his sister and did as asked, Tyler’s body was suddenly yanked and slammed upon the table, his arms and legs were strapped down and now Tyler was the focus of the project.
“Wait! What are you doing? Mom, we're here to save you.” He said, “It's too late for me, sweetie. This is your time now. We can save you from this life.nGive you a fresh start.” She replied.
“No, no, you have no right to take my power from me!” He yelled, but Issac didn’t care He throws a lever. Instantly, (Y/n) body jerks. Light bursts from his eyes in violent, ragged beams, as it tears under his eyelids until the leather breaks, His scream rips through the tower, guttural and raw. The beams bend, focus, then the power it’s producing lurches outward—into Tyler, chained to the opposite end of the device.
Tyler convulses, his Hyde form ripping in and out of existence like a stuttering flame. The machine shrieks louder.
(Y/n) thrashes against the straps, teeth clenched, his skin blistering where the restraints sear him. His voice is hoarse but defiant.
“Wed…nes…stay…” his voice was desperately calling for any sense of safety, perhaps it was his last dying words, the only thing that fueled him was drive. And in a last ditch effort turned his eyes and blasted whatever was in his path, which was Tyler’s mother. In a flash of light, a tearing of heat and energy the blast hit her and knocked over another machine. But it was still sapping what life he had dry. Issac grinned, his plan finally working and now it seemed fate is on his side, until a bolt of lightning strikes him, sizzles and knocks him into the wall. (Y/n) was slowly losing it all until Foosteos echo and a painf of hands grip his, Pugsley.
“(Y/n)!” He called out as he undoes his straps. “You have to try and close your eyes!”
Just as this Happens Wednesday took the chance She leaps from the catwalk, landing near the console. Her eyes scan it—dials, levers, gauges screaming in the red. There’s only one option.
She seizes the axe leaning against a tool chest. With one sharp swing, she buries the axe in the heart of the console. A horrific CRACK of shattering glass. The console erupts—splitting into shards that fling outward like knives. A shockwave explodes through the barn, white light engulfing everything. The smoke finally began to settle, it seems Gomez, Morticia and Pugsley came to help. The Addams family in force to save their own.
One one side was (Y/n) in ground, unresponsive, and On the other side, Tyler, who seems to have finally.. perished.
Wednesday barely recovered as Issac used his telepathy to choke Wednesday, the ringing in her ears slowly fading.
“Because of you, I lost the only person I ever truly loved.”
“It's over. Let my daughter go.” Gomez pleaded with
“Sorry, old friend. Now you two will know what real pain feels like.nOne more step, and I snap her neck!” He said, but it seems he forgot the last member of the Addams Family. Issac felt a tap of a hand and he turned.
In a blur, a thunderous right hook slams into Issac’s jaw. The crunch echoes like a thunderclap, sending Issac sprawling back. Before Issac can recover, (Y/n) is on him—an animal, all pain and rage unleashed. He slams him against a wall and cocks his fist back. And puches, but he goes for the Heart.
He digs his fingers into Issac’s chest. Metal shrieks. Sparks fly. With a sickening rip, he tears the mechanical heart—still pumping, glowing faintly—from Issac’s ribcage.
Issac gurgles, his body convulsing in horror, and stumbled for a moment.
“Remember what I said?”
(Y/n) with little hesitation shoves the heart into his mouth. Tearing what flesh he had left with the metal gears of his very beating life. Issac’s eyes bulge as he thrashes, gagging on the very thing that kept him alive.
Wednesday watched the Horror show and the uncanny smile that crept along her lips was iconic, Issac screamed His body spasms violently—then collapses in the ground. Lifeless. The metal heart clatters from his mouth, still faintly twitching.
(Y/n) stood over him, swaying, covered in ash, blood, and machine oil. His breathing is ragged, his fists trembling, until it all finally hit him. And he collapsed onto the floor.
————
“What have you been able to figure out?”
Wednesday stood across Agnes as she showed her photos, night vision of, something..
“This was on a wildlife cam this morning.”
“That's Enid.” Wednesday said.
“She was heading north, just five miles from the Canadian border.”
“What about Capri? Was she able to provide intel that could tell us where Enid is going?”
“She's MIA. Probably on the hunt for her next job, now that Nevermore is nevermore…” Agnes said, and her eyes trail to Wednesday. “And (Y/n)?” She asked, Wednesday didn’t answer, she simply walked off, Agnes followed her tracks and saw she was heading to a corner, and someone waiting.
(Y/n) is sitting on an old stone bench near the courtyard, his posture unusually calm. His new glasses catch the sunlight, square and darker than his last pair. He turns his head slightly as Wednesday approaches, almost as if he sensed her before he heard her.
“You know, most people would bring flowers or soup. You’re just staring at me expecting me to die or something, Very on brand.”
“Your survival is miracle enough. I won’t cheapen it with pleasantries.”
He chuckles, a tired sound, but genuine. For a long moment, they sit in companionable silence, listening to the faint rustle of trees.
“So, I should uh.. tell you what the nurse said but, it’s better if you do.”
“What?” Wednesday asked, he turned his head to face her, “Please.. if you trust me, take my glasses off.” He asked, Wednesday turns her head, watching him carefully. He adjusts his glasses and, after a beat, Wednesday reached and slowly removes them. He slowly opens his eyes, and His eyes are pale pewter grey—lifeless, like stone polished too smooth. Hollow, but still undeniably his. Wednesday doesn’t flinch, though her gaze lingers on his eyes. It wasn’t until she saw his eyes lock with hers.
“Yeah, Machine sapped my powers, doctors don’t know how long or even if it can come back.” He says, not the worst part.” He said.
“No color, it’s just.. black, white and.. million shades of grey.” He admits, from his perspective the clouds are always grey, the sky never blue. The golden sun now an endless end of white. He looks at his hands, no skin color just, grey.
“Monochromacy. Damage to the cone cells or neural pathways. Your vision has been reduced to black, white, and shades between.” Wednesday explained.
“Trust you to turn my tragedy into a science lecture.” He leans back against the bench, forcing a half-smile, though his voice cracks just slightly.
“I suppose my ‘usefulness’ is gone… do you still care for me?“ he asked, almost a bit worried.
The silence hangs heavy. He almost regrets asking, the words feeling pitiful the moment they leave his lips. Wednesday, seated with arms crossed, stares at him. Her face remains unreadable, but her voice cuts with her usual icy precision.
“You’re an imbecile. Do you honestly think I’m so shallow that my affection hinges on whether or not you can incinerate things with your eyes? If that were true, I’d have kept a flamethrower by my side instead of you.”
“Well.. I mean—“
Wednesday leans closer, her tone colder, sharper — and yet, beneath it, there’s something fragile.
“I…I care for you, (Y/n). Not because of your abilities. Not because of what you can do. I care for you because you are intolerably stubborn, endlessly irritating, and, somehow, despite all of that, you’re mine. That has not changed. It will not change. You are more than adequate partner, (Y/n). I may lack experience in such matters, true, and my standards are… unusually severe. You are not one in a million. You are one in infinity.” She said. A warm chuckle came from (Y/n) and he looked at her, truly.
“I love you, Wednesday Addams.” He said, and Wednesday understood what her mother finally meant.
“And, I love you, (Y/n) Healy.” She said in response, he looked back at the sky.
“So, Enid’s where now?”
“Nearing the Canadian Border.”
“Well, guess I’m not going home, I'm always up for a road trip.” He says.
“In what vehicle?” She asked, and he stands up and cups his lips. Then — the whistle. A sharp, haunting sound that carried like a shrill. At first, silence. Then the ground itself seemed to hum, the air thinning, growing colder. From the road ahead, mist began to coil and shape itself, the faint sound of hooves echoing where there was no path.
A spectral steed emerged — its body a shifting mass of smoke and bone, its mane like burning smoke drifting in the night. It pawed at the earth, though its hooves left no mark, waiting only for (Y/n)’s command. “One thing Aunt Doriann left me. Didn’t have much use since, you know, can’t see where I’m going.. but now.”
Wednesday’s eyes flicked to him, unreadable but approving in their way. “Always one for theatrics,” she muttered.
He gave a tired smile, reaching for her hand to steady himself as he swung into the saddle. “Better than Uber. Doubt they’d help two minors ride to Canada to get our wolf sister. Now, are you with me, my love?” He smiles, Wednesday took his hand.
She joined him, settling in close. For once, she didn’t pull away. Her gaze fixed on the horizon, where Enid’s trail led into the woods, her cold but firm arms wrap around his waist.
“Let’s bring her home.”
And with that, the steed reared back, screaming like a banshee, before it galloped into the night, carrying them both toward their family.
Another year at Nevermore ends in carnage and chaos. Unanswered questions hover like vultures. As for my parents, their smiles don't erase their lies. Was my mother's gift of Ophelia's diary an act of trust, or silent desperation? First we must find Enid. I gave her my word. But who exactly will return by my side? My friend? Or the beast that's consumed her? My Love has lost his power, but not his soul, he’s annoyingly persistent. I love it. Secrets are the bedrock of the Addams family. Toxic and festering just below the surface. As we venture into the unknown, I am determined to exhume every lie and deception, or die trying. Sounds like a perfect vacation to me.
Bitterly Beautiful II, Part II: The Apple of My Eye
“Wednesday, hurry!”
“This is all your fault.”
“Wednesday...”
“Wednesday... I died because of you!”
“Enid!” Wednesday awakens in a shock, even for her. Her mascara lining her face as the blood leaked from her eye. She was in the cottage her family is currently staying near Nevermore.
“Enid's fine.” A voice said, Wednesday was on the couch as the voice was sitting in a chair. (Y/n) was that voice, he wore a dark turtleneck, beautiful grey peacoat coat and dark grey drawstring pants.
“She told me what happened.” He starts, Wednesday wasn’t very keen on this conversation but he continued.
“So when were you going to tell me?” He asked.
“(Y/n)—“
“Was it before or after it killed you? Were you going to take it to your grave as you usually do? Wednesday, we had an agreement, I.. keep our boundaries as is, no PDA in public unless explicitly insisted by you. And in return, all I ask is that you be honest with me if something is hurting you.” He leans in slightly.
“Im not forcing you to share every deep secret you have— trust me there’s probably millions, just— if something is hurting you, if something is going to happen, talk to me. Please.”
“Trust isn’t my strong suit. You knew that when you involved yourself with me.” She replied and he sighs.
“Yes, and I still love you all the same, secrets and all, but I’m going to pry if your hurting but you knew that when you involved yourself with me.” He said back, a jest.
“I.. I don’t expect you to open up instantly but things like this are important. When it comes to your ability, I asked you to be honest with me. It's psychic exhaustion. That's what happens when you abuse your power, can cause physical and mental damage if pushed too far—“
“I've harnessed it.” She replied.
“Congratulations, you harnessed a seizure.” He said sarcastically. He reaches into his Gucci peacoat and hands her a black handkerchief, she takes it to wipe her face.
“How do I get the tears to go away?” She asked, he stood up, taking his cane. “Unfortunately I don’t know, we had Druids who practiced Divination. They had trance like stages of visions but, none of an ailment for it. Just, rest up.” He asks, and Wednesday reluctantly agreed.
“So, what was your vision?” He asked.
“Crows.” She replied.
“Just like—“
“Yes, like the ones who killed that man.” Silence came, He walks to the door and Wednesday watches him.
“Where are you going?”
“An old.. well I can’t say friend, I guess to see what the old Sheriff dug up.” With that, he departed.
———
Galpins home was marked with the hate and vitriol of students and normies alike, cursing him and his family. (Y/n) knocked on the door to silence, he knocked a bit harder and the door opened by itself.
“Galpin!” He called out, silence. He walked into the living room and used his sonar senses to detect someone sitting down, he sniffs the air.
“Alcohol, Look I don't have time for your drunken stupors, want me to come back later?” He asked as he approached the man in the chair and came to a harrowing discovery
Former Sherrif Galpin, Dead.
His eyes plucked out like a—
BOOM, from the corpses agape mouth, a black squalor flew out, (Y/n) ducks as more came from his mouth, Crows, they shawl and screech and burst out windows to escape.
“Murdered by a murder of crows, that’s.. sadly poetic.” He approaches the body.
“While I hated you and your son, you did what you could as a father. I can respect that, rest in peace.” (Y/n) began to look around but the sound of police sirens blare from outside, (Y/n) rushed to the door but it was kicked down and guns aimed at him,
“Freeze! (Y/n) Healy, you're under arrest!” One officer said, (Y/n) drops his cane and slowly puts his hands up, this night went from a dreadful to a real nightmare.
———
(Y/n) sits calmly in the Sheriff’s office, his face looking slightly downward. His cane leaned gently against the desk. He had his fingers interlocked, waiting.
“What were you doing at Galpin's house?”
“He asked me to stop by.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“No, it was when we first reunited, ran into the old man. Decided he wanted to catch up, I mean.. What were you doing there, Sheriff?” (Y/n) turns the question around.
“Turns out, the last person to have his eyes pecked out called Galpin right before he died.”
“You remember him? Carl Bradbury? I wanted to know what they had discussed, but Galpin wasn't answering his cell. A phone that has since vanished. There was no trace when we searched Galpin's house. You wouldn't know anything about that?”
“What divine wisdom can you bestow upon me, that would have me, use a cellphone?” He asked, more silence until the sheriff changed topics. “And you were at both crime scenes. What aren't you telling me, Mr. Healy?”
“Volumes, no doubt.” A voice said, (Y/n) recognizes the tone and the voice, Gomez.
“You could dangle the boy over a volcano, wouldn’t break a sweat.”
“I'm allowed to question him, Mr. Addams.” She said, “You can sit back there, quietly.”
“I'm also his lawyer.” Gomez shows a card, which read “Gomez Addams, Attorney At Law. “And I don't do anything quietly. If you wish to speak to my client again, you'll need a court order.” He replied, (Y/n) smirks and stands up, taking his cane and leaving.
(Y/n) was riding back with Gomez and lurch, who was driving on the pale night.
“I was fixing my nightcap when Wednesday burst in. Almost choked on my olive. I've never seen my little viper so agitated.”
“Wednesday?” (Y/n) asks, “Over Me?” He said, surprised. “Yes, she does in her deep black pit of a heart cares, and of course as a member of the family, I can’t let my Son in Law rot in prison.”
“I.. thank you, sir.”
“Please, call me father.”
“Okay—“
“But, Why were you at his house?” Gomez asks, (Y/n) shifted moods.
“Are you asking as my lawyer or as my father-in-law?”
“From man to man, I can recognize when a fellow card player is keeping some aces up their sleeve. I respect that. But bluffing only gets you so far.” He says. (Y/n) sadly nods.
“I saw Galpin yesterday. He was working on a case, asked for my help, a case with Outcasts, that’s all I got before, well you know.” (Y/n) explained, Gomez nods.
“And Wednesday? Is she okay?” (Y/n) asks, Gomez nods. “A bit winded after her little outburst but she’s fine. She’ll be okay, and I trust you’ll make sure of that.”
“Absolutely, I’ll never do anything to put her danger.”
“It’s not the danger I’m worried about, just don’t break the little vipers heart. You won’t have me, or Lurch to worry about. Wednesday would bury you in a coffin with live scorpions.” Gomez said, which probably wasn’t a joke.
“I’d deserve it.” (Y/n) Gave a sad chuckle, and they dropped him back off at Nevermore, for a long nights rest.
———
“I don't know what's been happening with my psychic ability lately. There must be an answer in Goody's book.” Wednesday says to (Y/n) as they walk together to her room.
“In my last vision, Enid dies and it's all my fault.”
“I see… this vision, no time it gave?” He asked.
“No, but Somehow it's connected to those birds. No one else can know about this. Especially Enid. She's far too fragile to face her own impending doom.”
“I… yeah you got a point, if these crows and murders and your vision are all intertwined. Then it’s only fair for Holmes and Watson to get back together for another investigation.” He said.
“If you’re implying I am Watson, retract it immediately.”
“I didn’t say which one of us was which.” He points out. “But…”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Wednesday says.
“Oh, I would. You fit Watson perfectly — brilliant, obsessive, insufferable. Leaves me Holmes by default.” The duo open the door and the first thing Wednesday sees is, red, blood.
“Enid?” Wednesday says, and walks quickly, (Y/n) follows and sees just what Wednesday is worried about, Enid, lying on the outside of the room, a cut in her throat.
“Enid!”
Wednesday looked panic and (Y/n) sniffed the air. He knelt down and poked Enid in the forehead. Hard.
“Ow!” She said, which actually surprised Wednesday.
“What?” She said, (Y/n) points to the fake blood.
“Blood orange jam.” If you had a better nose you could have smelled the lack of actual blood.” He said and Enid laughs.
“Got ya! Happy Prank Day!”
“Prank Day?” Wednesday asked.
“It's an annual Nevermore tradition. You hadn't arrived last year when we did it.”
(Y/n) explained, which Enid found funny.
“The look on your face when you thought I was dead, that was priceless. I'll carry that memory to my grave.” Enid smiled.
“You might end up there sooner than you think.” Wednesday stabbed back.
“I was just getting you back for that fake eyeball on my pillow.”
“…What fake eyeball?” (Y/n) asks, (Y/n) and Wednesday are analyzing the eyeball. And (Y/n) turns to Wednesday.
“Does it.. look familiar?” He asked.
“I'd recognize this judgmental, beady blue-eye stare anywhere.” Wednesday said, Enid leans in.
“Ugh, it's so real looking. Where'd you get it?”
“I guess a, A little birdie must have dropped it off.”
“So, Are we going to talk about what happened last night at the pyre?” Enid asks,
“You freaked me out with the fainting spell and black tears.” Enid said,
“I'm fine.” Wednesday said.
“Wends..” (Y/n) starts, she wants to reply but Enid continues.
“If you were, Lurch wouldn't have had to carry you out of there. For someone who hates being the center of attention, you have a weird habit of attracting it.”
“I'd rather attract leprosy.”
“And that would be the deal breaker.” (Y/n) said, Wednesday glared at him.
“I know that being popular goes against everything Wednesday-core, but for the rest of us who also helped save the school, it is a nice silver lining.” Enid said.
“Then consider me your dark cloud.”
“Always.”
(Y/n) gave a slightly approving nod, but Enid’s face soon soured after she looks at her phone. “Um, I think your stalker's back, and they somehow have my cell number.”
Enid shows Wednesday a photo, and a Wednesday themed emoji, somehow.
“Call that number back.”
Enid does and the three listen to the line ringing.
“Hey, it's Donovan Galpin. Leave it at the beep.” Galpins voice came though the phone, leaving at a tone deaf beep.
“Why is Galpin stalking you on my phone?” Enid asks Wednesday and then she turns to (Y/n), “And why were you at his house?”.
“This isn't Galpin. He was, murdered, so This must be his killer.” (Y/n) said pretty flatly.
“What? Are you pranking me now?” Enid said, (Y/n) frowns, and Enid sighs, hard.
“I cannot believe it's only day two of the school year, and you already involved yourself in some grisly murder case. Maybe you're cursed. I feel really bad about Galpin, but I didn't even know him that well. If you could leave me out of this, that would be great. This is my fun and freedom era. I've sworn off all dead bodies this semester.” She begins to pack her bag for an outing.
“This is why you should stay in the dorm with Thing until I figure this out.” Wednesday said.
“You're the one being stalked by a killer. I have sharp teeth and claws, remember?
Also, I have my first driver's ed lesson this afternoon.” Enid says.
“You're learning to drive?” Wednesday, almost a bit in disbelief asks.
“Not all of us have chauffeurs.” Enid fired back, (Y/n), behind Wednesday gives a thumbs up. He’s proud of his pseudo little sister for having a pretty decent comeback.
——-
Prank Day was about as fun as expected for a blind man, being the butt in very simple and sometimes a bit mean spirited pranks.
A couple of first-year Nevermore students nervously approach him, armed with silly string, or maybe it’s a concoction of gasoline and antifreeze, he couldn’t tell
“Dude, if we get him, we’ll be legends. Nobody’s cracked him all day.”
They creep closer. (Y/N) tilts his head slightly.
“Here we go again.”
Before the students can spray, a familiar face suddenly swoops in and yanks the cans away from them.
“Really? The Blind guy? You two couldn’t pick literally anyone else to mess with?”
The students scatter like scared pigeons. The girl rolls her eyes and plops down next to next.
“Some things never change. You’re still the straight man in every joke.” She said, and he remembered that voice.
“Bit presumptuous to assume i couldn’t handle them Yoko.” He said, the vampire smiled as she looked out to Nevermore.
She nudges him with her shoulder.
“Of course, one of the two who saved Nevermore, they should be worshipping you.”
“That’s what I told Wednesday, man, she doesn’t get the idea of having a legion of outcasts at our beck and whim.” (Y/n) shook his head. Yoko smirked, seeing (Y/n) this, animated about it all, Wednesday somehow brings the best and worst out of him.
“So how is Nevermores power couple anyway?”
“It’s, trying… how’s divina?”
“Going strong, she’s finishing some community service work in London before coming back.”
“London?”
“Siren school.”
“Ooooooh.” (Y/n) nods, “Makes sense. Wednesdays still, stubborn but so am I, love her to death and back.”
“You always seems to be happier when she’s around.” Yoko points out, “So where is Wednesday?”
“She’s… huh. I don’t know, I mean she’s been a bit busy— we all are. It’s just been stressful.”
“Okay, don’t want me to put more pressure on you, you be safe, okay man?” Yoko pats his shoulder and gets up to leave.
He walks past Enid who looks a bit worried, “Enid? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find my drivers Ed consent form, maybe I left it in class, I’ll be back.” She runs off as (Y/n) slowly puts two and two together. Wednesday left again, but this time he can’t catch her. But, he has one option left.
(Y/n) enters slowly, tracing the walls with one hand, his cane tucked under the other. He kneels near Wednesday’s desk, searching carefully.
He runs his hand across the wood and finds a drawer, he opens it — one of her black ribbons, neatly folded. Just as he closes his fingers around it, Thing drops onto the desk with a loud thud, startling him.
“…Really? Guard duty?”
Thing crosses his fingers like arms, tapping irritably.
“Hey I’m not some pervert you know me—Listen. I’m not stealing for selfish gain. This is for a ritual — one I’ve never attempted before. A way to… project myself beyond this blind shell.”
(Y/n) then holds up the ribbon.
“This—her ribbon—will be my anchor. With it, I can leave my body, find her, and give her a piece of my mind.”
Thing gestures quickly, as if asking why now?
“Because I’m not going to sit idly by while she constantly oversteps. This way, I’ll be able to find her. Wherever she is. Even if she doesn’t want me there.”
Thing hesitates, fingers drumming thoughtfully. Then, with a slow motion, he gives (Y/n) a ’hurry up’ wave, almost begrudgingly approving.
He kneels on the floor, drawing the ritual circle with chalk, placing the ribbon in its center. Thing scuttles closer, watching as (Y/n) lights candles and begins chanting in a whisper. The candles flare, shadows stretching unnaturally across the walls. He begins to recite in dark whispers the spell, his body trembled and he threw his head back, and his body suddenly leans forward, his mind raced like a speed demon through the world and it locked onto a single person.
His body trembles, his eyes clenched shut — then his breathing slows, and his ghostly form peels away from his body, fading from the room.
———
Wednesday was in Jersey, and placed a package and item down on a desk, after essentially robbing Enid of her Drivers Ed course.
“I'm here to see Tyler Galpin.”
“Hey, Ross, check it out. Another one of those weirdo fangirls who's got the hots for the Hyde. Quit wasting our time, and find something else to obsess over. You know, like, uh, boy bands or puppies.” One guard joked.
“Call your supervisors and tell them Wednesday Addams is here. That's Addams with two Ds, like "padded room." She said.
Wednesday steps through the metal detector. The Guard waves her forward. She removes her badge and continues, heels echoing against sterile tile. The atmosphere hums with silence.
As she approaches a polished security glass panel, something flickers in the reflection — a pale figure walking beside her. Black hair. Familiar glasses. She freezes. Slowly, she turns her head — and there he is.
His figure half-transparent, flickering with faint ghostly light. He looks very annoyed.
“…(Y/n)?” She asks.
“Surprised to see me?” He replied and looks around. Wednesday steadies herself instantly, but her grip tightens on her visitor’s badge. She tries to mask it with her usual composure.
“Not surprised. Irritated.”
“Good. Because I’m irritated, too. You were going to walk into this alone. With him, without telling me?”
Wednesday starts walking again, trying to act as though nothing is unusual under the fluorescent lights, but her eyes flicker back to his ghostly form, still unnerved despite herself, she looks back once more and he disappears.
“You’ve been practicing. New tricks.”
“My aunt taught it to me, always a chance I’d end up hurtling my soul into limbo but I had to take it when I found out you left, again.”
She glances again at his reflection in another glass panel as the Guard buzzes her through the door. For a second, the way his ghostly form lingers in the glass makes it feel like a horror movie — like he’s haunting her mind.
“Don’t worry, nobody else can see or hear me, so I’ll do my best to make you look insane.”
——
Wednesday sits at the desk of the head administrator who looks too happy with her job.
“Jellybean?” She asks, (Y/n) was looking around, finally able to not vaporize something just with a glance.
“I'm impressed. As a stickler for proper form etiquette, you have left no box unchecked.”
“This isn't my first time with the criminally insane.”
“Won’t be your last.” (Y/n) quips as he leans on the desk, looking the lady up and down.
“I’m here for an intellectual exchange.” Wednesday says to the Administrator
“With a Hyde. Romantic.” (Y/n) jokes.
Wednesday’s fingers tighten against each other under the table. The Administrator doesn’t notice, still smiling while scribbling notes.
“It’s wonderful you’re keeping a healthy dialogue with our patients. That’s very important—“
“That’s very important.” Saints preserve me, she sounds like what shitty 90’s infomercials embody.”
Wednesday flicks her eyes toward him in a silent death glare. He smirks, unrepentant, and lounges in the Administrator’s chair, phasing through it like smoke.
“How long do I have?” Wednesday asks.
“Oh, visits conclude at 8pm sharp, dear. We don’t like to overstimulate our patients.”
“Overstimulate. Poor choice of words, don’t you think?” (Y/n) said as he smirks next to Wednesdays face. Wednesday snaps her head toward him, whispering under her breath before she can stop herself:
“Shut. Up.”
“…Pardon?” The Administrator Asks.
“I said… write that down.” Wednesday clears it up, “When can I see Tyler?”
“Ah, hold those pigtails. Dr. Fairburn will need to make that call.”
“Is that Tyler's handler?”
“Handler? We're not a zoo.”
“You're right. Zoos don't pretend that animals can change their nature with electroshock therapy and daily drսg cocktails.”
“Dr. Fairburn is the chief psychiatrist, and a pioneer in the field of Outcast mental health.
I have her book here somewhere.”
“Her book... Unlocking the Outcast Mind. It's required reading in medical schools around the country. She even inscribed it.”
“Is Dr. Fairburn an Outcast?”
“No. Why does that matter?”
“Oh, a doctor giving a diagnosis with zero understanding about just what they’re doing, fantastic.”
“Hello, Wednesday.” A voice called out, the two turn around to see a woman standing in the doorway.
“I'm Dr. Fairburn. Tyler has spoken of you often.” She said, Wednesday can literally feel the animosity burning from (Y/n).
“I hope my name leaves a bad taste in his mouth.” Wednesday replied, Which slightly quells (Y/n)’s Mood.
“Thank you, Judi. Walk with me.” Fairburn and Wednesday walk down the hall, letting (Y/n) follow as he can finally look around.
“Why do you want to see Tyler?”
“To parrot my former psychiatrist, who Tyler gutted like a freshly caught trout, I need closure.”
“I granted your request with the court weeks ago, so I knew you'd show your face sooner or later.” She said, which raised the eye of (Y/n)., “.. Weeks ago?” (Y/n) asks, leaning near Wednesdays face. “So, was this also something you were also going to literally take to your grave?” He smiled but there was a very fragile feeling there.
“I'm guessing you chose today because of Donovan Galpin's murder.”
“Has Tyler heard the news?”
“Tyler has proven to be a particularly manipulative and uncooperative patient. Of course, I've never dealt with a Hyde before, so this is uncharted territory.”
“Then I surmise you and I are speaking because you need my help.”
“My traditional care methods aren't yielding results, so I think it's time to be... unorthodox.”
“Well, you know what they say. If you can't kill them with kindness, try lethal injection.”
“Firing squads always a good go to.” (Y/n) chimes in.
“You could be the psychological shock Tyler needs to initiate his rehabilitation.” She said, If the sight of me brings him any modicum of pain, count me in.”
Wednesday and (Y/n6 enter the vault, which is a thick room of steel held to keep the Hyde, Tyler.
“Now, you'll be perfectly safe, but if you feel threatened or uncomfortable in any way, push the red button on the wall. I'll be watching everything on the monitor.” Fairburn said as she leaves, behind a strong class window, Wednesday stood across from the Hyde. Tyler stood, shirtless and his hands and neck bound by a collar to the wall, his eyes slowly trail upwards and meet Wednesday.
“So, what do you think of the place? It was originally designed for a schizophrenic werewolf, who went on a full-moon killing spree in the summer of '92.”
“Funny enough he got his Ass tossed by a wolf.” (Y/n) leans on the wall, smirking.
“It was inevitable your morbid curiosity would bring you here. I knew you couldn't resist seeing me again.” Tyler tilts his head.
“Is that the deluded lie you've been telling yourself in solitude?”
“The only person lying to themselves is you, Wednesday. You sensed the monster in me. You fell in love with it. We're two black-hearted souls ready to pillage the world together.”
“The only thing you're pillaging is an extra fruit cup at dinner.”
“You act like you're the smartest person in the room, but you're not.”
“How come I ended up on this side of the bars?”
“Because you got lucky.” Tyler said stepping closer.
“Let me talk to him.” (Y/n) taps his foot.
“Absolutely not.” Wednesday replied, Tyler looks a bit confused.
His patience shatters. He grabs Wednesday’s shoulders, ghostly hands sinking into her like smoke. His voice vibrates through her, distorted.
“If you won’t, then I will.” He said, Wednesday stiffens, eyes widening slightly. Her voice slips — it’s still hers, but lower. A tinge of yellow hits her eyes.
“Your father is dead. He was murdered last night.”
“…How was he killed?” Tyler asks, (Y/n) kept Wednesdays Gloom.
“Gruesomely. Another victim died the same way. Your father's old partner. Carl Bradbury, two victims.” They said.
“You got me, Wednesday. I'm a criminal mastermind pulling the strings from in here.” Tyler jokes.
“Wednesday‘s currently busy.” She said, which confused Tyler for a moment, but the moment he looked into her eyes he could tell, it was him.
“Knew you’d be chasing her coattail.” He growls, “Unfortunately it lead to her sloppy seconds, but I suppose I should—“
“Say hi to Enid for me.” Tyler said, and silence filled the room. “Tell her I'm gonna kill her the next time I see her. Make her pay for sticking her snout in my business. I want her screams to haunt you for the rest of your life.” Tyler approaches closer and the real (Y/n) came out. The yellow hue grew brighter, Wednesday’s voice being echoed by an otherworldly demon.
“Keep her name.. out of your mouth, or you’ll be meeting your father much sooner than you expected. You think you’re winning? You’re nothing but a loser, Tyler. A pathetic little manchild who thought his monster made him special. The Hyde was the only reason anyone ever looked at you — without it, you’re empty, your generic looks, self pitying life, A hollow shell, And when you rot in this place, forgotten and useless because who would ever come visit you— the world won’t remember you. Not as a Hyde, not as a man. You will die as you lived — a nobody. And if by some act of Satan or God, we ever cross paths again I will vaporize you and wipe that sad, weak, excuse of human flesh you call a bloodline out of existence— permanently.” (Y/n) let’s go and steps out, Wednesday gains back control and She glares at his ghost in the reflection, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him.
“Don’t ever use me like that again.”
“Oh, are you upset I abused your trust?” He said very sarcastically. “I’m done with him, I’m surprised you weren’t.” (Y/n) walked away, phasing though the door.
“I don't need to visit again. We already take up enough space in your twisted head.” Wednesday gave Tyler one last look before leaving. The two stand, or one technically floats, “You… shouldn’t have done that. Entered my mind without asking.” Wednesday starts.
“I know. I shouldn’t have. I thought… I was upset, and when he brought up Enid it, just made it worse.”
Wednesday shifts slightly, still watching him, her usual stoicism cracking just a little.
“I should’ve told you I was going to see him. You would’ve… you might’ve reacted differently.”
“Maybe. But hiding it from me… you weren’t just being careful, were you? You didn’t trust me for what?”
“I trust you. Just… not everything. Not yet.”
(Y/n) nods, understanding, a flicker of warmth in his ghostly eyes.
“I get that. I pushed too hard. I should’ve asked. I’m sorry.”
“I apologize as well.”
They share a long moment of silence.
“…Can you see?” Wednesday asked, trying desperately to break the ice, and (Y/n) smiled
“Temporarily. My physical body isn’t here. I can… use my eyes without hurting anyone.”
He lets the words hang. For the first time, his tone carries no sarcasm, no bravado — just honesty.
“And… I’ve been meaning to say it, this is the first time I’ve truly seen you since I died. As usual, You’re beautiful, as always. I just might get myself killed twice see you.”
Wednesday’s usual stoic mask falters just a fraction. She doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a subtle shift in her posture, a softening in her gaze.
“…You’re ridiculous.”
“Perhaps. But I mean it, but now, I have return back to my body, and I assume Enid’s Drivers Ed form?” He asks, Wednesday gave a quick side eye.
“Of course you did.” (Y/n) shook his head, “just.. apologize okay?” He begins to fade, slowly retreating toward his physical body. The glow dims, leaving only a faint shimmer. It took a few minutes for his soul to fully return to his body, he waited, expecting.
Unfortunately, not to where he expected, (Y/n) felt himself return and moved, only to be stopped. He felt the sudden chain and grip and the sound of metal. His sense of direction was off and he was, in a chair.
“Are you okay?” A voice said, Enid’s. He smelled that strawberry shampoo
“Enid...Where are we?” He asked, “I think we're in Iago Tower. Doesn't look like anyone's been up here in a long time. They closed it off years ago after it was damaged in some freak electrical storm.”
(Y/n) shakes the cobwebs out of his ears.
“Who would do this to us? What happened I was just in—“
“Our room? Somebody knocked me out but, I couldn’t see them.” She said and looked up.
“Okay, Ajax! Great prank! Now let us go. Ajax?” Enid said, the sudden clank of metal above hits (Y/n)’s ears, the sound barely makes a shape but what seems to be a, roof of knives. He tilts his head up, so does Enid.
“I don't think this is a prank, Enid. Can’t use my curses to pull the chains without crushing us.”
“If only there was a full moon, we'd be out of here in no time. I'm really sorry, (Y/n).”
“This isn't your fault, it’s never your fault.”
“Whatever's going on here is clearly connected to Wednesday. She's like this dark north star for psycho killers.”
“I mean, are you surprised?” I mean I’m shocked you haven’t dumped us as friends yet. (Y/n) replied. Enid sighs, “ I mean..though Wednesday is literally the tunnel at the end of my light...I can't imagine my life without you two in it.”
“I.. thanks Enid—“
“But..” Enid Starts, “I don’t get it. Why you let her get away with so much. Wednesday treats you like crap half the time, and you just—take it.”
“Because I know what it’s like… to be feared just for existing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked and (Y/n) took a deep breath.
“Do you remember When I first came to Nevermore, no one wanted me around. One wrong look and they thought I’d… destroy them. I was the outcast among outcasts. Untouchable. Alone.”
“But then there was you. The first person who didn’t flinch. Who saw me for more than a curse or something, You smiled at me. You treated me like a person, not a monster. You saved me from falling completely into that darkness.”
“You’re not just my bestie. Not just a friend. You’re my sister. My pack. The, Apple of my Eye, I guess…And I swear to you— I’ll fight and die for you if I have to.”
Enid turns her face away, blinking back tears, but her voice cracks just a little when she responds.
“Great. Now I’m crying in front of our kidnappers. Thanks a lot.”
“Uh, Sorry..You reminded me I wasn’t invisible. That maybe I didn’t have to be a monster all the time. Wednesday… she does the same. She doesn’t fear me. In her own… eerie way, she sees me too.”
Silence between the two, and a new invigorated Enid shook her head.
“We have to find a way to get out of here. We can't break these chains, but maybe we could wriggle out if we find the right angle.”
The two struggle and accidentally topple over, (Y/n)’s ear rings as he hears footsteps.
“Enid, somebodys coming..”
“Enid!”
“Wednesday! Oh, thank God! You need to get us out of this!”
“Thing, pick their locks.”
“Wednesday watch out, they probably set—“ (y/n) can hear a trip wire being pulled and a blade dropping down nearly hitting thing.
Wednesday looked around, there had to be some clue to this. The knives slowly begin to descend and the two struggle harder. Wednesday comes across a desk, cluttered with Books, and typewriter and a single message on it.
"What don't you see?"
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Enid began to panic and (Y/n) yanked his legs over, using somehow brute force to turn his body to face the knives, he lifts his legs and painfully places his boots on them. Pushing to slowly stall it. The blades tug into his boots and (Y/n) was in an uncouth amount of pain.
“Poe, Dante, Shelley, Dickens...”
“Wednesday, you need to hurry!”
“Each stack is the collected work of a famous author….”
“Proust, Tolstoy...The answer must be a book that's missing.”
“I swear if I survive this, I'm demanding a spa day!”
Wednesday’s scanned the spines of books and realized that there was only truly one answer, The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells!” Wednesday typed it and the knives halt, they slowly retract and the duo relax. Wednesday and Thing help the two sit up and she begins to pick the lock. (Y/n) jerks his head over.
“I can hear footsteps, Who's there?” He called out, and clapping ensues, Enid, (Y/n) and Wednesday watch as the Mastermind reveals herself, a girl, red hair, just like Wednesday’s style.
“Happy Prank Day, Wednesday.”
“My crazed stalker is an invisible 13-year-old?”
“We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Agnes DeMille, your number one superfan.”
“You don't seriously expect me to believe you pulled off this elaborate prank solo.”
“I had a little help from some DaVincis. After I blackmailed them with incriminating Snapchat pics. Perks of being invisible. I just asked myself, W-W-W...D. What would Wednesday do?”
“That's my line, you little psycho!” Enid said, as she stood up, (Y/n) did as well, and took his glasses off.
“Alright time to vaporize.”
“Not yet.” Wednesday said, “I want to know why.”
“I knew if I came up with the most twisted game, I'd get your attention. I hope it's lived up to your exacting standards. Admit it, you're a little impressed.”
“I can't believe we were almost perforated by your fangirl mini-me. Why don't I return the favor?” Enid drew her claws.
“Park your claws, Rainbow Barbie.
Besides, I got you some alone time with Your Ken Doll. You're welcome.”
“You almost burned my novel at the Founder's Pyre.”
“That was just an appetizer! This was the main course.”
“Then why kill Galpin and place his eyeball on Enid's cushion?”
“That eyeball was real?” Enid said, “Yeah forgot to tell you, my bad.” (Y/n) chimed in.
“I didn't kill Galpin. I wanted to become your friend. Not your next murder case. Took this as a... souvenir.” She shows the phone.
“I already scrolled through his texts. And his e-mails.”
“So if you didn't kill him, then who did?” Wednesday asks herself.
“I can help you find out.”
“I already have a partner.” Wednesday says, (Y/n) smiled, “So back to vaporizing—“
“We’re not going to vaporize her, not yet.” Wednesday said sternly, “Fine.. but I need my cane.” (Y/n) said.
“Cmon, I got you.” Enid said and grasped his hand, his hyper awareness was another level of comfort, he followed her to the elevator with Wednesday. The Nevermore Trio stand there as Wednesday prepares to tap the button.
“Room for one more?” Agnes asked.
“Wannabes take the stairs.” Enid slams the gate shut and it descends.
“So, Agnes isn’t the killer, she’s your stalker, which means the two things aren’t intertwined.” (Y/n) says, “She’s also weird.” Enid chimed in.
“Then we figure this mystery out then.”
The trio descends back to Nevermore, as this mystery is slowly getting more complicated.
