I think it’s kind of interesting how this flashback implies that before her scorpion was killed, Wednesday had the personality she was depicted with before the 90s.
Synopsis: Some encounters feel like fate—others feel like a warning. As a Nevermore student, you learned quickly that sometimes they’re both [GIF Creds: animationtvfilm].
WC: 2398
Category: Tension, Strangers to Lovers (kind of), Reader Can See the Dead, Banter/Bickering [Ghost!Rowan]
It’s finally October! I figured since I finally finished Wednesday S2, I’d add onto the hype fixation.
I also dedicate this one to my small group of Rowan fans. I kinda threw him in here for s&g because he genuinely deserved so much more attention than what he got. He was killed off way too soon 😞
『••✎••』
The library at Nevermore Academy was a cavern of forgotten whispers, its towering shelves like the ribs of some ancient, petrified beast arching toward a ceiling lost in perpetual twilight. Dust motes danced lazily in the slivers of moonlight filtering through arched windows, each pane etched with gargoyles that seemed to leer down at the lone figure hunched over a scarred oak table. The air hung heavy with the scent of aged leather and ink, undercut by the faint, metallic tang of rain-soaked stone from an earlier storm. Flickering gas lamps cast elongated shadows that twisted across the floorboards, making the Persian rugs ripple like dark waves.
You sat there, spine rigid against the ladder-back chair, your fingers drumming an erratic rhythm on the armrest—tap-tap, pause, tap-tap-tap—like Morse code for frustration you couldn't quite decipher. The pencil between your teeth was gnawed to a jagged edge, splinters of wood flecking the corner of your mouth as you squinted at the yellowed pages of:
Outcast Anomalies: Necromantic Echoes and the Undying Veil.
The book was a relic, its margins crammed with frantic annotations from some long-dead scholar, but tonight it offered nothing but dead ends. Your eyes burned from hours of poring over diagrams of spectral bindings and ritual amulets, searching for a thread that might unravel the nightmare gnawing at your thoughts:
The zombie.
Not just any shambling corpse from a B-movie fever dream, but something deliberate, vicious—a puppet jerked by invisible strings. It had torn through Professor Orloff in his own classroom like he was parchment, devouring him in a frenzy of gnashing teeth that splattered crimson across the chalkboard in abstract horror. His head, severed and defiant, now lay empty, shallow, with the one thing he valued most stolen away. It’s logical in a way, eating an intelligent man’s strongest weapon. As if the undead could truly comprehend such a thing. But even with the evidence staring you in the face, it still felt wrong. Too... calculated.
And why him—your favorite, the one who'd nurtured your passion for the esoteric, your love of history, and, on the darker days, listened when you spoke about the things you'd seen—why would the zombie attack him? Was it just an animal rage, the hunger of the grave that could not be satiated? A senseless brutality, like a fox in a henhouse?
No, that’s just… not right.
The amulet around your neck hummed faintly against your collarbone, warm as a fevered pulse. It was a simple thing, really—a thumb-sized obsidian teardrop strung on a silver chain, etched with runes that glowed faintly when the veil thinned. Yours alone; it bridged the chatter of the departed, letting their voices coil through your mind like smoke. And tonight, its most persistent echo was anything but silent, manifesting not as a whisper but as a visible flicker at your elbow:
Rowan Laslow, slouched against the shelf like a sullen statue, his form translucent at the edges but solid enough to scowl.
"...and if you'd just listen for once, instead of burying your nose in that drivel, you'd see she's poison. Wednesday Addams, with her smug little braids and that perpetual scowl—like she's chewing on thorns for breakfast. I tell you, she's the rot at the heart of this place."
You could see him clear as the gaslight: lanky frame locked in eternal adolescence, layered like an onion in the casual armor of that fateful night at the Harvest Festival. A tan undershirt peeked at his collar, overlaid by a plaid button-down in muted whites and blues, its sleeves rolled unevenly; a green hoodie bunched at his elbows, hood tugged low over walnut strands of hair that fell into eyes still burning with posthumous resentment; and topping it all, his dorky glasses and that brown leather jacket, scuffed at the cuffs from whatever spectral fidgeting he did in the ether—half shattered from when the Hyde's claws had ended him.
He's Intelligent, yes—sharp as a scalpel when he deigned to be helpful, reciting alchemical formulas or cross-referencing lore with the precision of a living index. But salty? God, the salt could fill the Dead Sea. His grudge against Wednesday festered like an open wound, born of that botched premonition he'd clung to like a lifeline: her as the destroyer, the spark to Nevermore's inferno. Never mind that she'd doused the flames. To Rowan, she was the matchstick.
He paced now, a faint chill trailing his boots—inaudible to the living, but to you, his footfalls echoed soft as regret on the rug, arms crossed tight over his chest with his jaw set in that boyish stubbornness that made him look more petulant than vengeful.
You spat the pencil onto the table with a clatter, rubbing your temples. "Rowan, if I wanted a TED Talk on grudges, I'd summon your therapist. Focus. The zombie—Orloff's classroom. Any echoes from that night? Anything beyond your usual Addams obsession?"
He paused mid-stride, hands shoving into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunching in that defensive slouch you knew too well—the layering bunching at his neck like armor against the truth. "Echoes? It was screams, mostly. And that scent you've mentioned before—rotting meat and formaldehyde, but Orloff? He did gurgle something about being a 'perversion of nature,' but it was all muffled from there. I know it's not so helpful, but you shouldn’t be wasting time on her mess anyhow. We all know this connects back to that family—that damned, cursed—"
"Rowan." You leaned back, the chair creaking under you, and pinched the bridge of your nose. The bickering had started as a balm—his visible presence a tether in the silence of your gift, which let you converse with the departed but offered no chorus tonight. No Orloff, stubbornly mute beyond the veil, as if his soul had fled deeper into whatever abyss claimed it, his head's tank bubbling mockingly in your mind's eye.
Just Rowan, helpful in fits and starts, but always circling back to his vendetta like a moth to a porch light, his translucent fingers drumming an echo of your own frustration on the shelf.
"You really need to unpack that baggage." You told him, "Wednesday didn't swing the claws that ended you. Actually, you’d still be breathing if you didn’t charge her like a discount knight-errant."
"Discount? I'll have you know my mother`s premonition was spot-on. She did doom the school. Released that maniac Crackstone right into our laps. If memory serves—which it always does, unlike your selective amnesia—she lit the fuse."
"And snuffed it out," you shot back, voice low but edged, the words blending with your murmured thoughts as you flipped another futile page. To outsiders, you'd look like a girl unraveling a monologue to thin air; to you, it was conversation, his form flickering brighter when emotions ran hot, like an old married couple bound by the absurdity—him needling with theatrical gestures, you parrying with eye-rolls that made his spectral cheeks flush faint blue. But tonight, with the Gala's distant fanfare thrumming through the walls like a migraine, his jabs wore thin.
The Gala was upon Nevermore, a riot of color and chaos in the great hall, masks and harlequin silks masking the academy's undercurrents of dread. You couldn't hide in books forever; the zombie's shadow loomed larger with every tick of the grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum slicing time like a guillotine.
You slammed the tome shut, the thud echoing off the shelves like a gunshot. "Enough. I'm heading to the Gala. Maybe the crowd will shake loose a lead—or at least drown you out."
Rowan straightened, his pacing halting as he trailed you toward the door—visible only to your eyes, a reluctant shadow. Stone corridors blurred past as you strode toward the grand staircase, torchlight flickering across tapestries of outcast heroes locked in eternal duels—vampires with bared fangs, sirens mid-song, their threads frayed at the edges from centuries of grasping fingers. The air grew warmer, laced with the perfume of night-blooming jasmine from the conservatory and the sharper bite of beeswax candles. Laughter spilled from the hall ahead, a cacophony of outcast revelry: werewolves howling in bass cadences, sirens trilling scales that shivered the chandeliers.
Your gown—emerald silk, cut severe to echo the theme's stark aesthetic but softened at the sleeves with lace from your mother's attic—whispered against your legs as you tucked away the amulet to avoid it swinging around as you walked.
Rowan kept pace, his form brushing the wall like mist, before his silence cracked like thin ice as you neared the arched doors, "Still don't know why you're helping that dreadful abomination of a human. She's a walking curse, and you're waltzing into her circus like it's salvation."
The words landed like a slap, his tone dripping with that familiar venom—petulant, possessive, the ghost of a boy who'd pinned his regrets on a girl who'd outlived him, his arms crossing tighter now, plaid shirt bunching under the jacket. Something snapped, hot and coiling in your chest. You whirled on your heel, skirt flaring like a storm cloud, and jabbed a finger toward him. The corridor's chill bit deeper now, shadows pooling at your feet like spilled ink.
"Rowan Laslow, I swear on every restless soul in this academy, one more word about her and I'm shattering this amulet into the fountain outside. And believe me when I say you'll be deader than you already are and silenced for good."
He recoiled, eyes widening in that boyish hurt, hands lifting in mock surrender as his form flickered dimmer, jacket's leather gleaming faintly. "You wouldn't dare. I'm all you've got—"
But the threat hung there, sharp as shattered glass, and you turned on your heel again, breath ragged, pulse thundering in your ears. The Gala's threshold loomed, but in your fury, the world narrowed to the flagstones underfoot, the echo of your own footsteps—and Rowan's softer, trailing ones—
—until they collided with solidity. Not stone, but not warmth either—unyielding muscle wrapped in silk chilled like marble from the crypt, a figure materializing from the gloom like a specter summoned by your rage. You pitched forward, gravity betraying you in a tangle of limbs and fabric, your palms splaying against a broad chest as the world tilted. Rowan yelped, his form scattering like startled pigeons before reforming a few paces back, jaw dropped in spectral shock.
But you barely registered it. Instead, there was him: the stranger you'd barreled into, steady as an oak, his gloved hands catching your elbows with a grip that was firm but not bruising. Precise, almost, like a fencer parrying a thrust.
Up close, he was a study in contrasts: tall, narrow-shouldered, his frame filling the corridor's dim arch. The red of his Gala attire bled into the shadows—a tailored doublet of crimson velvet with black patterns that caught the torchlight in serpentine whorls, paired with fitted pants that were just long enough to cover his polished boots. A half-mask of burgundy mixed with charcoal concealed the upper half of his face as well, leaving only his mouth visible, in which they curved in a faint, knowing smirk that didn't reach whatever eyes lurked behind.
He smelled of sandalwood and something darker, ozone-sharp, mingled with the faint, coppery bite of blood long swallowed. No clumsiness in him from what you could tell; he moved with the deliberate grace of a predator, absorbing your collision without a flinch, his touch lingering a beat too long on your arms—cool through the silk, electric, gloved fingers flexing with a restraint that betrayed deeper currents.
Heat flooded your cheeks as you straightened, disentangling with what dignity you could muster. Enamored? The word slithered unbidden through your mind, absurd and immediate, sparked by the sheer presence of him—the way his head tilted just so, appraising, as if he'd been expecting you. Tension crackled in the scant inches between you, thick as fog off the lake, pulling taut with every shared breath. Your observant gaze snagged on details: the mole peeking out from his jaw, the curls of his slicked back hair slowly turning more prominent; the way his fingers flexed in their gloves, long and elegant, betraying a restlessness he otherwise masked.
"Careful," he murmured, voice a low rumble like distant thunder, laced with amusement that bordered on challenge. "Night's full of ghosts. Wouldn't want to wake one you can't put down."
You swallowed, words tangling on your tongue, but he was already piecing you together—eyes unseen but felt, scanning the flush on your skin, the amulet's chain glinting at your throat, Rowan's flickering form in your periphery with its wide-eyed stare. Within that minute, as you stammered an apology that dissolved into silence, he knew. "Hunting the one that took Orloff's head from its tank? I heard you from the other end of the hallway. Sounds prodigious."
Your breath hitched, the Gala's din fading to a hum. How? But before doubt could root, he leaned in fractionally, "If I may be of help, I've a suggestion. The library's lovely, but it doesn't have what you need. Try looking closer. In the shadows where the light can't reach. Some of us like it there. Better view, after all."
His lips brushed your ear, whisper soft and cool, the words tinged with something both invitation and threat. And then he was gone, a ripple in the shadows, leaving behind the scent of leather and smoke, and the faint imprint of his fingertips still buzzing on your skin.
You stared after him, dazed, your pulse racing like you'd sprinted up the staircase. Enamored you were—yes, disastrously so, drawn to the enigma of him like iron to lodestone, tension lingering like a bruise you wanted to press. Rowan reformed fully now, closer than before, rigid with unease as he crossed his arms again. "Well, that was… graceful. Befriending strangers now? Or is he another Addams stray?"
You turned, slow as molasses, and fixed him with a glare that could curdle milk—eyes narrowed, lips a thin line, the full weight of your snapped patience crashing down. Even your amulet thrummed against your skin as warning, or a plea depending upon your mood, but for the first time that night, Rowan's barbs glanced off the armor of intrigue blooming in your chest.
The Nevermore Gala awaited, now with even more mysteries that ran deeper than ever, and you, hunter turned hunted, stepped forward into the fray.
in which thornhill kidnaps tyler’s partner and he’s not pleased about it.
Ownership | @toxicflowergirl
His New Master | @spencers-abit-weebish
Tyler finds out he's the Hyde and Reader does everything to help him
Sweet Monster | @the-fiction-witch
Your eyes | @whosdinkleyhenderson
Trusting your gut feelings is always the way to go. Y/n a young witch can’t seem to wipe this feeling she gets from Tyler, and later she and Xavier are in for a surprise.
ᝰ Rowan Laslow
Dancing In Your Downpour. | @bunchesofoats
Secret’s Out | @herlondonboy
Nevermore’s heir falls for the outcasted Outcast.
ᝰ Multiple
hcs: them as boyfriends | @hopeyblogs
ᝰ Isaac Night
Undead Romance Masterlist | @vendetta0girl
She’s built her life on control, on distance, on never letting anyone close enough to see the cracks that came with her immortality. He’s the boy with cold metal where his heart should be, all sharp edges and unreadable eyes, who plays God and cheats death. She tells herself she can resist him. That his silence, his scrutiny, his fascination mean nothing to her and will mean nothing when he's gone. But Isaac Night is a gravity she can’t escape—unsettling, relentless, and impossibly magnetic. And as his presence begins to unravel her carefully constructed detachment, she has to face a darker reality that falling in love leads to her ruin.
Distractions | @fluffylino
his sister always seems to interrupt the two of you. it starts an argument when you bring up the issue with isaac. you aren't expecting what you expected his response to be.
MOVED ON | @chierubiic
he's come back thirty years later - but you've already moved on.
Join Me In Death, pt 02 | @setarepersian
You said, “Go out with me, and in return, I’ll give you the money for the machine you want to build.”
Isaac Night looked. Indifferent, ruthless, and calculating. No love, no mercy—just the beginning of an obsessive, dangerous, and tragic relationship.
Wednesday x Vampire!reader (fem)
Summary Enid will have are agency, trust her.
Warnings: there is a use of y/n
Authors note: 'I'm tired of this grandpa'
word count: 2k
Wednesday Masterlist
Navigation
Half-dead girl detectives Masterlist
Nevermore was never known for being colourful and bright. Quite the opposite, actually. A dark hole with monsters and all kinds of freaks. The kids in Jericho would have called it Monster High, but they feared copyright laws just as much as they did the kids inside that grim academy. They were convinced that you would get the black-and-white filter installed at the same time you received your uniform. They were not the sharpest tools in the shed.
While the whole building significantly lacked in colour, there was one corner in Ophelia's hall that seemed to have it all. Hoarding it all like it was a treasure worthy of a dragon. In a room that is split in a way I am unbearably too lazy to describe, we could find all of it.
And if we look closer into that one window, we can see three roommates spending time together despite all the odds that could ever be thought of.
“No”
“Oh, come on Wednesday! Wouldn’t it be fun?! A little detective agency!” Enid whines a little.
“You and I have vastly different definitions of fun,” Wednesday says, not even glancing up from her typewriter.
Enid looked around the room hopelessly. She knew she could get through her; she just wasn’t sure how. Thing caught her eye as he was furiously pointing at the last girl in the room.
A lightbulb went off in Enid's head. She needed reinforcement, and she just found the best one.
“ Well, Y/N thinks it’s a good idea!” Confused about ‘what’ followed her statement, she focused only on Wednesday, who stopped typing for the first time that night.
With a slow turn in her chair, Wednesday studied both girls.
“ The blood sucker is not aware of this conversation.” Turning back, ignoring any whines from Enid.
“No, really, we have it all! Brain, Beauty, and Brawn. The whole shebang!”
“Wait, who's the beauty?” The vampire girl asked slowly, making her way from her loft part of the bedroom to finally be closer to this whole thing.
“Well, you are.” Enid stumbles over her words, scratching her neck nervously so hard a normal person would assume she has flies.
“So, I am here just as eye candy?” The sound of her heels coming to stop so close to Enid that she got goosebumps on her arms.
“Beautiful women are often used to bait out the criminal. It is a common trope in detective novels.” Wednesdays voice chimes, although it sounds more like church bells going off to the girls
“Great, so we’re brawn, brain, and bait? Detective dream team.” The vampire fires back. “I don’t think so, little wolf.” She patted Enid on her shoulder and turned around to help Thing fill his bucket with popcorn.
With defeat, Enid turned around and flopped on her bed. Her dream was rather short-lived. She was so lost in the thought that not even the sound of approaching heels and the added weight to her bad made her lift her head up. It was only after Y/N was all in her face and personal space; she registered a smirk on that girl. Something was brewing in the red eyes of her; Enid just wasn’t sure what. And perhaps she was too scared to ask.
“Stop looking like a sad puppy, it’s breaking my heart.”
“I am a sad puppy.” This earned an eyeroll from the girl. Whispered ‘fine’ left her lips before she straightened up.
Her voice was now louder, making sure everyone in the room could hear it. “ Of course, Wednesday doesn’t wanna do this with us. She only wants to solve crimes with her boyfriend.” Wink directed at Enid followed.
The typing has stopped. Silence took over the room. However, before Wednesday could answer, the vampire girl continued.
“We have to face it, Enid. She would rather hang out with her boy-“
“He is not my boyfriend.” Wednesday let out a little faster than she intended to, and everyone knew that.
“No, no, I get it. I would rather hang out with Rowan, too. At least he didn’t try to kill me”
“He tried to kill Wednesday tho”
“Yeah, but he didn’t try to kill ME, you know what I mean?” The girl just waved her hand at Enid's remark. With long steps, she made her way to Wednesday. Standing behind her with both of her hands on Wednesday's shoulders, she leaned down to be at eye level with her.
“Wednesday likes the psychopaths.”
“I do not like Tyler.”
“Ah, but my dear friend. Not once have I mentioned Tyler by the name.” She booped Wednesday on her nose. I look could kill the undead, she for sure would have been six feet under if not more. Enid saw her chance. If there is a single thing that Wednesday loves, it is proving people wrong.
“I bet they write each other letters!” Enid says with a sudden pep in her step as she makes her way to them. Completely ignoring the certain death awaiting her, was she to make eye contact with Wednesday.
Spark has appeared in Y/N's eye. “Bet.” As she turns around and takes a look at the paper still stuck mid-word in the typewriter.
“Ah! There it is! ‘Dear Tyler, the love of my life-‘”
“ That’s not what it says”
“Of course it does honey, I am reading it right here. ’ I must humbly inform our love is doomed-‘” Paper was snatched out of her hand.
“Stop making up stuff.” Wednesday argued. Showing the girl aside and carefully placing the paper back where it should be.
“ No, like I said, I get it.” Y/N and Enid nod together. As if a psychopath, that tried to kill you, being your first kiss, is something they all went through and can bond over. Wednesday would not put it past them if they made a support group with this exact premise.
“I have seen Tyler in that cage. I get it. If my boyfriend were shirtless in chains, it would make me feel stuff too. Scratch that, it made me feel stuff and he’s not even my boyfriend.” Said as if this information was public knowledge.
“What?” “WHAT” Both Wednesday and Enid could not hide their shock, although one did a better job than the other.
“You went to see Tyler?!” Okay, maybe it was not as much public knowledge as Y/N assumed it to be.
They were met with a shrug as an answer. “ I volunteered there during the summer. Nothing much to do around here anyway.”
“Don’t you have like a city to protect at night?”
“For the last time, I'm not a Robin, and my dad is not Batman. We've been over this, Enid.” Wednesday and Enid share a glance before looking back at the Vampire girl.
“But your dad is a rich bat, right?”
“Enough! This is about Wednesday and her creepy, locked up boyfriend.”
“He's not my boyfriend.”
“ Pause, how would Rowan feel if he heard you talk about thirsting over shirtless Tyler?” Enid's voice made it sound like a record scratch.
“Probably the same, but we haven’t talked about it yet.”
Wednesday got up from her seat and positioned herself just enough to face both the girls.
“How do I stop this?”
“Stop what?”
“This.” vague hand gesture between the three of them. Even Thing would be ashamed of that. But only a light smirk could be seen on both Enid and Y/N.
“You know what to do, Wenny.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Let's make a detective agency” There was a tune in Enid's voice. A tune of victory.
Defeated sigh left on Wednesday, and Enid squealed in joy and jumped to hug her.
---
The deliberately loud typing of Wednesday contradicts the hushed voices of the two other girls. She has decided she would rather ignore them after Enid spun her in a hug, jumping around.
“ How about Alive Girl Detectives?” Enid suggested, looking down at the list written in her notebook.
“That’s offensive!” the other girl hissed.
“How??”
“ I’m a vampire ?” “And?” “I’m dead.”
“Oh,” a frown appears on Enid's face. “Well, that fucks up the brand, doesn’t it?”
While pointing her thumb finger. “ And I don’t think Wednesday would appreciate being called alive.”
“I do not. I am dead inside.”
“See?”
“ So, half-dead girl detectives?” Enid suggests but is only met with silence. “Ugh, fine. You do not have any pizzazz.”
After furiously crossing our few names on her list, Enid flops on her bed and stares at the ceiling. Her eyes were watering from the dust as a reminder that a quick vacuum around is needed and that she probably should check the schedule and see whose turn it is.
“Should we do rapid fire?” The vampire asked. “Oh Wednesday, you should join too.”
“I would rather have hot wax dripped into my ear canal.”
“Right, right. Don’t complain about the name after that” Rather loud slam on one of the keys of her typewriter, and Wednesday slowly turned around in her chair once again that night. And from her look, she was gonna make sure it’s the last time too. Enid sat up at the sound but caught on rather quickly.
With a nod, she started. “Mystery squad.”
“Okay, Scooby-Doo.”
Enid grimaced. “ Puzzle pals.”
Raised eyebrow and a face of disgust was her answer.
“Case crackers”
“ We do not have cases.” “I only crack Rowan.”
“Riddle resolvers!”
“Ugh, my dad would not like that.”
“Batman?” “Wednesday, not you are too.”
“Teen detectives!”
“Do you even want people to take us seriously?” And with that, Wednesday could not be bothered anymore. She had turned around to her typewriter, and it was clear she would not turn around ever again. Or at least tonight.
Enid whined and covered her face with the notebook that more or less now looked like a finished hit list.
The vampire girl slammed both her hands on the things like a dad ready to leave the function and got up.
“Well, I'll be off.” She says, brushing her skirt as if to get rid of specks of dirt only she can see.
“Where are you going?” Enid chirps. The notebook fell off the ground with a loud thump. “It's after curfew!” Adding when she receives no answer.
“ I’m meeting up with Rowan at the Nightshade library. There is this corner seat. You can't see it off the bet. We like to make out there.”
“Ew. I do not need to know your smooching spots.” Enid grimaced. ‘You asked.’ Is the only answer she got.
“It's still after curfew.”
“ And? I've been doing this for months. What’s the problem now?”
“MONTHS?!” Enid shrieks. Her head snapped to Wednesday. “ You knew about this?!”
Wednesday has stopped typing. Defeated, she looked ahead at the wall. The other two girls watched her carefully, not knowing whether to run or hide. Although hiding would do them no good, as Wednesday would find them somehow.
She stood up, and the girls flinched. It seemed she was done with writing today, or them. They were about to find out.
“Does Rowan ever run out of breath and needs to use the inhaler while making out?” Deadpanned. No emotion in her voice or face.
The vampire just rolls her eyes. With a few steps and a quiet bye, she was out the door. Enid turned to Wednesday with a weird look, obviously wanting more information about what part of her brain did this nonsense make it out of. Wednesday turns around and lies down in her bed.
Enid's face keeps switching between the door and the bed before giving up and lying down too. After ungracefully plopping down between seventeen plushies, six blankets and four pillows, it is finally quiet in Ophelia Hall.
---
“Has she really been sneaking out for months?”
“It is not hard. You are the first one to fall asleep.”
Enid cringed and covered her face with one of her plushies.
Weems: School recently banned phones and these are the responses the students are having.
Xavier: Are we allowed to use smoke signals to communicate?
Enid: Can I use a carrier pigeon to send messages?
Rowan: Am I permitted to use SCR-578, 500 kHz radio transmitted to send messages in Morse code through the day?
Bianca: Will banning cell phones cause Verizon’s stock prices to drop? Would you recommend divesting in the company before the ban goes into effect?
Yoko: Let’s say I am caught with my cell phone during sixth period and am so required to surrender the phone at the start of the following day. If I go home and replace every single component of the phone with a replacement, is this still the same phone? How does the school plan to address this Grecian philosophical dilemma?
Pairings: Wednesday Addams x gn!reader / Enid Sinclair x sibling!reader
Summary: Wednesday discovers that she likes it when you make her blush hates you.
Warnings: just fluff and kissing I believe. Probably ooc Wednesday again.
Word Count: 1.0k
Wednesday almost stabbed you when you dragged her into a supply closet.
You had intercepted her walk to her next lesson with Miss Thornhill. Before she could say anything you kissed her and she melted ever so slightly. Her hands came up to your face, holding your cheeks with her soft hands as you wrapped your arms around her waist.
When you broke away, she stared at you in confusion as if she was telling you to explain the reasoning behind your actions. “You looked stressed at lunch.” You shrugged. All this talk of figuring out who The Hyde is and Gomez being arrested for murder. “I wanted to help.”
“So you dragged me into the janitor’s closet to kiss me?” Wednesday scoffed, her heart beating far too fast. She reached for the light and you gasped, tilting your head. “What?” She asked.
“You…” You pulled a mirror out of your bag and handed it to her.
Wednesday looked at you skeptically before looking down and also gasping. “What’s happening to me?” She asked dramatically, pinching and moving her cheeks. “Why is there colour on my face?” Wednesday frowned. I opened my mouth to speak, but she rushed out of the closet to Enid.
You sighed and left the closet after, turning to Rowan, Ajax, and Xavier who laughed. “That’s gotta be a metaphor or something.” Xavier said and you looked up at the sign that read ‘CLOSET’ above you. “Congrats on coming out of the closet, y/n.” He nodded to you. You held up your middle finger at them, walking to your dorm.
You didn’t see Wednesday for nearly a week after that. Clearly had blushing spooked her because she also had not been attending her lessons. You went to confront your sister about it, but she just squealed and ran away. She was no help whatsoever.
Finally, on Friday, five days later, you sat down for lunch with your friends and your sister. She leaned over and whispered. “Wednesday is mad at you for making her blush and if she finds out that I’m telling you this she will ‘up out my larynx and tear off your auricles,’ okay? So don’t tell her.” She pointed a breadstick at you.
“Hm.” You said proudly, holding your head up high. “Tell me everything.”
“Well…” Enid started.
‘Wednesday rushed to her dorm and slammed the door shut, startling Enid. She looked in your compact mirror once more, looking distraught. “Help me.” Wednesday said to Enid when she stood up and made her way over.
“What exactly do you need help with?” Enid asked in confusion.
“My face has colour. Get it off.” Wednesday said seriously with a glare. Enid froze for a second before doubling over in a fit of laughter. Wednesday squinted at her in annoyance ask Enid wiped her tears.
The laughter didn’t stop for three more minutes before Enid started wheezing. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny.” She struggled for breath. “It’s just… you’re blushing!” Enid said.
“No.” Wednesday shook her head in denial. “…How do I stop?”
“You can’t.” Enid said when she calmed down a little, giggling softly. “Who made you blush?” She then asked.
Wednesday hesitated slightly with a frown. “y/n did.” She said. Enid heaved out a breath. “They dragged me into the supply closet and kissed me, then I just…” She motioned to her face. “My cheeks started overheating and my stomach feels like I just swallowed a bunch of black widow spiders.”
“You and y/n?” Enid gasped in shock, jumping up and down, hitherto stopping with a glare. “If you hurt them I will hurt you back.” She pointed. “So hard.”
“Enid, you’re about as threatening as that green, singing chipmunk.” Wednesday deadpanned, her blush fading. “Tell anyone about this, especially y/n and I will feed you to the wolves.” She threatened. “Hear me?”
“Loud and clear.” Enid saluted.’
“Holy shit.” Xavier laughed from across the table having eavesdropped on the two of you. “I don’t know what’s more shocking, the fact that you made Wednesday blush or the fact that you’ve been hooking up with her.”
“We don’t ‘hook up’ we just kiss sometimes… for fun.” You shook your head, looking down. “Where is she now?”
“Probably in our dorm, writing something.” Enid shrugged.
You jumped up, grabbing your bag and making your way to your sister’s dorm. You knocked on the door rapidly, not waiting for a response before barging in. Wednesday looked at you wide-eyed before averting them to the wall. You walked up to her and looked down. “Wednesday, look at me.” You ordered.
“I hate you.” Wednesday murmured. “I hate how soft your lips are, I hate your stupid laugh, I hate how you smile at me from across a classroom, I hate how you make me feel things that I don’t understand and feel can’t control, I hate how stupidly pretty your face is. I. Hate. You.” Wednesday took in a deep breath after she stopped, looking at me now.
“Are you done?” I asked, raising an eyebrow in question.
“As a matter a fact, no, I am not.” She said. “I hate how you ask to hug me because you know I don’t like physical contact, and how you braid my hair. I hate how you don’t eat meat on the days that you kiss me because I’m a vegetarian, and how you also put a bottle of water on my bedside table for when I wake up from good dreams. And I hate how you’re so happy all of the time. So much so that it balances me out.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please.”
Your lips connected in a first kiss, teeth clashing against each other hurriedly. Like you were scared that the other would disappear when you broke apart. You kissed like every emotion that you had felt because of Wednesday was spilling out all at once. Your counterpart’s hands got tangled in your hair as you pulled her forward by the waist she mumbled your name as you kissed her neck, leaving a tattooed kiss where your lips once were.
