holifiles

[holifiles]

quick update !

i’m currently feeling a tad under the weather for the past 2 days. i’ll try to publish part six of mmc later tonight, but no promises! you guys be safe.

xo, ada.

[holifiles]

mea maxima culpa

wednesday au (female vampire reader)

synopsis: the outcasts accuse you of being a normie, until wednesday addams got poisoned.

warning: death, blood, animal death mentioned, lengthy

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

part five: prophecy fulfilled

when did the dark begin?

“fariselle? fariselle!” alejandra’s voice rang through the sunlit halls of the mansion, echoing off marble and glass like a warning.

“yes, mama?” you rushed in from the garden, abandoning the roses you had been planting, crumbs of soil leaving a trail behind you.

“darling, have you seen your sister? or jenkins?” you shook your head.

“well, it seems we have an intruder in our midst,” she announced, descending the staircase.

your eyes lingered on your mother, drawn not to her words but to the white streaks threaded through her hair. they fascinated you like frost etched into silk. she’s beautiful, unshaken, even in distress.

the sound of her concerns blurred in your mind, drowned by the consistent thud of approaching footsteps behind you.

“y/n! i got you a present!”

faris.

her dress wrinkled, a sleeve torn and soaked in blood from the cut on her right shoulder.

“fariselle— what is that?” your mother’s face twisted at the creature cradling your sister’s arms. “call jenkins. someone broke in. they ruined my mulberry silk curtains!” her despair was sharp, she did love her curtains too much.

faris shifted between you and your mother. “mama.. this is the intruder. i got him from the shelter. they were going to put him down if i didn’t.”

faris was not your blood, but you loved her as if she were. an orphan taken in when orphanages were bombed because of the poverty rate in northwest bulgaria. both alejandra and faris raised you. but your sister was your saving grace, your partner in crime, the one faked fevers so you could slip past the gates after curfrew, the one who cut down the roses alejandra forced you to grow so you could plant black dahlia’s instead.

when friends were forbidden, she gave you salem.

by the time you were eighteen, she was twenty-five. alejandra had turned her, binding her to the family forever. but that night— before corrupting her soul— alejandra revealed the truth.

she told faris of her sin. how she had been seduced by a vampire and borne his child. how she turned mid-labor to save you both. how you’re conceived with the hunger and power over blood, wearing both of your parents’ on your sleeves as you grew.

hemokinesis, a gift and or a curse.

alejandra confessed to seeing the shadows in you that had always stirred. your father’s likeness whenever you casted a shadow. at first, in ways she wanted to believe were harmless. she’d found you in the cellar once, tiny hands outstretched as a nest of rats convulsed on the floor— blood flooding their veins until they burst. you laughed as though it were a game of dolls.

another time, when she scolded faris for defending you, she felt her chest tighten, drowning without air. alejandra looked across the room and saw your eyes fixed on her, unblinking. it was not defiance— it was instinct, your blood manipulation unconsciously silencing her.

you often asked unsettling questions. whispered curiosities of death, about what it felt like to stop breathing, or why people feared killing if nothing was there to stop them. naive words from a child’s mouth, but alejandra knew better. they were not of innocence— they were the murmurs of something older, something lying dormant in her little girl.

your father knew this. he had seen the familiar hunger, the quiet violence of what you were. a greater version of him with so much power. he wanted you. to shape you into his little weapon.

so, alejandra fled. sworn to protect you— from your father and most importantly, from yourself. you could never be seen, not by yourself. the evil within you was older than both of them, the inheritance of a thousand-year-old vampire’s darkest desires. it tugged at her every day, whispered of ruin, and she feared it would one day consume you. both of you.

faris finally understood why alejandra guarded you the way she did, leading you to a much brighter path than preordained. alejandra entrusted faris with the truth, a vow wrapped in secrecy.

protect y/n.

“save her from herself.”

and when your father finally found alejandra, her body fell into his hands, it was then faris’ turn to protect you— disappearing into the night, letting him chase her shadow instead of yours. it was the only way faris knew to keep him away from you. compelling your aunt to send you to a place where you’d be cloaked.

nevermore, a refuge. a prison. a reminder.

in your mother’s words: the darkness does not sleep.

it waits.

you returned to the party, scanning for where the pleasantries still lie.

for a moment, nothingness becomes you. a deaf ringing to your ears and death to the feel of your entirety. then a hollow step, echoing your existence, pulls sound and consciousness back into you— you snapped out of the trance.

the boy who had been searching for you since you left found you dazed in the center of the floor under the bright white moon. by instinct, he rushed to you, an arm steadies your waist, his other hand searching you. the stillness of the cat in your arms nodding at him. he says nothing, inside he mourned.

“tell weems the punch is spiked.” you ordered flatly.

his brows knit, “are you sure? people have been drinking it since the party started. what’s happening?”

your mind clawed s at fragments, searching faces for confirmation. something’s wrong. you had no recollection of thornhill before coming back inside, least the part where you’d almost kill her. you frown at the shadows blurring your mind. your eyes sweep the room again, red drinks flashing in every glass, laughter ringing false in every mouth. you look up to xavier’s green eyes, gasping quietly for answers, then to the sprinkler nozzles behind him.

“we need to get everyone out.”

“why—”

“the sprinkler system’s poisoned.” the truth rasped out of your throat, raw and jagged. you scream above the noise: “everyone get out!”

you sprint towards enid, yanking her arm. “where’s wednesday?”

“she went after everglot.”

“we need to go. now.” tearing the dangling fabric from your dress, you wrap it around salem’s frail body.

bianca and her sirens intercept, confusion breaking into irritation when they saw xavier and enid herding the students out. “what the hell, freak?”

“for once, leave the fucking attitude in your aquarium and get everyone out of here.” you snapped, taking bianca by surprise.

“and why would i—”

“because the sprinklers are spiked with nightshade poison. unless you want to fry your fins in front if everyone— then be my guest.” the words slice without hesitation.

bianca falls silent before tearing her amulet off her neck; the others follow, rushing to gather the students out.

“y/n y/l/n, what do you think you’re doing?” it was weems.

before you could respond, a droplet stings your bare arm, searing back adrenaline. you shove weems to the nearest exit, cracking the double-doors off their screw from your strength before the rain of death poured.

the scene beyond you stilled the air.

the bodies of the remaining outcasts inside writhed under the poison rain, mouths foaming. flesh darkened as if they were melting to the floor. the venue slicked red as the moon above reflected a deeper red.

weems and the rest of the survivors freeze in shock from the grotesque unfolding.

enid and xavier found you near the threshold, dragging you away from the crime scene as the police sirens wail in the distance. you drift back, away from the carnage, numb and pale as glass.

xavier removed his coat, wrapping it over your cold shoulders before pulling you into his arms. you don’t fight it so he hugged you tighter. it broke your resolve and you finally give in, pupils blown out as you hug him back with one arm, the other still holding salem’s body.

enid’s eyes glossed, finding the cat’s limp tail dangling over your free arm. her breath shuddered, hand clamping over her mouth as silent tears break lose.

the police arrived, alerting for medical back up while students flood the surrounding.

running into the scene was wednesday. she immediately spotted you and rushed right over, a tranquil fright reflecting her eyes.

“maud everglot’s dead.”

part six

[holifiles]

mea maxima culpa

wednesday au (female vampire reader)

synopsis: the outcasts accuse you of being a normie, until wednesday addams got poisoned.

warning: death, blood, lengthy, animal death, romance

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

part four: killer instincts

“you’re not bringing that thing to the rave’n.” referring to the haunted doll wednesday brought home from vacation.

enid scoffed, “as if she’s even coming.” speak of the devil and she shall appear. without… braids?

“unfortunately, i have to succumb to the absurdity of social constructs tonight. otherwise, deem our societal subsistence perished.” she intoned, joining thing by her typewriter.

enid, still in her pajamas, sat waiting for her nail polish to dry— a ritual she treated like holy communion. her and thing, really. you meanwhile, had already slipped into your outfit of some scourge for the night.

“thing says you resemble the virgin mary, if she’d been reincarnated as a sad suburban housewife in the twenty-first century.” wednesday observed, the faintest arc of amusement haunting her lips.

“she means to say you look beautiful, y/n.”

you couldn‘t help but smile, relieved to see your friend restored to her merciless self. “you don’t look too alive yourself.” swear i saw a small nod of acknowledgment, a fleeting opportunity of course.

when enid finally finished her makeup, thing propped up her bedazzled pink phone for a photo opt. the three of you leaned into the frame, one rather held hostage.

thing counted to three, and the shutter carved the moment into permanence.

in the sliver of space between bodies, you caught it— two hands intertwined. one glittering in pastels, the other draped in funeral black satin. the fabric of their dresses holding it in silent secrecy.

“breathe one word of this, and will ship you back to the rest of you.” wednesday warned. thing froze, then twitched in compliance.

you, too, had seen it— so had enid. her canine grazed her lip, as if she could bite down the nerve’s trembling out of her. wednesday turned to you next.

“really?” you deadpanned, “like i don’t live with you two?” you murmured, a fragile translation of something steadier— you’re safe.

in the midst of enid’s burst of excitement, you suggested they take photos together while you hands busied themselves with the brittle pages of goody’s book for the seancé later that night. the paper rasped beneath your fingertips as you paced through its secrets. hopeful it contained anything that could serve as parachute. wednesday had warned you it was going to be dangerous for you. a knock fractured the air— instinct shoving the book under wednesday’s bed before answering.

faris stood at the threshold, cradling a black cat.

“salem?” you asked, a nod confirming as she carried the cat onto your arms. its fur still dark as candle soot, eyes twin shards of blue ice. you didn’t hesitate to hug the creature you grew up with. he was more your best friend than a pet. he’d eaten the failed test subjects to your childhood experiments, as opposed to taking away your happiness— salem knew what made you happy, and always made sure to protect it until you were sent to nevermore.

“i thought he’d been electrocuted?” you ventured, treading carefully around the subject of your late uncle cruger.

“did i say that?”

you stepped aside to invite her in. your roommates stiffened, instinctively standing at least a feet apart, the same way they had the night you first met.

“how are you, wednesday?” faris’ voice echoed delicately— rehearsed.

“better as soon as i strip of this straitjacket.”

it stunned faris, who assumed you and wednesday to be mirrors— alike in the matching apathy. wednesday, however, was merely sharp; you, in her eyes, were a colder breed of ruin.

“you all look beautiful. truly.”

only enid dared answer, with a close-lipped smile that flickered and died as quickly as it appeared.

“well— i only came to deliver security,” faris said at last, gesturing toward salem, the blue-eyed void nestled in your arms. “i’ll see you girls at the party.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the music pulsed through walls, rattling ribs as enid whirled herself into a frenzy. she had also volunteered to carry salem. she seized wednesday and dragged her into the rave’n, a reluctant bride to the slaughter.

the theme’s blood mary. the once pure moon dangling at the center of the room now bled red, casting it’s glow over every silk hem and powdered cheek. shadows stretched longer beneath its light.

wednesday noticed you froze. “what is it?”

your eyes find a slender woman in grey at the other end— maud everglot. you turned to your friend, lips parted, but the truth stuck to your throat like ash. you hadn’t told her about xavier’s painting. conjured from your silence, thorpe appeared from behind— waltzing under the crimson glow in a white suit and red tie. the kind of red you’d see in an hour old puddle of blood. his hair a beautiful mess against the discipline of his pressed fit.

“can you please check on enid? make sure her pack doesn’t try to eat salem?” knowing she didn’t care if you lied, wednesday fleeted, shooting ajax a look of murder while he danced with her barbie.

“look.”

xavier’s eyes swept upward for less than ten seconds before looking back down to you— to your white dress cascading in high and low lengths, ghostlike against the red.

a momentary shelter bloomed inside you upon meeting his green eyes— grabbing your hand, giving it an affirming squeeze before his fingers danced and settled in yours. “come with me.” all the threat within the room had fleeted away, as you both did— running through the woods, to his shed.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈

“the rave’n is about to start. what are we doing here?”

“i want to show you something first.”

xavier flicked on the light. the cramp studio set alight to the canvases— faces, shadows, half-finished visions of dread and yearning. he moved passed them, stopping before one shrouded in fabric. his eyes flickered to you for a moment, then he pulled the cover away.

it was you.

you, in the very dress you wore now. you, standing beneath a moon identical to the one crowning the rave’n tonight. only here, the white of your gown and the moon was pure— no stains, no violence, no shadow of red. the only other shade present came from salem, in your arms in deep slumber.

it was somehow enough to lift the weight pressing on your chest. the whispers of threats dulled.

“did you sneak into our dorm?” you teased. the laughter in the shed was uneven, his more of a shake of the head than a sound.

“i haven’t slept since yesterday,” he admitted. “i came here before sunrise, painted until my hands gave out, then fell into a brief nap— about ten minutes.”

“sure.”

“and i think it lasted the way it did so i could finally get all your details right this time.” he gazed at the piece, eyes glimmering in pride.

you glanced back at the canvas, retreating into irony before the weight of his words could anchor you. “you think this is a vision? it’s a symptom of your stress level. not a prophecy.” your voice trembled.

“enid texted, the party’s started.”

he doesn’t move nor look. at the back of his mind, he’s had enough. he no longer thinks you have any regards left for him. you could almost hear his thoughts from the silence, it made you pace. “xavier.”

“let’s talk after the party.” was all it took to ground him back.

it was beginning to feel like a chase, if it wasn’t already. the once indelible bond you had— now lingered like a fever dream. he wasn’t sure when the shift happened, only that somewhere along the way you’d stopped trying. what hurt the most wasn’t the distance itself, but your quiet surrender.

he escorted you back, his presence shadowing each step until you returned to the crowd of crazed students. you slipped into your seat beside your friends, xavier to your left.

your gaze swept the room in search of your enemies. from your vantage point, the board of sponsors reside at the opposite end of the venue. weems sat among them, notably plain in her usual attire.

“maud’s doing a very great job at provoking them.” enid worried, watching the small conference heat up. thorpe, by contrast, smirked at the sight of his father’s neck veins bulging.

thing returned with salem, jumping on enid and wednesday’s lap. “mayor walker agreed?” addams decoded. “maud just claimed jericho.”

“what would the everglot want with jericho?” xavier probed.

their speculations continued to unravel until maud walked out, seemingly upset. faris followed. you didn’t think, you simply rose and slipped after them.

you find your way to the parking lot, trusting your stealth betrayed nothing— but a light purr tried.

“salem..” you whispered, but there was no time to herd him back. he padded at your heel, as though his presence was also demanded at the scene.

maud and faris’ voices overlapped in the parking lot, brittle with accusations. you hid at the darkest corner of the building, near the garbage bins, watching your sister held beneath the dowager’s gaze, small under the weight of disdain. faris broke first, storming off in quiet.

you expected maud to drive off next when another figure slid from the tree line, boots striking the pavement with a scarlet rhythm.

thornhill.

the sound alone made your teeth clench, those red boots. she held vials of nightshade poison in her hand, a big mockery to their secrecy. you pressed against the cold stone wall, trying to steady the tremor in you. their whispers corrupted you, slowly, sharpening the edge of the brewing anger in you. what are they doing murdering outcasts?

you had pushed yourself up to your feet to run inside and get weems— but then came the yowl.

a spike of electricity numbing your system.

you’d spun too late.

salem.

your salem.

crumpled from the hood of a car, the sound of his body meeting metal before the thud of the ground. your knees burning against the pavement, scooping him into your arms. his fur was still warm, his blue eyes voided of life. you searched his mouth in desperation. the internal panic distracted you from the mere fact that maud had disappeared.

your hands pressed on his chest, trembling with a useless attempt at resurrection. “come back.” the words broke and something inside you flipped. death had already settled in. you felt the edge of his bones in his neck, the truth final, merciless.

you rose with your beloved feline in your arms, body running on not sorrow alone— but from something more sinister.

the way back inside puts you on thornhill’s path by the garbage bins as she discarded her empty vials of poison.

her mouth spilled your name. her pupils quiver meeting yours. you could hear her frantic heart, too. trashing in her ribs like a wild animal.

“what are you doing outside?” her eyes fall on salem’s limp body.

“did you spike the punch?” you whispered.

her lips curved, brittle, and unsure. “what? i didn’t hear you wha—”

“did you spike the punch?” you said sharper this time.

you didn’t blink. you didn’t moved.

she shifted, breath hitching. “why would i.. do such a.. thing?”

“did you spike the punch?”

her breathing uneven and quick, beads of sweat forming on her temple, lungs rasping like they were filling with smoke.

your words bend the air along with it.

“did you.. spike the punch?”

thornhill clawed at her throat, chest heaving as heat simmered beneath her skin— you could almost see it— the way her blood thickened, bubbled, burning her from within. her red boots staggered against the stone, knees collapsing under her own boiling weight. gasping like an animal in the absence of your humanity.

she’d begun convulsing, nails digging on her throat, body shaking. the view leaving you unfazed— amused— as white and red begin to swallow her eyes.

you voiced out steadily “did you” head tilted, “spike the punch, marilyn?”

the last sound she carried into unconsciousness was her own name from your mouth. her passed out frame limp and drenched in sweat, eyes dried, spent coldly on the pavement.

“you did.”

part five

[holifiles]

mea maxima culpa

wednesday au (female vampire reader)

synopsis: the outcasts accuse you of being a normie, until wednesday addams got poisoned.

warning: death and blood mentioned, lengthy, cursing, romance

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

part three: the devil’s mercy

“needs more flavor.” morticia, with her usual serpentine grace, licked the edge of the dipped bread knife into a pale red bowl of what looked disturbingly like congealed organs in aspic.

“more blood?” the girl in charge of the snack buffet clutched her soon-to-be blazed clipboard.

“no negatives, please. thank you dear.” tish purred.

the rave’n was twenty-four hours away, and the organizing committee was already unraveling at the seams, cramming like a fully-booked emergency room. apparently, mayor walker— jericho’s current headman— and maud everglot will attend the gala, after all. the news came in the last minute, and to say principal weems was unprepared would be the most brazen understatement of the academic year.

“we need more hands outside.” bianca announced, corralling a herd of davincis out of the hall. casting you a deliberate and unplesant look— while you stood beside faris as she exchanged pleasantries with vincent.

xavier and bianca might have severed ties, but she’d gladly drown anyone in their own blood should they cross xavier. you could almost taste iron in your mouth, as if her glare had already slit your throat. you despised being amongst their presence more than anyone does.

“i take you’ve met my lovely baby sister?” you attempt to scurry away when faris shoved you forward. why must she take after father so much? you thought. “ah, the muse.”

“pardon?” faris tipped her head.

“your sister has proved to be a rather profound inspiration to my son’s work,” he mused, feigning the act of measuring your face between his fingers. “however, it’s a shame he can’t get the details right.”

“some things simply resist being tamed by canvas.”

“she takes after our mother.” faris replied, voice a ribbon of pride laced with warning.

their conversation dissolved into the hollow chatter of business— words that washed over you without meaning. you looked around, the venue stirring to life, a massive full moon presiding over it all like an ancient eye, watching, binding every fragile element together.

but the absence of familiar faces, and presence of the wrong ones tighten the cold air around you until it felt like breathing through glass. everyone within eyesight was either a threat or a stranger.

you sprint to the nearest exit, shut it, and barricaded the double doors with a piece of wood. you take a deep breath in before cursing out all the tension stirring your chest. “fuck’s sake.”

you had it with the everglot confirmation.

“you curse now?”

your back struck the double doors.

“we need to talk.”

“i don’t have—”

“now.”

with the gala looming, the event had begun to feel less like charity and more like a ceremonial bloodletting. you couldn’t fathom why weems would invite an everglot of all people. has she specifically requested maud? and if not, shouldn’t the council be unsettled that— out of every possible guest— they chose to send her? it’s a dead giveaway staring them in the face, yet them seemed blinded, as though the promise of generous donations had sewn their eyelids shut. the everglots aren’t even a part of the sponsors. they want nevermore, not a truce with a red ribbon on it.

“it’s absurd how the council took thornhill’s word for it.” the red-head normie proposed the plan to sit down with the everglots when the council and sponsors were all on board— the gala.

xavier stood before you, watching the frantic unraveling of your thoughts. “wednesday already spoke to weems about thornhill and the everglot. she still refuses to believe marilyn has anything to do with this— and the everglot? not to mention your father? faris?” the questions tumble after another, your voice steady only in the way a cracking glass still holds shape before it shatters. inside, you were clawing at the air for breath, lungs heavy with concealed dread.

he nodded at every word, as though each piece of information was being weighed and measured. he was listening— every syllable carved into his mind— but he couldn’t stay in your presence for more than five minutes without falling helplessly into the quiet ruin of your pale mouth.

“y/n, you look pale.”

you let out a hollow laugh, a painful one if you weren’t carefully enough. you waited for xavier to retract, to call it an inside joke you’d somehow missed.

“xavier,” you breathed in slowly, air reluctant to enter your lungs. “this isn’t the time for jokes.”

he turned fully forward you, shadows carving sharp lines across his face. “i know. i’m not trying to make light of this. trust me— the last thing i want to hear is my father’s laughter amongst the council.” his words left the air colder, heavier. you stayed silent, because in moments like this, felt safer than whatever truth might come next.

“this is not the time to discuss our personal hiccups, xavier.”

he reached for your hand, closing his fingers around it with a grip that felt less like comfort and more like an anchor. you stare, contemplating whether to pull away. you didn’t want to— not when you ached for the warmth he used to give you, one that’s currently missing as his thumb traced slow circles on the back of your palm. a habit he’d develop, only on your back or thigh.

“no.” he said, tone seeping under skin. “you’ll keep finding excuses to dismiss this. the fact that you know exactly what this is tells me it’s weighing on you, too.”

“don’t kid yourself.”

“no. no—don’t do that.” his voice was tethered, holding you gently by the arm as if he knew you’d recoil. “i know you’re scared. i know. y/n, i know what happened that night.”

you had always suspected xavier caught the little breadcrumbs you let slip before everything went downhill. xavier is a sweet boy, but his greater strength lies in his attentiveness. so with him, trust didn’t feel like a blindfolded leap, it felt like breathing after holding it too long.

you were a month behind when you arrived at nevermore. a girl out of nowhere: a big question mark— an oddity that no one could neatly classify. you had been transferred from bulgaria under the shadow of secrecy, your aunt paying weems a fortune to keep you tucked away from the rest of the supernatural world. only the council knew the truth of your upbringing. you as the carcass, them your cursed coffin.

your silence came with an expensive price to pay as it drew the rest of nevermore into your arcane. you’d watch them torture marilyn thornhill— the only true normie in the midst— who chose martyrdom. although, you admire her patience, the compassion she has for the pariahs. until one day, her place at the center of their scrutiny became yours.

the sirens dipped in first with feeble attempts to use their siren song to squeeze out answers. but the compulsion slid off you as if your mind had been lined with glass. you find great entertainment over how frail their only valuable ability was compared to yours, wondering what they need the amulets for. no one could explain why you’re immune, and you never offered one. weems didn’t have to find out about their scheme, partly because it felt like a harmless act out of curiosity— and partly because you were also hungry for the answers yourself.

it soon became a race of who could crack you open first. everyone participated, in their own way, to peel back your skin and see what lived underneath. in a way, you convinced yourself of its validity. the council did brand you as something to be hidden, and in the absence of truth, fear breeds cruelty. wearing their shoes didn’t make the games easier to bear, though. it only made you indignant.

soon, winter came. and with it, a reassignment. new dorm. new roommates.

enid sinclair and wednesday addams.

you had frantically sewn your lids to your brows during the first week, wary the girl in ink-black braids might take interest in your throat and perform coherent lacerations on it in your sleep. instead, you learn about your shared traits such as the distaste of proximity and anything relatively relevant to other breathing humans. wednesday’s the much darker version of you, to sum it up.

then there’s enid, the embodiment of sunshine and sugar, a perfect addition to the powerpuff trio. she hadn’t wolfed out when you first met her. her ability to withstand color and glitter used to drill corkscrews in your eye sockets. it was the idle conversations, every now and then, about her loneliness among the lycans that indulged you both into a low-maintenance fellowship. the girl has talent, even got wednesday to wear matching snoods.

two months passed, the knife you kept behind your back for them rusted away. they weren’t after you, but they weren’t the first to make you think you could open up, either.

it was during history, when bianca and her friends mocked you— calling you a delusional outsider who bought her way in to live out some fevered fantasy. you were ready to swallow it down like always. but someone else had other plans that day.

xavier thorpe. coincidentally, also bianca barclay’s ex. at the time, it was out of personal spite on his part. that didn’t stop you from showing gratitude. see, to you, it was a one-time thing. to him, it was a door.

he didn’t want to know what you were. he wanted to know you. why you never stood up for yourself. why you spoke silence so fluently amidst all the noise. not to dissect you, not to see what you were made of— anatomically speaking— he wanted what you’d been trying to bury. yourself.

perhaps he saw himself in you, or perhaps he saw the person he wished he could be.

at first, it was the afternoons in his shed, painting instead of attending botany class. the small jokes traded over shared complaints about complicated parents. lunches stolen between lectures. archery lessons you gave his stubborn hero complex. he liked that he never has to announce himself with you.

with you, he wasn’t vincent thorpe’s son. he wasn’t a prophecy on legs. he was simply xavier, a boy who painted his visions so they wouldn’t devour him— and with you, they were just paintings and stories. harmless. contained. because you saw him. saw past the edges he tried to sand down.

and you— who had never felt safe after your sister left— felt it for the first time in his presence. he didn’t build a sanctuary for you out of obligation. it seemed to come naturally to him, like breathing. it was in the way he’d take pride in keeping you shielded, the quiet joy he took in being someone you could lean on.

you wanted to honor that. until it was no longer about honor.

until it became something dangerous, crossing the line between affinity and wariness.

the day your heart first argued over his name, wednesday’s mind had answered.

a vision of your death.

a vision that promised nevermore’s end.

“i know that this is beyond us, but shutting down on me isn’t going to make anything better. i can see you sacrificing yourself, y/n.” his lips tremble, eyes glossing. “you need me, y/n— i need you. please.”

“i can’t.”

how many more times does he have to watch you slip away and not chase after you? xavier knew enough to, but too little not to. he’d always known what to do to help you, but this time— he could only ache.

part four

[holifiles]

masterlist .ᐟ

wednesday

⭑ mea maxima culpa — au (ongoing)

[holifiles]

mea maxima culpa

wednesday au (female vampire reader)

synopsis: the outcasts accuse you of being a normie, until wednesday addams got poisoned.

warning: death mentioned, lengthy, romance

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

part two: show and tell

expecting wednesday addams to take a break after the quad incident would be folly, but as it turns out, even the blackest of ravens must crawl through the shadows when a wing lies broken.

it had taken a far greater toll on wednesday than anticipated— or perhaps it was on weems for underestimating you. as furious as larissa is, she can never bring herself to blame you. if anything, she despised the fact that she can’t blame herself enough for letting such happen under her supervision. with the swirling speculations about thornhill and the everglot, the mass nightshade poison murder and your false god spectacle at the quad— weems teeters on the edge of a psychotic break.

“principal weems, y/n is here to see you.”

“send her in.”

you had braced yourself for a long verbal lashing from weems, despite thing’s efforts to assure you no one was upset over the miracle you’d pulled that night, but you have known larissa almost her whole life.

“how are you feeling?” she leans forward, pressing herself against the table, gaze unwavering towards the girl by the fireplace.

“i don’t know.” you admit, reluctant to reason. “my friend almost died.”

“did anything unusual occur right after you saved miss addams? any signs of exhaustion or nightmares?”

“i can’t sleep.” can you? seven innocent outcasts died— eight if you hadn’t interfered.

weems didn’t pry further. which was a first— especially when it came to you or wednesday addams.

“can i see her—”

“principal weems?” you look over your shoulder to see xavier enter in a plain white shirt adorned with multiple paint splash. “xavier, you’re just in time.” you look at each other, pondering of your presences, and why the principal is out of character.

“your visions are anything but a curse, xavier. contrary to what your father believes. and unlike wednesday’s psychic abilities, which lacks in many aspects, yours are almost always certain.” she circles around the table to a shrouded canvas by the bookshelf.

“your art style is unlike any other, too bad i prefer your father’s. still.. your most recent piece speaks to me. however, there seems to be a barrier.”

she pulled away the fabric, revealing a blood moon glaring down a dilapidated nevermore and only one student remains animate despite soaking in blood.

you.

“how did you get this?” xavier points at his painting, dazed by the look on your face and weems’ scheme.

“that can’t be me.”

“you can’t just invade my space and take my stuff.”

“mister thorpe, understand this” weems loomed over both of you “what happened last week, sets a foot forward for us with the everglot. they want war. so i will gladly invade any private space and take anything if it means protecting nevermore.”

“yet you couldn’t save them from eating those poisoned apples,” you shot back. “how’s that working for you?”

she gritted her teeth, digging skin off her palms, a slow, deliberate breath steadying her before facing you again.

“i didn’t call you here to argue.” her gaze slid from you to xavier.

“xavier, you are to never leave y/n’s side until i say so. if you have visions concerning to her, you report directly to me— i want every single detail, down to the last stroke. am i clear?”

xavier’s eyes flicked to you, searching for permission you couldn’t give. “am i clear?” she repeated with a low voice that pressed in from all sides.

“sure.”

“good.” she nodded once, dragging from him to you, measuring something unseen.

“you may see miss addams later this evening. she requested to see you.” a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding left you.

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“are you gonna visit addams?” he matched the steps you take, carefully so he doesn’t pull ahead or fall behind.

“i’ll go with enid later.” you say in a hurry. somehow the whole probation thing and painting had rattled you more than you’d care to admit.

“i think she’s with ajax at the weathervane. they won’t be back until past ten.” xavier feign glanced at his wristwatch.

“if you want to come with, could’ve just said so.” you laugh only at the back of your mind.

xavier had always been clingy, and you like that of him. but unlike before, you can no longer bask in the warmth of his company. it would be selfish of you to put the only other person you care about in danger. you’d be selfish to let him any closer.

wednesday was right. you’ve grown back a conscience… and something else entirely. maybe something else far beyond you, even.

“hey look—”

you and xavier pass a window just as fireworks burst into the sky, scattering light like fractured glass. it looks to come from jericho.

“come on.” the tone carried the same pull as the sound outside— restless, and a little careless. he rarely wore out his true self on his sleeves.

maybe that’s why you don’t protest when his hand catches yours, fingers weaved to each other’s instinctively as he tugs you towards the nearest exit.

he leads you to the open lawn in front of weems’ office bathed in the shifting glow of reds, blues, and golds, only then you find out the real reason that drew him out there.

a few yards away, stood enid and wednesday. framed by the cold night. a protective arm holding wednesday’s smaller and rather saggy posture— as if the poison still lingered in her bones. you bite back a laugh, imagining the stubborn war that must’ve taken place for enid to convince her to come.

you and xavier linger in the shadows, hands still intertwined— watching them in quiet, the silence between you filled only by the crack and boom of the fireworks overhead.

“y/n” he always said your name with a sweet intent to it.

you look too quickly.

the light danced in your eyes, catching xavier in a trance he doesn’t know how to pull away from, words escaping him.

before you can ask, something from the corner of your eyes unfold. you weren’t certain, you refuse to see it— but there it is.

wednesday addams, resting her head against enid sinclair’s shoulder.

xavier followed your eyes. “that’s something.” least you know you weren’t seeing things. he watched you watching your friends, almost feeling the warmth radiating off you like a sunbeam he had no right to stand under.

you, him, and everyone else knew enid and wednesday’s dynamics— no soft displays of affection, no hugs. if anything, the simple head-rest moment is a confirmation to all your assumptions about their relationship beneath all the love and hate facade. unspoken yes, but you weren’t impaired.

he wanted whatever that was.

no.

he wanted more than a silly, fleeting head-rest moment with you. he wanted everything to do with you— every sharp edge, every quiet look, every inexplicable piece of you. yet he can’t even bring himself to tell you that. as if he thought he could somehow skip the gut-spilling part and have all the good with you.

except, what good is there? good rots. good dies. just as you soon will. and he wasn’t sure if you’d ever let him in before it did.

“i miss you, y/n.”

you heard him. otherwise, you wouldn’t have frozen up, still pretending to be up in your head scripting some macabre fanfiction of your homosexual peers. probably ending with a blood pact and bodies to bury.

“i miss talking to you.” he added.

“we talk.”

“no, y/n. you’ve been avoiding me. we don’t— you don’t talk to me anymore. it hurts. and at the quad—”

“you’re right.” you look at him briefly, once. “we’re not talking, xavier.” with that, you turned away from him, leaving him with nothing but the hollow echo of your voice. the absence of your touch on his palm pricking on his chest.

above, the sky was unraveling— it’s fading colors bleeding out like the last gasps of a mortally wounded thing, dying alongside the fragile hope of what could be.

he watched you disappear into the shadow of the night, taunted to claw his own hair out itched under his skin out of frustration.

had he said the wrong thing? worse, had he said exactly what you needed to hear to walk away?

xavier could only hope you talk to him at the rave’n.

or have you taken back your answer on going with him as you did your promise to be each other’s confidant?

if that was all you were to each other.

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ophelia hall had house it’s share of iron-willed leaders— two of them being your mother and wednesday’s. weems knew both women, especially yours. unfortunately, according to the rumors, your father left a taste in her mouth that was less than fine wine, more spoiled milk. even after his death, larissa never spoke of him. which, in hindsight, might have been her most flattering eulogy.

the rave’n was in three days, four for the gala. all sponsors are set to arrive later today to help organize and polish all other forms of frivolity.

“your family’s here. i just saw pugsley eating a slug off the gate.” ajax mentioned as he passed, arms heavy with decor. close behind is xavier in a clean apron and a bucket of fresh brushes in hand. his gaze skim yours momentarily, no words spoken but the distance thick in intention.

“i assume yours is a no-show again.” wednesday remarked as you stopped by the fountain.

“consider me psyched.” you deadpanned.

no one was coming for you nor on your family’s behalf. you don’t expect your remaining living relative besides your sister— namely your aunt— to show up when she had paid enough to maintain nevermore’s glory on your name, though really on your mother’s grave.

gravestones make for loyal benefactors.

shortly after, enid arrived in her newly dyed hair. you head for the main gate, passing a familiar face you’d only ever seen in tabloids. one of the five sponsors, one who had not set foot on campus since his son enrolled. you hold your breath as he disappeared into the quad, heart thrashing inside your ribs.

“that was vincent thorpe.” you say above a whisper, yet enough for your friends to catch.

you can’t help but worry, mind circling back to xavier. the anguish pooling his eyes earlier. there you thought it was that night. apparently, it’s something more hefty.

“that’s leverage,” wednesday advised. “torment him. distract him with something precise, like a flathead screwdriver to the heart, instead of wallowing in family melodrama.” her gaze swept over a pair of students sprinting past, offended by their existence.

you considered saying something. but ultimately stitched your lips shut. better silence than to feed them anything to dissect. if it came to naming it, all three of you would be left in the same graveyard of questions.

your demented mind’s choir of restlessness was reaching a crescendo when a voice yanked you back to the present.

“you are in dire need of a haircut.”

“those split ends could be a weapon.” she wore the same red pendant from the night you’d last seen her at poe’s statue.

she dragged her ice-cold thumb along your cheek, pressing phantom kisses to them. wednesday, being wednesday, recoiled at the display of affection— though in her case, recoiled looked more like plotting a slow poisoning.

“i take she’s still grumpy about the apple.” faris laughed to herself. “what are you doing here?”

“can’t i visit my little sister when i miss her?”

her last letter had been from moldova, when she’d scattered her late husband’s ashes after his death— self-inflicted electrocution during an intimate ‘experiment’ involving live voltage. you refused to reiterate the content of the letter in your head as you redirect your attention to the luggages behind her, carried out by her butler, jenkins.

between the addams family, vincent thorpe, and your sister’s sudden appearance, it was shaping up to be the longest, strangest week in nevermore.

part three

[holifiles]

mea maxima culpa

wednesday au (female vampire reader)

synopsis: the outcasts accuse you of being a normie, until wednesday addams got poisoned.

warning: blood, death, lengthy, romance

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

part one: before the feet of a god

freshman year prank day was a catastrophe. you would expect harmless pranks in exchange for a few laughs— until you find yourself swimming in a tub of maggots or tied to a chair, forced to watch legally blondes without so much as your stomach turning.

you did not participate last year, and this year won’t be any different. it’s not that you shy away from a little fun— you simply weren’t allowed to.

everyone else, though, savor and bathe in your misery— the fine line between personal vendetta and superfluous prejudice slowly blurring with every calculated attempt to push you to the edge.

you understand the why, but never the how.

how do they come up with such devious conclusions about you— ones you’d often be flattered by under different circumstances— being the devil’s own daughter? it’s an honor, if you think about it. then again, the idea alone sparks fear and pique among the outcasts. shivers mainly to the council’s spine. but on not principal weems’.

you’ve never showcased any of your abilities, let alone harbored any ill-rooted intents. in your first months at nevermore, everyone mocked you— thinking you were a normie. prank day drew the line when the sirens decided to fill the quad fountain with pig’s blood and pretend you had cause the mass murder. weems almost expelled them, bianca barclay included.

instead, she opted to announce your true nature—why you weren’t to be taunted. from then on, the pranks had vanished only to be replaced by side-eyes and repressed schemes. any room you entered would immediately fill the air with tension. it didn’t matter if you knew them, because everyone knew you.

or so they thought.

“hey lucy.” friendly neighborhood gorgon, ajax, jumps out from behind you with a mischievous grin. “happy prank day!” he thrusts out a thick black book into your hands, the corners of his mouth curling in barely contained laughter.

you only allow your friends to call you lucy. if it were someone beyond your perimeter, being called the derivative counterpart of lucifer is going admit you into willow hill for neuroticism. as for your friends though, it’s become an inside joke you’ve grown to love.

“is that..” enid follows shortly, tilting her head “a.. bible?” plucking out the last leaf from her hair, flicking it aside before shifting gaze from ajax to the book in question.

she huffs, crossing her arms. “come on— it’s prank day, and look! even lucy thinks it’s funny.” he gestures to the faint tagging at the corner of your lips— barely noticeable, but it’s there.

enid stands firm, unyielding as her gaze. “can you at least tell me you get it?” ajax slowly retreating.

“i, for one, would’ve lost it if he’d thrown in a full-blown exorcism rite.” you nudge enid’s shoulder with yours. she loosens up, letting go of the imaginary chokehold on ajax, as her girlfriend’s familiar fangs peek through in an amused grin.

“hey, wednesday!” enid says amidst the laughter.

your gaze flickers from thing perched on wednesday’s shoulder to the boy approaching from behind. you excuse yourself as wednesday dives into her latest discoveries about thornhill, striding as casually as possible to no avail. he calls your name, hand as cold as the night you found him in his shed. you dare not to meet his eyes.

“can we talk?”

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“i’m sorry for flipping out on you. i was an asshole— specially for bringing up bucharest.”

a small chuckle escapes you, catching him off guard. he’d always known you were laid-back, but the guilt over your little argument continues to consume him.

“water under the bridge, thorpe.”

“you didn’t call me by my name” he murmured, barely above a whisper. you only used his last name when you’re upset or when you mean business, xavier thought. “i’m really sorry, y/n.” panic visible in both his voice and how his lips tremble.

“oh— no— sorry. it’s out of habit, xavier. i’m not mad at you anymore.” he pants, shoulders hunched, arms looming to reach out to you but isn’t sure if he should.

“not that i ever was.”

you both sit with the silence— one that isn’t quite comforting rather thick and heavy, unsure why— of what— you attempt to affirm him.

“xavier”

he calls your name at the same time. cocking your brows, he takes a deep breath before speaking.

“i don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t found me that night, thank you. and—” he stutters, realizing it was the first time in a very long while that you’ve look at him again. “i believe you.”

his pupils aren’t shaking; they just don’t seem to know where to look. at first, it’s your smile. he thinks you’re doing it on purpose— working your hypnosis on him, maybe— though he isn’t sure if it’s just him or everyone. then it’s the subtle pink hue on your cheeks, the kind that only appears when you’ve stayed too long under the sun. he tries to convince himself it was out of fascination— wondering how a bloodless being could show signs of warmth. and then it’s your eyes. they’re beautiful, and the same time, terrifying.

meeting her hazel eyes feels like unfolding secrets. she looks as if she can see all of you— your desires, your regrets. i felt the need to put my guard up, until her eyes made it feel like i didn’t have to anymore. and if she could really see through me, she’d know that i want her more than anything. xavier shakes his head, desperate to push away the thoughts clawing at the edge of his mind.

“you said that to wednesday too— about thornhill.” you try to lighten the mood.

xavier exhales, the breath heavy in his chest. still— he couldn’t shake the sting—can’t help but feel discarded all over again. he wonders why you always bypass him. is it him? if it isn’t, why do you feel like you can’t trust me enough to be honest?

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the clock read 9:27 pm.

you decide to join enid and wednesday for dinner at the last minute, just because the encounter with xavier this morning took a big chunk on you than you’d like to admit. you’ll need all your strength for tonight, after all.

there won’t be another full blood moon for the next three months, and you can’t risk any setbacks. wednesday made sure you remember that.

“do you guys want some ket— never mind.” enid grabs the green squeeze bottle. pretty sure it’s not supposed to be green.

“what imbecile thought it would be a great idea to commemorate idiocy for twenty-four hours?” wednesday states, balancing a single rotten apple on her tray as she leads the way out of the trashed cafeteria.

you insist on settling near the quad fountain for better access and to aid with your calculations. “why are you hiding from xavier? ajax has been bugging me for deets.” and perhaps to lay low from a certain tortured artist.

“unfathomable as it is, y/n appears to have redeemed her more humane traits— and does not wish xavier to join our soon-to-be active body count.”

“i’m starting to think wednesday summoned back my soul during our last séance.” you attempt to wash away the disturbed look on enid’s face. “active body count…?” poor pup.

while wednesday lays out the plan for the night with the casual malice of someone planning a funeral, you offer to return the trays inside. the quad is half-empty, air sharp with the scent of damp stone and questionable cafeteria meat.

then a familiar disembodied hand gestures urgently toward the dark alley to poe’s statue. assuming thing was leading you to the nightshade library— instead, you see yet another familiar figure in the shadows standing before poe.

“faris? how did you get— what are you doing here?”

thing exits silently, leaving just you, and your sister, and the sickly glow of a lone lamp as your only source of light. it casts an almost half-haunted look on her face.

“you can’t do the séance, y/n.”

“it will put your psychic friend in danger. you don’t know what you’re going up against.”

“if wednesday’s vision is right, i can’t let all these people di—”

“i can’t let you die.”

you open your mouth to confront her when the sound of a commotion and a blood curdling scream from the quad intercepts. “you will die, y/n.” she says, low and certain, as you break into a sprint. enid held wednesday’s convulsing frame on the ground. eyes bloodshot, mouth frothing, chaos already carved itself into the scene before you can even register what was happening.

enid cried out your name.

“wednesday!” you rushed to the ground, mud covering your knees as you cradle wednesday’s limp body into your lap, breath shallow and skin clammy. your heart races, but your voice is steady— almost cold.

“nightshade poison.”

“what do we do— wednesday? oh my god—” enid cried, words tumbling in a panic.

bianca and xavier rushes into the scene, the pounding of their footsteps slicing through the chaos, with principal weems close behind.

”what happened?” weems froze mid-step at the sight of wednesday addams’ collapsed frame in your arms, skin paling by the second.

your right hand rested on wednesday’s forehead, feeling the faint flicker of heat from the poison’s burn. the other on the ground, nails digging into the flesh of your palm until the sting becomes something you can focus on— something to keep you from falling apart.

you weren’t going to let wednesday die. you couldn’t.

“weems.” that one word sent the tall woman array. she stiffened instantly, eye darting to yours in a defeated manner.

her lips part “you can’t.” coming out as a plea.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you think: wednesday’s the one poisoned, but suddenly you’re the dangerous one in the room.

in complete desertion, you put your crimson-tainted hand on wednesday’s, guiding it until it rests just above her stomach.

“you’re not dying yet, addams. not like this.” you whispered, voice low enough that only she could hear, if she were lucid enough to listen. she choked on whatever venom is currently trying to wrestle the life out of her.

a momentary slip in time, the quad fell dead silent. no footsteps. no whispers. just the still, collective breath of a crowd that doesn’t dare to move. everyone is watching as the life in the peculiar girl’s eyes flickered.

and then, an excruciating primal yawp tore through the air, ripping the silence to shreds. wednesday thrashed, nails biting down into the flesh of your palm with such force you feel bone. blood began to spill from her mouth in sharp and ugly bursts. “that’s it.” you don’t flinch at all as you coax her.

“y/n! you’re killing her!” weems’ accusation almost ticked you off.

everyone gasped at the unraveling. eyes darting between you and wednesday like they’re unsure which of you is the bigger threat. “what’s happening?” bianca breathed out, voice barely audible over wednesday’s raw, jagged cries.

eyes were filled with fear and perplexity, neither greater than the other. it’s impossible to tell which is worse— panic at what they’re seeing, or the dawning horror that it might be too late?

then, nothing.

the quad fell in suffocating silence. nothing but ragged panting and the oppressive weight of everyone’s thoughts pressing in.

she lays inanimate on your lap, pale, and mouth drenched in her own blood.

then a long, shuddering gasp.

her body snapped upright, choking, coughing blood.

“wednesday!” enid all but collapsed into her. tears streak her face, mixing with the fresh blood on her vest.

you push yourself to your feet. a mixture of blood and mud pooling under you. the stench made you quiver for a moment. your body hollow, running on something primal and stubborn, anything but adrenaline.

you put the remaining energy you have into checking on everyone else, wiping splashes of blood off your face.

pupils blown out in pure horror, as yours were from the number of dead bodies around you.

part two