[Perseus POV]
I find myself sitting with Wednesday at the very center of the room. The place is big, rectangular, and far too formal for my taste — polished black floors, tall arched windows covered with thick curtains, and a ceiling painted with constellations.
That's not the strange part. The strange part is that I'm surrounded by people who matter. Some I recognize — council members, heads of old families, even the shapeshifter president himself. Others I don't, but you can tell from their aura that they're strong, influential, dangerous.
In the center of it all, on a lectern carved from black stone, rests a book. It looks fragile, ancient, yet somehow still alive. The Addams family tree. Its pages are thin and translucent in the candlelight, but the ink gleams as if it was written just yesterday.
My eyes trace the branches: Morticia, Gomez, Pugsley, then Wednesday. And right beside her name… an empty line, waiting for something to be written.
I lean toward her and mutter under my breath, "Are you sure this is just for show and not, you know, an actual matrimonial ceremony with witnesses and contracts?"
"I am sure," she replies without a flicker of hesitation.
I narrow my eyes. "You found somewhere a loophole in my sentence, right?"
Her expression doesn't change. Just that perfect blank stare, heavy enough to crush any follow-up question. She doesn't blink. Doesn't move. Her back is straight, hands folded with deliberate precision on her lap, posture carved out of ice. Then she raises her hand slightly, and with the faintest tilt of her wrist, gestures toward the book.
"Sign."
It's not a request. Not even a command. It's an inevitability.
When I glance up again, the entire hall is watching.
Some whisper, some smile, and others already look like they're rehearsing the story they'll tell their grandchildren one day. A man in the front row leans toward his wife, muttering behind a gloved hand, his eyes never leaving me. A matriarch from the Thornes smirks, as if she can already taste the alliances she'll try to force from this.
Not everyone looks amused. Across the aisle, a boy about my age glares daggers at me, jaw clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grind from here. Jealous, little boy?
Her parents are the worst. Gomez is practically glowing with pride, while Morticia's smile is soft, elegant.
My hand twitches when I spot a small furball with eyes near the front. The last time I saw him was at Fester's wedding.
I want a lawyer. And the FBI. Where the fuck are you when I need you?
This really feels like I'm marrying Wednesday. But why now? Why so early? It doesn't make sense. We have all the time in the world — so why rush? Or… is this something else? Like she said. Just for show.
Then I look at her again and notice it: the faintest curve at her lips. She's enjoying this. She could just say it outright, but no — she'd rather let me overthink, watch me sweat, and savor the spectacle.
Not that I'd mind if it really was a wedding. I'd take her surname and join her family without hesitation. What surname do I have, anyway? None. What family do I have? The same people who left me in the snow to die. So why would I cling to a name that doesn't exist, or waste years trying to build a new one from scratch, when the Addams name already carries centuries of weight?
It's like marrying a princess when you're just a baker. You wouldn't drag her back to your cramped little bakery apartment and call it love — you'd move into the castle, eat the feast, and wear the crown.
And this isn't just about me. The Addams name would protect any child I might one day have. No one would dare touch them, and the ancestor spirits of this family would be there to guide and train them. You don't get that by scribbling "new family" on a piece of paper and pretending it matters.
Of course, there are always idiots who'd argue: you're a man, you should build your own family, carve your own name, never take the surname of a woman. To which I say: congrats, your mind is stuck in the past, blinded by stereotypes and absurd fanfiction instead of reality.
And then there are the ones who'd say I'm some sort of simp or beta male. To which I say: the ritual didn't really test love, but rather how much you're willing to sacrifice.
As for what I would have done if the ritual really tested love and she failed? I would still have saved her — not out of love, but out of respect for her parents that helped me all these years and gave me artifacts without asking anything in return. After saving her, I would have simply left the Addams manor and lived with my grandmother. Then I would take Enid as my only love and that would be it.
That's how I've always been: if you don't love me, then I stop loving you. Usually, that's when the girl suddenly becomes interested again — but by then it's too late, because I have no interest anymore. There are plenty of fish in the ocean, and I don't need to lower myself for just one in particular.
But that cold certainty doesn't help me now.
The pen is already in my hand, and my heartbeat is so loud I can feel it in my teeth. My palms are sweating. My head is spinning.
What the fuck am I signing? Someone help!
[Random Guest POV]
Today, the Addams family, one of the most ancient, powerful and feared psychic lineages in all of Outcast society, has chosen to reveal the future husband of their heir.
The marriage will come when they are eighteen. Still, they wanted a ceremony before the marriage, to show all the families the chosen candidate and to make it clear that from this day on, every action taken against him will be seen as an action against them.
When I first heard the rumors of such an absurd ceremony, jealousy burned in me like fire. Who wouldn't want that position? To marry into the Addams family is not fortune. It is ascension. Royal weddings look pitiful compared to this. Heirs of prestigious bloodlines would throw everything away just for a chance at that seat.
And the timing was no coincidence. The Addams had been growing louder, hungrier, expanding their reach. With the introduction of a twelfth faction to their ranks, the so-called Tarot Club, specialized in assassination, combat and reconnaissance, even more families now dream of marrying into their name. Somehow, in just five years, that group grew into one of the most feared and effective war machines in the world. All Outcast councils and governments call on the Addams when the risks are too high, when no one else dares intervene.
So, when the news spread that the chosen one was an Outcast abandoned by his own family, anger erupted across our society. But curiosity spread faster. Who was this boy?
I tried to dig for information, but everything about him was classified at the highest level. If that alone doesn't scream danger, you're either a fool or suicidal. And when I thought I was being clever, trying to brute-force my way in, a message flashed across my laptop screen: *I see you! Here are your coordinates ****. Want to be the 69th victim? :)
What the fuck.
After that, I stopped digging. And yet, curiosity still dragged me here today. And now, standing here, seeing him with my own eyes… I still can't tell what's so particular about him.
He and Wednesday stand together like figures torn from a dark fairytale. She is pale, composed, untouchable, her braid falling over her shoulder like a rope of shadow. And he… he is unnervingly still. Shoulders loose, face unreadable, as if the entire hall were beneath his notice. Together, they do not look like teenagers. They look like statues carved from cold marble — gothic, eternal, destined to outlast us all.
When Perseus reached for the pen, the room stirred. Whispers rippled through the hall — some sharp with envy, others mocking under their breath. A few even smirked, as if expecting him to fumble and embarrass the Addams name before he ever wrote it.
But the moment his fingers closed around the pen, something changed. His stillness deepened. His shoulders tightened. The smirks began to falter.
And then I hear it.
Thump.
Thump.
A sound, steady and slow, like the beat of a war drum echoing through the hall. But it isn't distant. It comes from him.
The rhythm seeps into the silence, pressing against my chest, rattling my ribs. My breathing stutters. Around me, others shift uncomfortably. A child from the Crowhurst family clutches at the pendant on his throat, an heirloom charm said to ward off possession, but his hands shake too badly to keep hold of it. A man from the Bancrofts, smug a moment ago, now won't lift his eyes from the floor. Even one of the council enforcers grips the hilt of his blade, knuckles bone-white, though he doesn't dare draw it.
And the shapeshifter president… tilts his head, the faintest acknowledgment, like a predator recognizing another.
He doesn't move. He doesn't speak. But the aura is there — heavy, absolute, crushing without effort.
I expected to see some lucky boy clinging desperately to the Addams name like a lifeline. Instead, I see someone who makes even monsters hesitate.
What is this? Is he truly so confident he could beat us all?
And in that moment, I realize: perhaps the secrecy was never meant to protect him.
It was meant to protect us.
From him.
[Perseus POV]
I press the nib to my palm, let the blood well up, and scrawl my name onto the page. The book drinks it greedily, the excess sizzling into thin red flames that vanish as quickly as they appear.
The hall breaks into murmurs of approval. Gomez beams so wide it's almost blinding, slapping me on the shoulder like I've just scored a goal for the family. Morticia watches with that sharp little smile that promises this is only the beginning.
I look at the burning ink, my hand still stinging from the cut, and think to myself:
So… I just got married?
************
Author Note:
This chapter has about 1.8k words… it should have been around 3.2k, but the next part is where I explain his gift, and every time I reread it I kept finding loopholes or inconsistencies. So, I decided to divide them and I'll revise the last part in the next few days.
Big thanks to Slayer76 for suggesting and helping write the logic behind why the MC should take the Addams surname.
Also, some readers told me this fanfic got first place in ranking… yeeee! Thanks to everyone who donated!
And I also saw that we reached 1 million views. That was honestly my goal from the start, and now I feel like I've lost my purpose… joking.
I'll keep writing, posting, and integrating suggestions I enjoy. :)
Also, as you may have noticed, I usually read comments and either like them or respond. But lately there have been a lot of negative or inappropriate ones — probably just because the number of readers has grown. Personally I don't care, but a friend of mine volunteered to help as a moderator (in exchange, I have to cook for her once a week). So yeah... thats it.