sharpen-your-hatchet - Tumblr blog

sharpen-your-hatchet · 28 days

Text

What I Feel; What I Do; What I Want || Wenclair fic - Chapter 4

Description: "Frankly, all her life, she has felt separation between what she feels, what she does, and what she actually wants. Being royalty means there's often little room for opinion and desire [...]; Enid wonders how it'll feel to have her ingrained sense of duty be pitted against her unshackled curiosity. "

Six months past her 19th birthday - Enid, princess of The Kingdom of Nevermore, is allowed the chance to travel and explore the world as she sees fit. Unfortunately, it comes with a little caveat... in the form of some unwelcome company for protection. Cue Wednesday Addams, the only knight deemed worthy, and who is now Enid's personal thorn in her side.

Can they work together despite their differences? Or maybe fate has an entirely different plan for them altogether...

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Teens & Up

Word Count: 12,322

Click Here To Read On AO3 or read below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

It’s been two days since the ritual Enid had partaken in and Wednesday finds herself feeling full of thought. They’re travelling again now – uphill, on the path to their second main location: a small humble town renown for its farms and food. Wednesday had expected some sort of begging or hopeful negotiation to stay longer in the Siren’s Domain…. Yet here they are, Enid strangely quiet and obedient on following their route. It seems unlike Enid to not dawdle, but Wednesday will not question the thankful silence.

The town they’re travelling to is unfamiliar to Wednesday. Though, thanks to the other knights back home, she understands the place they are heading is rather “pretty”, and that the food is some of the best in the kingdom. Their company was seldom wanted, but Wednesday must admit to herself that knowing about this place due to the other knights makes her less inclined to grumble. After all, knowledge is power. This upcoming town seems bearable, especially when opposed to where they just came from. Not to mention that seeing the Siren’s Domain disappear into the distance as she and Enid travel is a small blessing – To Wednesday at least. She expects Enid to feel quite the opposite, not that she cares.

Something Wednesday recalls of this town is the other knights fondly recounting a bakery there, one with food to ‘die for’. Wednesday is unsure whether they mean food containing literal poisons or food so good it’s worth dying over - which is ridiculous as a notion - but she hopes it is the latter. Alsoit rains a lot in this town, which is something the other knights complained about… Unsurprising though, as she finds many of the knights to be incredibly whiny. They likely were too dumb to realise the large volume of rain contributed to the success of the crops. To Wednesday, such miserable weather sounds wonderful; frankly, it’s been far too sunny for her taste. Not to mention the nice weather only encourages more of Enid’s irritating habit of dropping everything and running off to draw or write. Less of that would be ideal.

Alongside the other knights opinions, Enid also claims this town to be nice, according to the books and paintings she’s seen. Enid says everything is nice though, so Wednesday can’t exactly take that as a glowing review. She spoke greatly of the Siren’s Domain and all it was, was a bunch of carved rocks filled with sirens who would hypnotise you given the chance. Wednesday tried to give benefit of the doubt but between her general animosity towards the princess and the fact she finds sirens to be stuck-up and not to be trusted… well, safe to say, Wednesday will choose doubt from now on. She isn’t sure why she decided to deviate from such a decision in the first place, especially when there are many more places to visit. Fortunately, Wednesday is at least familiar with a few of these locales so she can ignore Enid’s opinions even more-so than usual. Frankly it is disturbing she’d rather believe what the other knights have to say for once.

They should arrive to this next town by tomorrow, and then Enid needs to complete the second task in the list she has been given. Wednesday isn’t sure what it is yet, and she cares not to check. At the moment her main focus is about getting to their next stable stop and blocking out whatever ramble Enid is speaking at her. She really does not shut up.

Though, Wednesday must concede something seems different about Enid now and it is piquing her curiosity. Despite her usual unending commentary and passion for wasting time, it seems… Duller, perhaps? Like Enid had a metaphorical spark above her head that fizzled out slightly. Not that Wednesday cares – she is simply intrigued at what has brought the change about. People are puzzles sometimes, and Wednesday does find it quite interesting to poke at them until she figures them out, even to the point of annoying them. Especially to the point of annoying them – it’s more satisfying that way. Enid has been quite easy to figure out so far – excitable, excessively friendly, has an opinion on everything, and is overall the picture of privilege… but now, and after that ritual in particular? Something is different. It is most curious.

Again, Wednesday does not care – If Enid is suddenly less enthused than before, it can only be a positive in her eyes. Wednesday is here to do her job and that is it, so anything that lowers Enid’s friend-making attempts is welcome... but there’s just something following that first task that’s made Enid shift a little, and it’s got Wednesday’s brain ticking tremendously.

Wednesday wants to think a little more on it. Fortunately, Enid seems completely unaware of Wednesday not listening to a single word she says, and considering they are on a rather straight bit of path, there’s no better opportunity to have a bit of a think back…

Okay. So… Following Enid’s return from the ritual, she seemed tired; quiet. It seemed unusual but not unexpected… Wednesday can only imagine such a task is momentous. Mostly, the quiet was welcome. An evening where Wednesday can have peace and quiet seemed unheard of since beginning this journey, and Wednesday wasn’t about to ask questions about the ancient waters or what process Enid had to go through. Despite her curiosity, Wednesday had and still has zero desire to take a personal interest in the princess and her life.

After some time settling, Enid had appeared in the doorway that connected their rooms at the inn. Wednesday had previously stated that unless it was an emergency, they were not to talk until the following day. If her days belonged to protecting and watching the princess, she at least deserved a modicum of peace at night. So when Enid appeared, Wednesday simply stared at her.

Go away, her mind said.

“What is it?” Her lips had said instead, in her usual stoic drone.

Enid remained quiet for a moment. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleep shirt. An irritating habit.

“I understand how it feels now.”

Wednesday remembers her brow raising, perplexed by the princess’ sullen state. She did not respond, still wishing Enid to leave. She did not care (still does not) for whatever dramatics she was being invited into.

Enid mumbled something nearly incoherent afterwards. With her voice quiet and her words uncharacteristically stumbled, Wednesday can only remember the word ‘duty’ and something about having to do things you don’t like amongst the angst-ridden words before Enid disappeared again into her own room.

It was a short interaction, no longer than maybe a minute… The following day Enid said nothing of it, and continued to emit her sunshine personality as though nothing was different.

And now, the day after that, the same can be said. Enid acts as though nothing is different with her, but there is… and with no other stimulation to keep her busy, Wednesday cannot help but needle away at it.

She stares into the back of Enid’s head. Wednesday has never been good at people; never really wanted to be good at them, either, but they do make good puzzles. With this latest change, Enid is certainly a little more intriguing. Not enough for Wednesday to be invested personally… more so like a scientist probing a specimen.

“It’s starting to rain.” Enid announces, her concerned voice pulling Wednesday from her thoughts. They’ve moved a fair distance uphill and closed in on some rain clouds above them, turning the sky grey and dreary. Water droplets bounce onto the leather of Enid’s gloves as she holds her hand out, and seconds later, Wednesday feels water drip onto her head. It’s ice cold and feels like misery as it seeps into her scalp. Perfection. This is exactly what she had been hoping for.

Enid glances back, her face screwed up in discomfort. Wednesday is not surprised that the princess cannot handle a little bit of rain water, but feels inconvenienced by it nonetheless. It’s ironic, considering she adored the Sirens. Alas, this likely means she is going to request to stop… and their progress will be halted once more.

Be quiet. Be quiet. Be qui-

“We should find somewhere and take shelter from the weather.”

Unbelievable.

Wednesday glares daggers back at Enid, annoyed at the prospect of having to slow their progress even further. They cannot stop. It’s just a bit of rain; there is no need to slow down. They can dry themselves when they reach the next stables and warm up with whatever poor excuse for food they are serving. Better yet, there’ll be a warm fire to dry their clothes… If they stop then they have to sit in cold, wet clothing and whilst Wednesday relishes in misery, even she does not enjoy the idea of sitting in a damp tunic. Her knight gear is heavy enough as it is.

Wednesday responds to Enid with a firm “No.”

Enid’s discomfort changes into something Wednesday recognises as… Upset? Anger? It’s a bit pouty and a bit how she imagines a scolded child would look. As noticed before, these negative expressions sit on her face in a way that’s awkward and pathetic, like a kicked puppy. Though, it ignites further annoyance as opposed to the sympathy Wednesday suspects Enid is vying for. Enid should know her well enough by this point.

“But it’s cold.” Enid says.

Wednesday stares at Enid. Oh, how she stares. Of course you’re cold she thinks, still glaring. You will be colder if we stop moving. Someone educated like a princess ought to know better… and yet. Here she is, watching Enid pout like a baby. All because of a little rain. Ridiculous.

“Keep going.”

Wednesday pulls her horse ahead and brings up the pace, hoping taking lead will encourage Enid’s silly display to be silenced… or at the very least, it stops her seeing said display. Wednesday doesn’t see the point in being pouty, even moreso when someone else is doing it. It’s childish and admits weakness. It is much easier to be objective and tackle your goals without allowing emotions to affect your stance. Alas, this is not a lesson people are taught, nor apparently a conclusion they reach themselves – as evidenced by Enid’s sudden and diversion from their path only seconds later.

“Enid.” Wednesday grunts, feeling a lick of pain as her teeth clench in displeasure. She whips on Nero’s reins and – to her behest – chases after Enid. Wednesday had hoped whatever minor change in Enid would qualm any adventurous, rebellious spirit. It would’ve made for a much easier journey... but it would seem those hopes are dead in the water. It’s saddening that Wednesday cannot even take happiness in such a death.

Regardless, she follows Enid as she is paid to do, withholding the urge to yell the princess’ name a second time as she watches Enid and Sol disappear into the mouth of a cave. It is pointless, and Wednesday does not stoop to pointless things.

She slows, staring blankly at the cave.

She will die in that cave like the naive fool she is, Wednesday grumbles to herself. The idea is quite delightful… though, admittedly not as delightful as she’d hope. After all, it is technically her job to care about the princess’ well-being. Whether she actually cares or not is nothing to do with it. Enid stays alive; she gets paid; she gets to stay in her high-up position amongst the knights. Staying in a high rank is important regardless of how she feels about her peers. After all, it’s about holding the cards.

Sigh. Wednesday knows she must follow. Gently, she directs Nero into the cave, noting that Enid has (surprisingly) done the smart thing and left Sol close to the entrance. Otherwise, there is little to note about the cave – there is some greenery, dirt and stone. Light penetrates maybe 20 meters or so before petering off towards the back of the space. The cave is not particularly large, but spacious enough to provide shelter… not that it is needed. Too much time has been wasted as it is.

Wednesday squints into the darkness, noticing a figure shuffling around. Enid.Of course, the princess does not have the means to create torches and she’s much too eager to wait for assistance. So naturally, she has plunged herself into the darkness; practically asking for a wolf or bear to come attack. Now, that would be entertaining…

“There’s nothing in here!” Enid calls back to Wednesday. Her voice is smug; aggravating. “We can make a fire and keep shelter until the rain stops.”

Enid returns with a bundle of sticks in her arms, procured seemingly from nowhere. Wednesday stares at her. She scowls. Enid rolls her eyes. Gods, Wednesday despises this attitude. How could she be so foolish as to believe Enid’s spirit had been even slightly broken?

Whatever Enid had claimed to sullenly understand the night prior seems to do little in hindering her skill at being perfectly annoying.

“I am protecting you from yourself,” Enid hums. “Sometimes you need to slow down and rest.”

Incorrect.

Enid builds the sticks in a clumsy pile, trying to imitate what Wednesday assumes is a typical campfire. Wednesday watches, eyeing the wood as it collapses for the umpteenth time. As Wednesday broods, her mind wanders. Those sticks...there’s something off about them. They’re uniform; shaved of their bark. At a squint, they look crudely sharpened – not with a knife but perhaps with a rock. It dawns on her that they are too perfect for randomly found wood. No – these are not just sticks. They feel intentional almost. Crafted.

They clatter to the ground again; the noise echoes amongst Enid’s frustrated huffs.

“You can hate me all you want – but at least help so we’re not both freezing.”

Wednesday’s eyes do not meet Enid’s desperate gaze. They fall behind the princess, widening slightly as her adjusted vision spots a modicum of movement. There’s a quiet pitter patter; a scuttle of noise. The rain? No. Something different. Too erratic.

We shouldn’t be here.

Enid frowns, turning her head. The scuttling grows closer; becomes footsteps that contain a heft. A figure lurches from the shadowy depths. Wednesday’s hand falls to the sword sheathed at her side.

And as Enid’s shaken breath cuts through every other sound, Wednesday does not even think as she plunges herself and her weapon into the darkness.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #fanfic #Fantasy AU #Zelda inspired #Slow burn #enemies to friends to lover #Sorry this took 6 months #Life gets in the way #But I Lived Bitch

9 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 6 months

Text

What I Feel; What I Do; What I Want || Wenclair fic - Chapter 3

Can they work together despite their differences? Or maybe fate has an entirely different plan for them altogether...

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Teens & Up

Word Count: 9,896

Click Here To Read On AO3 or read below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

A few days have passed, and Enid finds herself on her fifth day of travelling, already feeling a million miles from the person she was at the start. Emotionally; physically – in such a short amount of time, everything feels different.

They’re in the hills now, having passed through a number of trading posts, stables, and inns. The journey has been unlike anything she’s experienced… challenging, and yet freeing and somehow easy to adapt to. Admittedly, she misses some of the luxuries of her castle home – her clothing, the magnificent kitchen and its staff, not to mention the feel of crawling into her own bed each night. These have all been replaced with the same hand-washed travel outfit, basic but homely cooking, and whatever bunk, cot, or hammock they can find.

It’s different. But she kind of likes it.

It’s helped immensely by all she’s discovering as they pass through these places. It is hard to feel hard done by when you are seeing and learning such amazing things. Mostly, it’s the stories, and the unrecorded local history; Enid’s writing hand aches at the end of each day, but still she eagerly writes on. There’s just so much the world needs to hear! Most intriguing is the myths and legends – inn patrons and stable workers recounting the versions of these stories that have been passed down to them. The most reoccurring story is generally the same, with some mysterious figure of legend stopping an evil force, therefore allowing the land of Nevermore to flourish, but with a vaguely ominous warning that the evil will return. It seems silly in some respects – ancient heroes and demonic evils - but Enid is fascinated by how such a story has come to exist within the hearts and minds of everyone. She writes down each retelling, noting the slight differences. She hopes that with some time she can tie the whole legend together into a cohesive story with explained deviances. This is the kind of thing she had been yearning for the whole time she waited for this journey.

Though perhaps the most curious part of this journey so far has been her companion. Five days in and she and Wednesday have (much to Enid’s behest) barely even begun to know each other. Admittedly, Enid has been challenging the little knight, trying to push her buttons and see what makes her tick… but she’s impossible to figure out! It is evident that Wednesday cares not for this travelling, or Enid herself in fact – yet, she continues to be endlessly dutiful. It is perplexing to say the least. Enid feels a strange fondness for Wednesday, not that she would say as much. Though, she does wish it was shared. All she can drag out of the knight at the moment is sighs, glares, and the occasional unamused comment. She just wishes there was a modicum of excitement so she could share her passion.

Alas, Wednesday seems intent on not getting any closer. It’s mildly upsetting but Enid is determined to not let it hurt her too much… she already cares too greatly for her parents approval, so vying for Wednesday’s at the same time seems a little excessive. Not that she can help herself sometimes.

Like now. She and Wednesday are travelling through a rocky pass, uphill towards the lakes and rivers that are the source of all other water in the kingdom. It is the home of the sirens, and is their first major stop! Enid is practically bursting with excitement!! Even better, along the route there are small alcoves with huge carved tablets, recounting local history and even more legends to write down.

As they travel, Enid stops them along the way. She sketches the tablets and summarises their words with an upbeat fervour. Wednesday remains on her horse, keeping a look out, seeming entirely disengaged.

Enid turns to her and waves her hand. Wednesday glances over, raising an eyebrow as if to ask ‘what do you want?’. Enid then turns back to the tablet she is copying down, tapping her quill against the page of her notebook as she thinks. Wednesday might not care but Enid’s planning to talk, regardless.

“Do you believe in the legends?” Enid asks as she scribbles down some more words. “Seems amazing that everyone knows the story… like it can’t be coincidence.”

She turns back to Wednesday, seeing now that her raised brow has returned to a scowl. Wednesday thinks the question is ridiculous, certainly. Enid doesn’t see why. Considering the number of magical creatures and beings that exist within the kingdom, people believing in ancient legends doesn’t seem too far-fetched, even if the stories themselves are pretty separated from reality… Though, perhaps she is naive to think Wednesday would have any sort of belief that isn’t rooted logic and proof. Sigh. Enid would love some common ground.

“They’re just stories.” Wednesday replies, voice devoid of emotion. Enid knows she shouldn’t be disappointed by the answer… but she kind of still is. Any kind of thought, feeling, or opinion that places Wednesday outside of the dark little box she’s placed herself into would be extremely welcome, but she remains consistently stoic and unfeeling. Even if they’ve only known each other for five days, Enid feels as though she may never get to see anything else from the knight.

Enid knows she can’t let it get to her… So she returns to her notebook; keeps excitedly writing, and smiles to herself as she thinks upon the way her father would recount the ‘stories of old’ to her as a child.

“I think there’s some truth in them.” she muses as she walks closer and presses her hand against the carved rock of the tablet monument. The stone is cold to the touch, soothing the new callouses that have grown on Enid’s hands. It feels familiar under her hand, like the stone brick the royal castle is built from. It’s oddly comforting, and in a way, reaffirms Enid’s belief. The feeling of the stone connects her to home, as the words carved upon it connect her to history. There has to be truth in them – there just has to be! And there’s only more out there to learn. They need to get to the Siren's Domain and find out more. Enid quickly finishes writing, and returns to her horse.

“You ought to have more belief.” She chides as she takes the reigns from Wednesday and climbs onto Sol.

Wednesday simply looks at her, before slowly directing Nero to continue on the trail. Enid follows soon after, taking a final glance at the carved rock as it disappears from sight upon moving uphill. From then on they travel quietly but quickly; Enid decidedly keeping her excitement at bay. Though, it is hard the hide the grin that she finds sprawling across her face as the elegance of the Siren's Domain begins to appear.

Despite this being their first major stop, Enid cannot deny this is the one she’s looked most forward to. From the crystal clear waters, to the beautifully carved stonework that creates the buildings and platforms for visitors – The Siren's Domain is a treat for the eyes. Previously she had only seen it through paintings and sketches, so watching it come into view is beyond breathtaking. Oh, she cannot wait to meet and talk with the locals.

Enid glances at Wednesday. Her expression is unchanged, locked in her permanent scowl. Typical.

They draw closer, and Enid realises now she should probably face the reality of why she’s actually here. She’s been avoiding the truth since they set off, but with the domain in sight, she has to face the reality – the very reason she was allowed this adventure in the first place. Her werewolf powers... Or, more accurately, lack thereof.

As much as she wants to ignore the whole thing and simply travel, learn, and write to her hearts’ content… she has to uphold her duty. Which means at least fulfilling all the various tasks listed to her by her parents prior to setting off. She could - of course - simply not do them, but considering Wednesday’s loyalties, she suspects that it would be hard to hide upon their eventual return to the castle. Not to mention she may still lack her ability to shift and the shame that would bring is too embarrassing to even imagine… So really, she has little choice. Fortunately this first task seems simple - she needs to locate the royal pool and partake in a ritual with the ancient waters within Which seems easy enough. The siren royalty are amicable allies, so they should be more than welcoming.

Enid and Wednesday pass a few more tablet monuments during the final stretch of the journey. A mix of excited and concerned over what’s to come, Enid lets herself write down the engraved words slower than before, giving her time to mentally chew over it. It doesn’t seem difficult, but it weighs on her nonetheless…

Wednesday, unaware of this, seems particularly impatient now. She stares at the Siren's Domain in the distance with a subtle tension in her jaw. Her hands are tight around the reigns of her horse, eyes stuck on her one focal point in the distance. Enid wishes she could know what was going through her head… but she doubts she’d get an answer even if she did ask.

Enid finishes her notes and scrambles back onto her horse. She takes a deep breath and sets herself to continue.

“Are we ready?” She asks – mostly to herself, if anything.

Wednesday looks at her, eyes narrowing slightly. Right, of course… obviously, she is ready.

Fortunately, the last of the journey is short and it takes a little over ten minutes to exit the rocky pass and cross into the lightly forested clearing that leads into the lakes, waterfalls, and rivers that make up the domain. There’s a narrow but ornate bridge built of stone above the water that leads into the centre of the lake, allowing walking visitors to easily enter. It’s all rather elegant and reminds Enid of home… Though she’s unsure if that’s a good thing.

They leave their horses at the small stables before the bridge, and then start the journey on foot into the domain itself. It’s a difficult place to describe – though, this does not stop Enid trying. She pauses about midway on the bridge, scribbling again in her notebook, making sure to exaggerate her awe at both the craftsmanship of the domain and how fascinating it is to see sirens freely swimming through the waters. It’s amazing, getting to see them in their home!

Though it would seem the sentiment is not shared. Glancing behind her, it’s hard to not notice the distaste on Wednesday’s face. Surprisingly, it is different look from her regular scowl, but not by much.

“Not a fan of the Siren’s Domain?” Enid queries.

“I don’t trust sirens.” comes Wednesday’s blunt response.

Enid rolls her eyes. “You don’t trust anyone.”

She says it in a good natured tone, but the sharpening of Wednesday’s glare tells her that she’s best to not say any more. Not that it would change anything since Wednesday has no option to follow her anyway. “But the sirens here are nice. They’re our allies.”

Wednesday seems unconvinced, but keeps any snarky comment to herself. Good, as Enid wants to focus on enjoying her time before duty calls.

They traverse the bridge, approaching the small town of stone buildings that cover an island in the middle of the lake. Each building is unique in size and shape, some partially built into existing hills, others shaped as to allow easy passage back into the water. The buildings are beautiful and sophisticated, but practical – which makes sense, sirens are known for their air of elegance and very much care about keeping up appearances. Though, it also makes sense the number of buildings is relatively small, seeing as sirens much prefer the water.

When they finally enter, Enid feels excitement flutter in her chest; her minor angst melting against its warmth. They’re here! They’re finally here!! She gets to explore and talk to the locals, and try their dishes, and sleep in one of their strange water beds. Oh there’s just so many things she wants to do!

She takes a few steps into the town, taking it all in. This is definitely more thrilling than nerve-wracking. Enid grins, turning back to Wednesday.

“Isn’t it amazing here?”

Wednesday doesn’t answer; glancing away, she shoots a suspicious look at any sirens and other townsfolk that pass them. She then pulls out something from one of the pouches on her uniform – a neatly folded paper. Opening it, she reads briefly, her brow twitching ever so slightly. Then she slots it back away. Her eyes swivel back over. Then they dart to the building in the middle of the domain… tothe building that leads underground to the fountain that houses the ancient waters. Without another word, she begins to march over.

Of course. Her parents gave Wednesday a list. Suddenly, Enid isn’t so excited any more.

“Wednesday!” Enid calls out as she follows after her. “Hey, let’s no-”

Wednesday stops and turns back, one eyebrow quirked upwards. Her head tilts slightly as if warning Enid to not test her.

Enid, however, does not appreciate this attempt to intimidate her. As knights go, Wednesday is definitely a little scary, but Enid knows better – knows they’re stuck together, and that ultimately, Wednesday can’t push her luck too far.

Enid takes a breath, then smiles.

“We’re not going to the ancient waters yet.”

A frustrated expression twitches onto Wednesday’s face, but it’s gone almost immediately. She opens her mouth, poised to release a scathing remark when-

“You must be Princess Enid.”

Enid is miraculously saved by the appearance of an unknown saviour. Turning to the doorway of the middle building, there now stands a proud looking siren with piercing pale eyes and dazzling dark skin that shimmers in the daylight. She smiles at Enid.

“And you must be-” the siren pauses upon looking at Wednesday, frowning slightly as her eyes drag up and down the knight’s form. “Wednesday, was it? The Prince Consort did send a letter.”

It dawns on Enid now who their new friend is, and whilst it is not unwelcome company, it is – to put it lightly – an inconvenient meeting. The person standing before them is Bianca. Enid recognises her from a portrait that hangs in the meeting room of the castle. She is essentially the princess of the Siren’s Domain, though, the actual siren term is different and escapes Enid’s memory. Unfortunately, with Bianca here it means she is now truly is stuck committing to the ritual, lest she wish to upset the schedule of the siren royalty… and considering their ally ties, and general etiquette, Enid very much does wish to cause an issue. The disgrace alone would measure up to the disgrace brought on by Enid not doing the ritual in the first place. Ugh. Sometimes Enid wishes there wasn’t so many rules. So much for the excitement, after all… it will have to wait. Just like all her dreams do.

Enid pulls her smile wider and does a slight curtsey.

“Bianca, heir to the siren throne,” She acknowledges. “It is a pleasure to finally meet.”

Wednesday does not curtsey despite a subtle nudge. Enid notices that Wednesday’s jaw is tensing, metaphorically chewing on those words she was unable to say.

“An honour.” She says stiffly. It seems Wednesday did not intend to speak to Bianca herself, and her distaste is as subtle as a rock through glass.

Considering her attitude, Enid doesn’t think Wednesday deserves much mercy, but she’s willing to offer it so that no one ends up on the wrong end of a blade – of which she knows Wednesday has many.

“Wednesday,” Enid chimes sweetly. “Could you get our rooms prepared at the inn? I’ll be perfectly safe with Bianca here.”

Wednesday looks at Enid; blinks once, then twice. There’s an air of suspicion in her glance, but seemingly an unwillingness to question a free reason to disengage. She nods, shuffling her sword and gear, before heading towards the inn.

Bianca watches Wednesday walk off with a tight smile.

“She seems… interesting.”

“Interesting is the right word,” Enid agrees.

“So then,” Bianca continues, clasping her hands together. “I hear you’re partaking in one of our ancient water rituals for your werewolf powers, correct?”

Enid feels her stomach tighten at the mention. It really does feel too soon… she hasn’t gotten to witness enough yet! Why can’t she just have some fun before getting down to business?!

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” She lies.

The conversation that follows is a whirlwind of information that Enid barely has time to process. It feels like a history lesson at first – things Enid has heard during her school studies as a child, before it leads into a more personal tale, that recounts how her family and Bianca’s came to be allies. All the while Bianca takes her on a small loop of the domain. Unfortunately, with there being no stops in this quick tour, Enid does not have even a moment to get personal enjoyment… instead, she feels ferried around and paraded; very much the opposite of what she had wanted out of all of this. It is however mercifully short, and she and Bianca end up back at the entrance of the middle building not much time later. The efficiency is almost ruthless, though it is reflective of what she expected from a high ranking siren such as Bianca. Perhaps she would respect it more if the circumstances were different.

Regardless, it seems as though the time for the water ritual to begin is soon to be upon her.

Enid smiles as much as she can, despite the way her heart falters. She knows she’ll have some time later but it certainly feels as though – even with this being her adventure – somehow her parents and her ‘duty’ still find ways to surpass her own wants.

“Well… are you ready?” Bianca asks. She extends her hand towards the doorway, inviting Enid inside.

Ah well. Better just grin and bare it. It’ll be just fine.

Enid pulls a smile onto her face.

“Of course.”

She takes one last look around before heading inside, knowing it’ll be a couple hours at the least until she emerges again. The ancient water ritual culminates in bathing, but there’s some other important steps prior – changing into the ritual clothing, some minor ‘soul opening’ magic, etc. It’s quite the process so she’s heard. Hopefully it will not be boring, at least.

As she takes one final glance around, Enid notices something. A pair of eyes trained on her. Intense; unwavering, and locked in a glare that feels like a promise… Of what, exactly? Enid isn’t sure. Protection, maybe. She cannot help feel struck by the way Wednesday watches her like a hawk, vigilant despite being told she doesn’t need to be…

How strange…

But with no time to think on it, the moment passes. Enid’s eyes pull away from Wednesday’s, and the knight is all but forgotten as Enid is lead away to fulfil her duties.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #fanfic #Fantasy AU #Zelda inspired #Slow burn #enemies to friends to lover

22 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 7 months

Text

What I Feel; What I Do; What I want || Wenclair fic - Chapter 2

Can they work together despite their differences? Or maybe fate has an entirely different plan for them altogether...

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair Rating: Teens & Up Word Count: 6,686

Click Here To Read On AO3 or read below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

Annoyance. Exasperation. Detestation.

Three words that can entirely summarise Wednesday’s feelings concerning her latest assignment. It is the second day of travelling, and she already finds herself growing weary of the ‘beloved’ princess. They have not travelled far yet – the royal castle still visible on the horizon, which is frankly pitiful considering they are on horses – and as such, Wednesday is half tempted to turn around. They should have moved along faster, but the princess… well, she is clearly not trained in the art of making progress. Alas, returning to the castle isn’t really an option.

If the princess is not idly talking, she’s uncontrollably laughing and joking; if she’s not laughing, she’s freaking out over an insect or some wild boar that got slightly too close – if neither of these apply, she’s paused their travelling for yet another sketching/writing session. Frankly, it is all exhaustingly slow.

Wednesday has never cared much for the royal family aside from the fact they pay her – and now, having to work regrettably up close, she is even less inclined to find them palatable. Admittedly, she is dutiful to her work, and she is not going to least Enid to fend for herself but if they keep moving at this pace, then Wednesday thinks she may potentially die of old age before they reach all four corners of the kingdom.

This is perhaps the worst assignment ever.

A knight of her calibre is trained and prepared for the most dangerous of missions. She is a Nightshade – a member of an elite, secretive force of knights and spies, who work for the royal family on a need-to-know basis…

She should be back in the castle town: investigating, deal-making; doing the occasional bit of torture when required. She should be assigned to making people disappear in the middle of the night and ensuring no one questions why… and yet, here she is, quietly following the epitome of human sunshine as she stops to smell yet another bush of wildflowers.

This is beneath her. It is embarrassing.

Wednesday tugs on the reigns of her horse Nero, pulling him to a stop. She looks towards the princess who has ventured into a small patch of woodland, and she sighs, clambering off and jogging after her. Despite – once again – it only being the second day, this is not the first time Enid has decided to abandon her to go look at something without so much as a warning. It is incredibly irritating. Though, maybe that’s the point… after all, it did seem as though Enid was not too happy with being accompanied in the first place. Not that Wednesday cares. It’s her job and she’s being paid, so Enid has to deal with her regardless. The feeling of not wanting the other’s company is entirely mutual.

Standing a short distance from Enid, Wednesday watches with a dutiful glare. The small woodland is a nice escape from the midday sun, but it doesn’t little to cool-off Wednesday’s mood. She feels impatient, desperately so… all this time wasting, it’s just ridiculous, and for what? So the princess can write a silly little book? As far as she’s aware, this isn’t even the point of their journey anyway. Not that the prince consort told her the exact reason… No, that was very much left to interpretation.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare?” The princess asks, suddenly. She stands up from where she is crouching, and turns to show off a flower that glows faintly blue. “The least you could do is pretend to be interested.”

Wednesday looks at the flower, then back to Enid. She says nothing, feeling neither the need nor want.

My job is to follow you, not to be interested she thinks to herself, as Enid approaches with the flower in hand.

“Moon Glow. Quite a rare find in the woods around here.” Enid announces. She smiles, gently pressing the flower between two pages of her notebook. “Lucky I spotted it.”

Wednesday recognises an expectant look in her eye – one that begs a response. Again, she feels little desire to say anything at all, instead preferring this little detour is ended as soon as possible. Besides, Moon Glow is much more common in other parts of the land, and it was certainly not worth stopping for. Mentioning either of these things will likely go down poorly. Not that she would particularly care, but she turns away and walks back to the horses without responding regardless. The day presses on and they need to be nearing a stables and trading post by nightfall. That is all she cares about.

Enid rejoins Wednesday moments later and hops back onto her horse. They continue travelling in silence… but it doesn’t last long.

It never does.

The princess has already exhausted all manner of conversational topics… or tried to, at least. Wednesday is not one for talking, conversing, chatting, nor gossiping – she much prefers silence, with only short sentences when necessary. It’s easier that way. This hasn’t stopped Enid however, who enquiries for both information and opinion frequently. Wednesday has gotten away with giving little, but she has a feeling eventually the princess will grow tired of her quiet nature. It won’t change anything, but she awaits the princess’ annoyance, in any case.

At least if they both hate each other, the princess will stop being so expecting. Wednesday can only hope.

Enid muses away for a while, talking of her hopes and dreams for this expedition. She mentions something about discovering her true self and the truth of the land – a whole speech of whimsical bullshit that has Wednesday rolling her eyes and silently despairing as she realises just how long this journey is actually going to be. Wednesday regrets very few of her life choices – she prides herself on being steadfast and knowing exactly what she wants… and she did want this job. It sounded interesting. A chance to travel and get paid for it? Very few knights get such a chance unless they’re on a literal battlefield. Yet, the more she hears the princess’ idealistic take on how this adventure of theirs will go, the more Wednesday regrets her decision. She’d actually rather be on a battlefield right now, in fact. At least she’d be forgiven for murdering someone.

Not that she would murder the princess, that is.

Probably.

(She won’t, she wants to get paid)

After some time, Enid’s speech trails off and she turns her head back. She frowns slightly. Concern is not an expression that sits on her face naturally… “You don’t talk much,” She comments.

I don’t need to talk.

Wednesday raises an eyebrow. What does the princess care? They’re barely even acquaintances. She should probably verbalise that. Ugh. “Don’t need to,” Wednesday grunts.

“But-”

“I’m not your friend,” She adds. This is already far too many words. She hates it, but the point needs to be made.

Enid’s frown drops into a slight pout. She glances down, pursing her lips and silently turning her head back towards the trail they’re following. She stops speaking. The silence is much welcomed.

They continue onwards, and for an hour or so, there is nothing but the sound of nature and their horses’ hooves against the path they’re following. It’s peaceful, and much preferable from the sound of incessant chatter. Wednesday would nearly enjoy it, if it were not for the sun beating down on them. No, this kind of empty scenery can only be enjoyed with an overcast sky – perhaps a little drizzle of rain… Alas, some rain would probably mean the princess would want to take shelter under some trees and then they’d be progressing even slower than they already are. Which - to be frank – is the exact opposite of Wednesday’s wants right now. She ultimately decides the sun is fine.

Time moves forward.They pass a few fellow travellers. Mostly traders and farmers, who offer a polite smile and nod. Strangely, none seem to recognise Enid as the princess, though there is certainly a glint of recognition in their eyes and a stiffening in their posture as they pass and meet Wednesday’s own. It’s delightful, the sudden drop of their features as they recognise her knights garb, and the sword attached to her. Admittedly, Wednesday has not done much in terms of being public facing – so it’s quite amusing in its own way to see how regular folk react.

Still, it is perplexing that they do not recognise their own royal family. Of course, Enid’s appearance is largely different from usual, and this journey of hers has commenced unannounced to prevent anyone taking advantage of the princess being away from home… but surely one of these people should have noticed? Perhaps they are simply too cowardly to speak to her. Or too idiotic to realise who it is. Wednesday would guess the latter.

Though it would seem Wednesday spoke – or well, thought – too soon.

Not much time later, another traveller comes rambling along, meeting Wednesday and Enid at a fork in their path. To the left leads to the trading post (their intended destination), and to the right leads into a darker forested path that’s dingy and eerie, with the sun unable to penetrate the thick vegetation. There’s a bad vibe to it – the complete opposite to the croft of trees Enid has ventured into earlier. It’s the kind of place Wednesday would find most intriguing to explore and get lost in, but certainly not when lumped with the princess…

The traveller they meet pauses and gestures for them to stop. The princess – annoyingly amicable as always – does instantly, leaving Wednesday no choice but to stop also lest their horses bump into one another. Wednesday sighs quietly and watches Enid chat to the man, feeling an impatient grumble bubbling in her chest. Why can’t they just keep moving? If they stop for every person who wants their action they won’t make it anywhere.

“I really am surprised to see part of the royal family out here. Quite amazing, actually!” The man says after some boring introduction. He smiles. It’s ugly and off-putting.

Ugh. Bootlicker.

He continues, peering at Wednesday,“Is...is that a knight following you?”

Don’t you dare-

“I could actually use some help…”

The audacity.

The traveller continues again despite the glare Wednesday offers him. Something about a monster in the woods scaring folks on their way to the trading post. Seeing as they must be heading to the trading post, it only makes sense for someone ‘brave and strong’ to head into the trees and clear out any trouble, so the route is safe. The man points out it would be the perfect job for a knight. After all, it’s their job to make sure people are safe. Except, Wednesday doesn’t care if the route is safe for everyone. She’s not a regular knight, and her only concern is the princess – which, frankly she doesn’t even care that greatly about anyway, it’s simply her duty she must stick to.

She glances to Enid, then to the man again. “No.” She says plainly. She tugs on Nero’s reins and directs him around Enid, towards the trading post path. She isn’t a hero for hire, or a selfless adventurer looking for glory. The monster in the woods is not her problem. Some other knight will come along soon; it’s time to go.

“Wednesday,” Enid calls.

Wednesday pulls Nero to a stop again, turning around and scowling upon realising Enid has not moved at all. She quirks an eyebrow, feeling irritation sapping away the last of her patience. They need to keep moving. This is ridiculous, and she will not be made to-

“I’m not moving until you help this man.”

Wednesday feels her jaw tighten, a million sharp tongued remarks alighting and dying in the back of her throat. She won’t say them; she hates speaking as it is… but Gods, the simmering flame of distaste for the princess has quickly grown into a burning dislike. Who does she think she is?!

Wednesday glares at Enid.

Enid stares right back. “You are my knight, aren’t you?”

Yes but I am not your servant, Wednesday thinks. She remains silent though, and sees the man glance between them nervously.

Enid continues, “Then, as my knight, your job is to protect me. Stopping the monster in the woods is protecting me, is it not?”

Wednesday’s face twitches, flickering with palpable frustration. The audacity. The boldness- Nay, the outright disrespect. Yet incredibly and undeniably smart. Enid has poised Wednesday’s sense of duty against her… and, as is often the case, she feels a conflict between what she feels, what she will do, and what she actually wants. It is often the case with her assignments – Life isn’t fair, and she accepts it for what it is. But never has it been this blasé; this despicable… because, unfortunately, she is now forced to do the ‘right’ thing. It will protect the princess, and protecting the princess is her job. How undermining. Despite her feelings towards it; despite how much she does not want to help anyone (she barely wants to help Enid) – it is her duty. What she is assigned to do. She must listen, lest she wish to end up with her head on the chopping block.

It’s almost tempting at this point…

Wednesday glares down Enid for another moment, before clambering off her horse. “Fine.”

Enid smiles, seeming smug in her victory. The traveller watches as Wednesday climbs down from Nero, gawking slightly as she brushes herself down. A half laugh catches in his throat. “You’re uh- … A little short to be a knight, aren’t you?”

Wednesday hits him with a scowl. She reaches for her blade and he recoils slightly, looking sheepish and scared.

Pathetic.

Better get this over with, then. Wednesday takes one last look at Enid and the man before actually drawing her weapon and – with a sigh – finally stalking carefully towards the thick woodland. She cannot believe she is doing this. At the command of the princess no less. She understands the agreement she made; the contract and pact she must stick to… but honestly. How can it only be their second day of travelling and she has been reduced to doing side quests for strangers they come across on the side of the road. It does not bode well for the rest of the journey. She refuses to be at Enid’s beck and call… or well, she does in theory. In practice, it seems the call of duty may trump her wants and desires. It feels inconvenient but inevitable.

Wednesday squints, staring as far as she can into the shaded trees. There’s no sign of movement; even less sound, except for a rustle of wind and the gentle buzz of insects. She tapes another step. Then another. Despite the eerie appearance, there is nothing that suggests anything dangerous lurks within the trees. There’s no strange noises, nor smells; not even tracks in the mud path. Wednesday presses on regardless. It wouldn’t be surprising if this ‘monster’ was lurking deeper into the woods, where it can hide away from sight. Granted, she would expect something to indicate it was here… yet the further she goes, the more peaceful this dark patch of trees seems to become. It’s almost disappointing.

Wednesday pauses in an area where the tree density is lower and looks around herself. There’s nothing here. No monster, and no danger. What a waste of her time.

But then-

A scream.

The princess.

Without a thought, Wednesday’s feet find flight. They retrace her steps out of the trees, pounding against the dry mud. Her feelings are cast aside – a single mantra repeating with every single step. Protect the princess. Protect the princess. Protect the princess. Protect- She comes skidding out of the tree line; her sword is drawn and poised ready to strike at the monster that somehow evaded her. She doesn’t understand how this could be - how the monster could’ve crept around her without a sound. But that doesn’t matter. Now it dies.

Except. There is no monster.

Just Enid, and the “traveller”. With a knife in hand and held to Enid’s neck.

Wednesday’s legs grind to a halt, paused only a few metres from them both. She glares at the man, the anger rising like bile in her throat… It was all a ruse. But an idiotic one at that: He is much too confident in his ability to harm someone under her protection. Wednesday does feel a pang of something – irritation, perhaps. She had missed any signs of the man having ill intention. She knows why. She was too busy being defiant and stand-offish against the princess – Too distracted feeling slighted by the ridiculous situation she has been unwittingly thrown into. Though, arguably, the princess was also distracted trying to be difficult in her own way. The man would not have had chance to attack had she just followed Wednesday in the first place… So it’s not even really her fault.

Not that there’s time to think about it, anyway.

Enid squirms in the man’s arms. He grunts and holds the knife tighter. “Be quiet, princess.” He whispers, his voice slimy and obnoxious. “Looks like your little knight couldn’t find the monster.” He lets out a mocking laugh then cocks his head to the side. “You best be dropping any coin pouches you’re holding onto.”

Wednesday’s brows twitch. Frankly, she couldn’t care less about her feelings for the princess, nor this poor excuse for an adventure. She doesn’t plan developing any sentiment for either – but she cares about her reputation as a knight who doesn’t take shit, and always finishes a job… and right now, this bottom-feeder is preventing her from doing that (and it’s barely even started to begin with). So naturally, it’s time he pays. She poises her hand over her sword, covertly unsheathing a throwing knife that lays hidden in the gauntlet of her free hand. Even with her agility, there isn’t time to rush over and cut him down. It’s unfortunate, since she finds fighting up-close so much more rewarding. It’s nice to see the fear in an enemy’s eyes before they fall…

Focus. She chides herself. She angles her hand to aim.

The man begins to grow irate, “Well? Get moving. I’m not fooling around!”

Wednesday’s eyes pierce into his own. The slightest of smirks grows onto her lips. “As you wish.” She replies simply. She flicks her wrist. The knife flies through the air; hits him squarely in the wrist of the hand that holds the knife. It’s but a second of time but Wednesday enjoys every moment as he realises, releases Enid; recoils, then writhes with a dramatic screech that pulls from his throat.

With Enid free, Wednesday sees little point in hanging around. She approaches the princess, who stares at her wide eyed and speechless, wordlessly directing her towards her horse. Wednesday then approaches the man who weeps and clutches his arm. He looks up, grumbling curses and attempts a pathetic last-stand – A headbutt. How ridiculous. Wednesday steps aside, grabbing the knife impaled in his wrist as he passes and kicks him down as she yanks it. The thief stumbles onto the ground with a cry and lays in a heap. Wednesday sighs at how unnecessary it all is, but says nothing – there’s nothing to be said about such a pathetic creature.

With the man incapacitated, Wednesday climbs upon her own horse and silently begins leading the way on their intended path. Enid follows without question. It’s quiet for a while. A long while, in fact. Wednesday welcomes the silence, but finds it perturbing that the princess is so lost for words. If anything, she would expect a tirade of words and excited rambles and yet...nothing.

That is until perhaps an hour or so later, when the trading post is nearing and society no longer feels a million miles away.

Enid clears her throat. “You stopped that man even though you don’t even like me...”

They travel in silence for a moment longer. Wednesday lets the statement sit, letting it pass through her. She cannot claim any fondness for the princess. They don’t know each other, and Wednesday does not want to get familiar. Especially if more trouble is what awaits them. It does not bode well, not one bit… but it is undeniable that her duty (and the aforementioned money) keeps her protective regardless. She imagines such a concept must be foreign to Enid – to dislike something and yet preserve it anyway.

Wednesday shrugs very slightly. “It is my job.”

She hears Enid mumble from behind her. She does not hear exactly and cares not to ask, but Wednesday feels assured that their ambivalent – but leaning antagonistic – relationship remains steadfast. Good. That is what she requires.

And so as the day draws on, and turns into night, they don’t talk. Or eat together. Enid simply writes in her book, and Wednesday silently nurses a drink as she listens in on the daily gossip from other patrons of the trading post. And they are not friends.

And that is exactly what Wednesday wants.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Enid Sinclair #fanfic #Fantasy AU #Zelda inspired #Slow burn #enemies to friends to lover

13 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 7 months

Text

What I feel; What I do; What I want || Wenclair fic - Chapter 1

Can they work together despite their differences? Or maybe fate has an entirely different plan for them altogether...

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 3150

Click Here To Read On AO3 or read below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

The Kingdom Of Nevermore. A proud nation that towers not only in size, but also in the scale of opportunity it offers those who live within it’s borders. It is a magnificent nation, both well governed yet free. Not only this, as Nevermore is also a sprawling landscape with plentiful forests, lakes, and deserts to support the livelihood of almost any race and species. Anyone is welcome – particularly those thrown from their lands by beasts and thieves, or have otherwise been outcast. It is a land of peace and prosperity; a place that anyone may call home.

Within Nevermore’s borders there are a variety of towns, cities, and outposts – all freely explorable to every citizen if they are brave enough, or can find some way to adapt themselves to the local climate!

Some of these homesteads are within the coldest depths of the darkest caves; others amongst the crashing waterfalls of the great lakes that feed every river within the land. One particularly hardy group even find themselves nestled within an expired volcano. It is a sight to see. Not only are there free citizens, but factions too: causes people may align themselves with for a greater purpose. Most are for good, and to make Nevermore stronger… but not all are quite so innocent, though this is best not dwelled on. Unfortunately, corruption and evil can leech into anywhere, and no kingdom can be perfect - but for most, Nevermore is a place to call home and feel safe.

Within the main central city there is a castle. It is a magnificent building that is surrounded by elegant gardens, that only adds to the beauty of its architecture. This castle is the ancestral home of the Nevermore Royal Family, and it is where they still reside to this day. Though there is government, the Royal Family does not rest on their laurels. They take great pride in participating in the growth and maintenance of their land. The current family consists of the queen, prince consort, a myriad of young princes, and their single daughter – Princess Enid.

Today is a special day for the Royal Family, and there is an excitable thrum throughout the castle. Hums and whispers; glances between staff… and it is all to do with the princess herself. The staff that tend the garden look upon her room – easily spotted from the large circular stain-glass window – and wonder when the princess will emerge…

Their wait will not be long. Princess Enid awakes with a summer song in her heart, pulled into the world of the waking from a slither of sunlight piercing the curtains of her study. With a slight twinge in her neck, she groans as she shakes herself awake. Asleep at her desk again, it would seem… With an ancient Nevermorian text acting as her pillow. She must rush to her bed quick before the servants find her like this again. With sleep in her eyes, she stumbles through the short hall connecting the private study to her bedroom, tugging off her slept-in day clothes, before slipping into the relaxing coldness of her bed.

They will never know. She will play the neck ache as a training accident. Genius.

As if on cue, a servant quietly enters the room, a fond but restrained smile on his lips. He carries a tray over to the bed, his smile widening as he catches the sparkle within Enid’s eyes. Placing the tray down on her lap, he steps back then and awaits her commentary.

Enid shuffles one of her plush animals before looking down. It is a decadent array of fruits, some meats, breads, and tea. Delicious no doubt – but excessive. “Quite the platter this morning.” She muses, quirking her brow as she looks amusedly to the servant.

“Ah yes...well, you will not experience such decadence out there in the wild,” He replies, his tone playful but warm. “The kitchen thought it well you have a good hearty meal for your big day.”

Enid takes some of the meat – a sliced ham of sorts – and places it upon some bread before taking a bite. It is savoury and frankly, to die for. She is thankful for the effort, even if she thinks it unnecessary. She must remember to thank the kitchen staff before it’s too late. She grins at the servant “It’s wonderful! Though, definitely too much.”

The servant dips his head, shrugging. “I tried to tell them.”

“Well, I shall tell them myself once I am dressed.”

“Of course. I shall leave you to run your morning, princess.”

The servant smiles and leaves promptly. Enid eats some more of her breakfast platter but finds the excited flutter in her stomach too much. She simply cannot fill up on food when her insides hold too much anticipation...For today is the day.

Today. Is. The. Day!!!

The day she gets her freedom.

It is in all the governing texts – Upon six months passing a princess or prince’s 19th year, they are granted the freedom to discover and explore the lands as they wish. A journey of discovery, or thereabouts. The truth of it is that this exploration is a catalyst. The Royal Family were historically outcasts themselves: werewolves, purged from their lands. Now that the times have changed and they no longer fend amongst the wilderness, a large life-changing journey is necessary to bring forth their ability to shift. It is something Enid has looked forward to tremendously. Not so much for her abilities, but moreso knowing there is so much knowledge, wisdom, and so many stories to be found within this great land of theirs. She can only study books so much before wanting to see the world herself…If her wolf decides to show, that is only an additional benefit.

And now, the date is finally upon her. It has been the longest six months of her life.

Enid scrambles from her bed, eager to start the day. Oh she cannot wait for midday to strike; to be finally leaving the castle walls via the quiet back passages, where she and her trusty steed may gallop into their new adventure. No grand displays, no crowds pouring at her feet for just a glimpse, just her and the endless possibilities of what she’ll discover. She will prove herself a scholar finally – a reporter of the wonders of the land. She’s going to write a compendium. Something both factual and mystical to make her readers crave more!

It’s so close. She can almost taste it.

Enid dances around her room. She hums a tune as she dresses and prepares herself. Her clothing is simple yet refined, paired with a light armour set – handmade by the royal armoury. It is a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Agile, yet strong. It is quite unlike her regular garb; less elegant, but certainly more practical. Her father will be pleased! Her mother less so… though she is not fond of this adventure regardless. Enid falters for a moment but lets the thought pass.

Glancing in the mirror, Enid feels a world away from the princess she has been for the last 19 years of her life. It is thrilling, captivating even! She feels like herself and yet not at all. How exciting.

Briefly, she returns to her study, scrambling to pack away all her precious stationary. Paper, ink, writing quills, pencil lead, and charcoal - she considers more, but all this alongside the few books she is bringing to read, there is little room for more lest she wishes to break her back with the weight. Prioritising is key… but how does one prioritise when all you have known is luxury? Enid scowls at her belongings. Everything is important, and yet somehow forgettable. She thinks it best she not doubt her decisions because there’s always a solution if she’s wrong!

(There isn’t the time for doubt, regardless.)

She traipses back into the main bedroom, having little else to do considering her small pack of essentials has been prepared since a week prior – and then double, tripled checked.

There is perhaps one thing missing, however.

Enid approaches her bed once more. She glances at the array of – perhaps excessive – plush animals. Comfort items… something she should likely not use any more, considering she is an adult, not to mention potentially a queen in the future. But she cannot help herself, for there is a childlike warmth that exists in her heart when those soft and familiar shapes cuddle against her during the dark and cold nights. No one will notice if a small one went along with her… She picks up one of them – a plush depiction of a unicorn – and tucks it amongst the other items within her packed bag.

Despite the land of Nevermore being full of mystical and magical beings, many believe the unicorn to be a myth. Enid intends to prove them wrong. Something so majestic and widely reported surely cannot be false.

At least, that’s what her gut tells her… She’ll find out, one way or another. It’ll make a great report for her compendium!

“Still sneaking around with your childhood toys?” Comes a soft, quiet voice, laughing slightly.

Enid jumps, having not noticed her father quietly sidle in whilst she had packed the unicorn away. She turns to him with a meek smile. Of course she had to get caught out. “Well…” She starts, a faux-innocent grin spreading across her cheeks. “I just need a companion, is all. Something to keep me safe.”

Her father looks at her fondly. He approaches and cups the back of her head as he leans to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Oh, my Enid…” He sighs wistfully.

Her father’s hands are warm and feel like home. Despite her excitement, Enid feels the slight prick of tears, and she finds herself faltering once more… But it took too much to get here, and there is too much she has prepared for to even consider doubting her choice. She cannot consider any other possibility. Especially not now. Though perhaps a few tears for the sake of missing her Father is not a terrible thing.

“Going to miss me, hm?” She asks, distracting from her tears, and pulling her father into a hug. She presses her wet eyes into his shirt… hopefully he will not notice until he is gone.

“Of course… but this journey is important.”

“Exactly, even if mother almost put a stop to it.”

Her father lets out an indignant hum and pulls away. He looks Enid in the eye, and she feels a slight anxious twinge. She knows that grave look… Why did she have to say that? Ugh.

“Do not bring your mother into this.” Her father scolds. “She had her reasons… Fortunately, she eventually saw sense, but do not tempt fate, Enid.”

Enid nods, feeling suddenly bashful. She drops her father’s gaze. “Will mother be seeing me off?”

Her father turns quiet.

… Of course. She should have expected this.

If anything, it only solidifies her choice. She will likely not experience such freedom otherwise. She must take this chance and run with it. It does not stop the grumble of disappointment at knowing her mother’s less than warm reception, but she knows that within a few days it’ll be at the back of her mind, as she makes her way to greener pastures. Metaphorically speaking of course, as there is little pastures greener than the ones of the castle grounds. Emotionally greener pastures, perhaps, where she can escape the incessant need to be ‘good enough’ for her mother’s approval.

Frankly, all her life, she has felt separation between what she feels, what she does, and what she actually wants. Being royalty means there's often little room for opinion and desire – instead it is replaced with the wants of her parents instead, her mother specifically. Enid wonders how it'll feel to have her ingrained sense of duty be pitted against her unshackled curiosity. She hopes it will feel like a divine choosing of her own fate... And if not that, perhaps at least the weight on her shoulders to choose 'correctly' will err more in her favour, and her mother’s voice will not linger in her ear like a wicked siren song.

Sigh. She wishes her mother’s approval did not mean so much. It shouldn’t… and hopefully soon, it will mean almost nothing.

Enid takes in a deep breath. She must calm her own thoughts. She offers her father a half-hearted smile. “It’s okay. As long as you’re there.”

Her father’s expression warms. “Always,” He confirms, ruffling Enid’s hair slightly. “Now finish up getting ready, it isn’t long to go.”

Enid feels a smile tug back onto her lips, her energy and excitement revived. She nods and hugs her father again before he trundles out of the room, calling the servants to collect Enid’s things. As expected, a few servants enter moments later and collect Enid’s belongings before offering curt bows of their heads. Enid smiles in return, and wordlessly they disappear into the castle hallways. Efficient as always. The door shuts behind them and Enid is then left to her thoughts. Now her father is gone, they whir faster than ever, to the point she can hardly grasp them before another takes its place.

She is excited – that much has been established. Scared perhaps, too. Curious no doubt, and yet perhaps apprehensive at mingling with people who have only known her through paintings, books, and scrolls. It is a high pedestal to be on – that is, being a princess – and she can only hope people will cast aside their judgement of her bubbly, bright, curated exterior, and see that she is a person of substance with a lot to offer beyond her royal ties. People cannot be so shallow, surely?

Hm. She will find out soon enough.

Her eyes cast towards the clock above her dressing table. The time reads 11:30 – much later than she had expected! It really is nearly time!

Enid takes a breath, quickly taking a final scan of her beloved room before making her way out. With a pep in her step, Enid trails through the castle, greeting and smiling at every member of staff she can. She, of course, takes a quick detour to the kitchen to thank the cooks for her breakfast, before heading towards the stables around the back of the castle grounds. It is a short walk and she arrives ten minutes later to a small sending-off party, headed by her father who beams at her proudly. Enid feels her heart swell with happiness and she once again feels affirmed in this choice. She is so ready for this.

Enid goes to approach her horse – a beautiful white stallion named Sol – when her father gently guides her away for a private talk. He smiles at first, but it is empty and his expression soon pales, smile fading as it is replaced by what appears to be guilt. Enid’s stomach drops.

“Your mother and I talked.” He says stiffly.

Oh.

Enid replies with silence, staring up at him with a confused frown.

“She-… We think it would be best if you took a companion with you on your travels. To keep you safe.”

How convenient.

A companion? Seriously?! Six months of waiting, and training, and learning how to handle herself in the great wilderness… and she is now to take a companion!?! And to be dropped with this information right before her send off! Enid feels her face twitch, a stubborn scowl tugging at her eyebrows. This is unfair – more than unfair, this is an interruption of her birthright!

Perhaps the idea would’ve been loved by her had she been given the freedom to choose her travel partner – better yet, gotten to train with them… but no. Her “freedom” now suddenly hinges on the allowance of some likely brutish knight following her every move. The thought alone fills her with dread.

Enid’s mouth trembles as she tries to form words. How degrading it is that her mother disapproves of this journey and yet must dip her influential hand into it regardless. So much for freedom.

“Father-” Enid starts, only to be cut off harshly. She knows her Father’s pale heart cannot handle such a disagreement, and she can see his heart break as he asserts himself.

“No, Enid. I cannot let your mother – The queen – be disappointed. She is the ruler of us all, even me,” He sighs.

Enid grumbles. Frankly,it’s pointless to argue. “Who is it?”

Her father breathes out and calms himself. Expression brightening, he then places an encouraging hand on Enid’s shoulder before using it to spin her around. Her points with his free hand. “Her.”

… Her?

A...female knight?

At least, that’s what it appears to be. Knight’s armour and garb – though, unusually, a dark black as opposed to their usual royal blue – adorns the small frame of a woman who lurks in the shadow of the stables. Her neat uniform paired with her immaculately braided hair blends in with the dark wood, only really becoming visible when her head tilts upwards to show off the pale skin of her face. But it is not her skin nor her outfit that strikes Enid the most. It is her eyes. Intense, unwavering; a glare that sends a shiver down her spine. It is an inscrutable expression – one that has Enid wondering about this mystery knight. Despite being petite, she appears deadly regardless.

Enid feels herself struck. She simply cannot pull her gaze away.

Upon noticing their staring, the knight walks over with a stiff, but upright posture. She offers no greeting except the slight nod of her head. There’s no smile, barely even the twitch of her brow as she looks upon Enid. This is not a royal knight of which Enid is familiar… though considering the size of their forces, it is perhaps silly of her to think she would know them all.

“Enid,” Her father says with a hopeful tone. “This is Wednesday. She is a knight of a special calibre. She will be joining you for your journey.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Enid offers, holding her hand out. This turn of events is still most highly disappointing, but really she can only make the best of it. It isn’t as though she has much choice… in any case, this knight has certainly caught her attention. Maybe once the shock wears off she’ll feel differently.

But for now, Enid feels that maybe this won’t be the worst thing in the world.

Wednesday glares at her. She glances at Enid’s outstretched hand. “We’re leaving now.” Wednesday grunts, disregarding Enid and turning away. She heads back to the stables with a turn of her heel. Not an ounce of emotion seems to pass her.

Ah.

Enid suddenly feels she may have been very, very wrong.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #fanfic #Fantasy AU #Zelda inspired #Slow burn #enemies to friends to lover

16 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 8 months

Text

Love Is A... (Murder) - Wenclair fic

Description: " How she craves Enid after these nights. How she wants to experience just a taste of the violence their victims fall to… and how willing Enid is to provide."

Wednesday and Enid have become highly efficient in the game of taking down the corrupt rich and powerful... and now, waiting on the collection of their latest mark, there's nothing left but adrenaline and a desperate craving for something more.

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair Rating: Explicit (Please check the tags) Word Count: 4,877

Click Here To Read This Fic On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

It didn't have to end this way.

But Wednesday is glad that it did. It’s late; very late, in fact. She stands in the bathroom of some dingy hotel, in the middle of a nowhere-street, that people would rather watch rot than visit. She wears a dress - bloodied - that shimmers like an oil slick against the cheap fluorescent lights. Wednesday’s hands are gloved, and also soaked from the blood she has tried to clean, but her efforts are fruitless so far. Cleaning a mess like this is often difficult...perhaps it will have to wait. Not that it matters, this bathroom has likely seen much worse. The lights buzz.

In the bathtub, grotty and water-stained, a body lies. It is the body of a man. He is curled awkwardly in the bath basin, his clothing not faring much better than Wednesday’s own. Not to mention that he is bruised and beaten, looking as though mauled by a large animal, barely recognisable as human any more. Wednesday’s own skin is roughened and marred - but she’s the one alive, and not dead in a bathtub. So she wins. A victory as good as any.

Some context is required, perhaps… Wednesday does not murder for fun. Well, kind of. She enjoys it at least, but the enjoyment is not what motivates her. Mostly.

For years, her parents have been making bedfellows of the rich and powerful - seeking out those who are corrupted and ensuring they disappear one way or another. A family side business of sorts. It has been quite lucrative… and a rather enjoyable past time, according to Morticia.

Recently, Wednesday and Enid have joined in. Their recent achievements in the world make for a unique way into the lives of these twisted life wasters. Enid, now a powerful and influential journalist - Whilst Wednesday relishes in the open secret of her writing alias, making influential ‘friends’ as she goes. They are only acquaintances truly (they don’t deserve to be more), but their hubris is what makes them so easy to kill. She even begrudgingly accepts a few ‘nepo baby’ comments from the company she seeks to murder, knowing it will all end with them begging for their life; choking on their blood. Truly, it has been a nonstop whirl of stalking, distracting, and killing ever since they took on the job. Wednesday finds satisfaction in the work; it helps inspire her writing. Even Enid takes to it well, despite her aversion to blood…In fact, she doesn't mind it so much any more - perhaps it is the knowledge that the blood she spills saves many lives more than it destroys…and kills like this, the very one Wednesday stands above now? Well. It certainly crops a branch of corruption off a tree that deserves to be hacked to the ground. Not to mention it brings a sadistic smile to her face.

Wednesday pulls her gloves off; chucks them on top of the body. She grabs a sheet then, shaking it out, and laying it on top. She thinks this body doesn't deserve the dignity… But she also desires to not look at that pathetic face any longer.

Glancing around the bathroom, she makes careful note of what areas need cleaning. She'll come back to it. For now, she wishes to rid herself of this awful dress. Acting as the bait was already a plan she found distasteful, so the disgusting tight dress is only an insult to injury. Enid will like it when she strips, at least.

She looks down at the body.

"It was nice to see you again." She snarks, "Hopefully next time it'll be in hell. Goodbye Xavier."

Wednesday shuffles out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her unceremoniously. It grabs the attention of Enid, who sits on the bed, fidgeting with an abundance of energy. She smiles brightly as Wednesday emerges from the bathroom, and Wednesday is unsure whether the redness of her cheeks is from a blush or is simply the remaining stain of blood after Enid cleaned herself up. Wednesday does not question it. Enid looks gorgeous. Feral, almost. Free.

“All taken care of?” Enid asks, watching unabashedly as Wednesday strips off the dress and tosses it into a nearby trashbag.

“Of course, cariño.” Wednesday confirms as she kicks off her shoes and tugs down her tights. She lets out a slight satisfied sigh. “My parents’ team will be here in an hour to collect.”

Enid nods, stretching out. Her lightly muscled frame flexes, rippling slightly the pale lighting and Wednesday finds her mind wandering back to only an hour earlier when Enid was a beast and those very muscles sunk sharpened claws right through Xavier’s chest. He never stood a chance. Not against her. Enid was magnificent. She is magnificent.

Who would’ve thought such a bright and bouncy journalist could commit to such atrocities? Enid is still Enid – all electric colours and dazzling, disgusting pop… but there is a righteous streak that makes her such a good killer. Wednesday admires it. She is proud to have curated it; to have taught Enid it is okay to engage with her animalistic side. They are truly an unstoppable team.

Thinking upon it, Wednesday feels her black little heart burn from the desire inside it. How she craves Enid after these nights. How she wants to experience just a taste of the violence their victims fall to… and how willing Enid is to provide. She can see Enid’s own excitement; knows she craves the same thing.

Placing the tights into the trashbag, Wednesday now stands half-naked. Enid simply eyes her.

“It is rude to stare.” Wednesday chastises.

“Then come over here.” Enid retorts, flashing a grin of sharp teeth.

“I would prefer to not touch the bedding. It is filthy.”

Enid smirks, “As if we haven’t just been covered in blood, baby.”

Wednesday rolls her eyes as she approaches the bed. She clambers upon it; absolutely not doing it because Enid said so. Not at all. She wants to be here. On this filthy stained bed. In this dilapidated hotel that isn’t worth the eighty dollars they spent for the night...let alone the six hundred dollars they paid for the receptionists silence regarding their activities. This is all her own doing and desire...

But then, as Wednesday’s weight dips down the mattress, Enid’s smile turns a little darker and Wednesday suddenly really wants to be here. She could not imagine a better place to be, in fact. Dark, dingy and a little bit rotten? Sounds perfect. Ideal. Enid certainly has nothing to do with it.

“Changed your mind, I see?” Enid teases.

Ignoring her, Wednesday crawls up the bed. She settles herself on her knees between Enid's legs and leans in, wasting no time in capturing Enid's lips in a possessive kiss. Pleasure crackles through Wednesday’s spine like lightning, urging her to deepen the kiss immediately, sparks dancing through her nerves.

Enid purrs, her hands coming to cup Wednesday's cheeks, not even hesitating despite the unwashed blood splatters that mark Wednesday’s skin. She is too eager; too desperate to pull their mouths together and feel the comfortable familiarity. This is all she wants and all she needs - all they both need.

Enid’s lips taste divine – with a hint of cherry from her lip balm, and a metallic tang. Wednesday could not imagine anything that would beat this sweet ambrosia. Not even the most potent of poisons could have her craving more.

"You were incredible, amor" She hums lowly. There is a menacing smile on her lips as she licks a speck of blood from them. "A true beast. A nightmare. Xavier stood little chance against your might."

Enid sighs into their kiss, a quiet whine curling on the end of her breath. She bites the bottom of Wednesday’s lip, sucking it into her mouth, pulling her in to another kiss that trumps the first in it’s desperation. It makes Wednesday’s insides throb with need.

When they break, Enid’s pupils are blown; her expression hungry and wolfish.

“Keep praising me like that and you won’t be walking tomorrow.” She growls.

Wednesday brings her fingers to hold the bottom of Enid’s chin as her thumb brushes over Enid’s lip. She watches intensely, noticing the subtle hitches in her breath. Wednesday quirks her brow slightly… she must hold onto her arousal for just a little while.

“You may torture me in a moment, mi loba…but first...”

Enid understands immediately, tugging off her shirt. Wednesday watches with unabashed interest at the reveal of Enid’s stomach and covered breasts. Enid’s body is a beautiful horror show – pale and muscled, but scarred and marked from years of misadventures and (more recently) their murderous side quests. Enid is not someone who attacks by nature, but it is breath-taking how she can tear someone or something apart when she finds a reason to do so. A body like hers is dangerous and oh, how she knows it now. Wednesday finds it intoxicating... She even finds her breath shudder in her lungs as her eyes meet Enid’s soft flesh.

Below the lace of Enid’s bra, across her ribcage, sits a series of raised scars. Tally marks. Kill marks to be specific. They are dainty and neat; arranged in a row that neatly cups the underside of Enid’s breast.

Wednesday admits she did not think Enid would ever consider such markings… but after their second kill, Wednesday stood with her silver blade in hand above a recently de-wolfed Enid who had pinned their victim to the floor. The kill itself was messy and unprofessional, but the thrill? Undeniable.

They kissed and embraced and in a moment of adrenaline craze, Enid guided Wednesday’s hand and created the first two marks herself. She growled something about werewolf tradition and who is Wednesday to question such an intimate act of causing pain: scars made out of pride by her own hand… a subtle ownership, yet one that Enid has full control over.

It is odd to most, perhaps, but Wednesday cannot deny her enjoyment of this little ritual. In any case, she would not actually care what others think of such a thing anyway.

And ritual it truly is. Enid settles down, her legs subtly wrapping around Wednesday’s hips as Wednesday reaches over to the side table and reclaims her silver knife. Wednesday holds the knife in her left hand as she starts brushing her fingers from her right across Enid’s stomach. She soothes at Enid’s pale bruises, moving to her waist and brushing upwards to eventually cup her hand on Enid’s clothed breast, watching with intrigue as Enid shivers under her touch. She squeezes gently and Enid hums softly in response; shallow breathing betrays her excitement. Wednesday poises the knife.

“It is a diagonal this time.” Wednesday murmurs lowly. “It will hurt more, amor.”

“I know.” Replies Enid.

Wednesday knows that she knows. She just wanted to say it out loud.

Eyes glance quickly to meet Enid’s gaze; a quiet nod is exchanged. With a flick of her hand, the tip of Wednesday’s knife paints Enid’s skin with a silver burned cut. Enid whines into the room, back arching; hands writhing. She moans, heady and low… and then silence falls as she stares up at Wednesday, chest heaving.

Wednesday leans back and quickly discards the knife. Watching Enid, she feels like willing prey waiting upon her predator.

She dares to slowly blink and is met by Enid’s hands grabbing at her and flipping her onto her back. It’s swift; calculated, with Enid ending perfectly poised on top of her. Wednesday’s entire body feels awash with thunder and her clit throbs with a desperate need. Enid can and will ruin her… and she looks forward to every second.

Enid runs her hand over the fresh mark on her ribcage, hissing. She lets out a tense breath and leers close to Wednesday, her arms pinned either side of Wednesday’s shoulders. Then a wicked smiles plays upon Enid’s lips, and Wednesday both knows and does not know what is about to happen to her… but it’s likely going to be rough, and she couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

With a shuddering breath, Enid surges her lips against Wednesday’s, hands coming to Wednesday’s jaw with a bruising grip. Lips crashing, tongues pushing into mouths, this kiss is not one of simple love – but one of dark desire and greed. Enid claims Wednesday in her own way with this kiss, as she has done every time their ritualistic marking is done.

Wednesday is not one to make noise, but she feels a moan pull from her throat, and Enid responds with a growl; it is hungry and aggressive, and sends arousal pooling in Wednesday’s abdomen.

She wants to be taken. She yearns for it.

It is primal, the way Enid then grabs Wednesday’s arms and yanks them above her head as her mouth continues to explore. She kisses, and bites, and marks her way from Wednesday’s mouth, to her cheek, jaw, then neck. Enid does not draw blood, but Wednesday almost hopes she will… the thought alone drives her mind wild.

“M-more.” Wednesday groans, squirming slightly. She craves these violent delights. This draws an amused hum from Enid as she then bites slightly harder, sharp teeth digging in. Wednesday feels a slight puncture; feels Enid’s warm tongue against her cold neck. She shudders and Enid hums again. Wednesday breathing hitches, a murmured obscenity lost in the tilt of her breath. She catches a hint of red on Enid’s lips.

Enid offers a feral smile as she glances up, continuing to leave trail of small bruises in her wake, and Wednesday cranes her head down, breath hitching again, to watch with carnal desire as a painting is made of her. Enid does not stop – and does not seem to plan on stopping until Wednesday is but a crumbling artwork of her own design.

She uses one hand to hold Wednesday’s still, the other coming around Wednesday’s back, leaving a few light scratches before making light work of her bra clasps. A quick shuffle to remove the garment ensues before Enid is back at it, her mouth free to lick and kiss around Wednesday’s free breasts. She is more tender here but only for a moment. She bites on Wednesday’s nipple, free hand grazing Wednesday’s side and a whine is pulled from Wednesday’s mouth, hips bucking into Enid’s own.

Enid purrs, “Desperate, are we?”

“N-never.” Wednesday retorts, the gasp of her breath betraying the snark she tries to offer. “I need not be desperate for what I already possess.”

Even if these words are her truth, she knows it will drive Enid wild – make Enid insist on pleading and begging before Wednesday gets even a true stroke of pressure where she desperately needs it. Wednesday throbs at the idea… she cannot wait to be pushed to breaking point.

And drive Enid wild it does. She growls, human claws raking at Wednesday’s sides; hedonistic pleasure and torture all the same. She huffs slightly, climbing off of Wednesday and heading to the bag full of their equipment from their prior activities. She rummages through it. Wednesday remains on the bed, anticipation building, feeling herself grow wetter and wetter as it dawns upon her what Enid is looking for. She does not need a vision for such a guess.

Enid returns, bundle of rope in hand. She grins darkly at Wednesday.

“Possess, you say?” Enid asks as she straddles over Wednesday once more, running the rope through her hands and lightly twisting it through her fingers. Wednesday’s eyes follow the motions of her hands with laden want, before quickly flicking back up. It feels like there’s lightning in her spine.

“Of course. Would you prefer I say that I own you, amor?”

Enid does not dignify a response as her hands gently but firmly begin looping the rope around Wednesday’s wrists. She barely even looks as she ties them up, offering a smug and challenging smile when she finally tugs and tightens the knots. She need not answer such a bait question – Wednesday knows as much… but Wednesday can hope all the same.

Wednesday glances at her hands. Her mouth goes dry. Gods, this is how she always longs to be - Tied up; at the mercy of her bubbly yet deadly girlfriend. If only other people knew what they got up to… Not that Wednesday wishes for others to know. They do not deserve to. What happens between her and Enid is private act of unholy communion, and none are worthy of learning their devilish acts.

Wednesday lets out a satisfied sigh as Enid tugs her bound hands upwards and ties them to the headboard. It’s just the right amount of uncomfortable to make her ache for the oasis of Enid’s touch. Perfection.

“Now you’re mine.” Enid murmurs lovingly, as she traces a finger down Wednesday’s jaw. Her free hand runs along the delicate curve of Wednesday’s arm, before moving to Wednesday’s ribcage, down to her waist, resting there with her thumb rubbing slow circles.

Wednesday does nothing but tug lightly on her restraints as Enid dips back down and begins kissing and biting at her breasts again. The response is the same as before – Wednesday’s hips bucking; a quiet whine buried in her gentle gasps. Only this time there is nowhere to go, no freedom of movement to allow herself some control, and oh, how intoxicating that feeling is. Like being swallowed by a delicious darkness.

Enid continues to kiss at Wednesday’s body. Both her hands come downwards, brushing and teasing along Wednesday’s pale skin, eventually reaching the waistband of Wednesday’s underwear… but she does not offer Wednesday the satisfaction of removing the garment. No, that would be too easy. Enid’s hands travel down further, lightly raking nails on Wednesday’s thighs, and Wednesday releases a breathy sound, gladly accepting the ache she has signed up for… but Enid is nothing but relentless and as she continues to scratch at Wednesday’s leg, she brings a knee between Wednesday’s thighs and presses it against her core.

Wednesday groans and writhes, tugging at the ropes as she tries to pull herself down, searching for more. Enid does not give her the satisfaction and pulls her knee back. She smiles.

“This is what you want, right baby?” She hums, pressing a sinful sweet kiss to Wednesday’s lips. She lingers close, a thread of saliva hanging between their mouths that she laps up with a second capture of Wednesday’s mouth.

Wednesday looks at her as they separate, chest heaving.

“Yes… Just a little more and I shall beg as pathetically as Xavier did for his life”

Enid lets out a second, amused hum, as she brings her knee back against Wednesday’s wet panties, offering a painfully languid grind as she continues dancing her clawed nails across the pale swatch of Wednesday’s thighs. There are red raised marks left in her wake that leaves Wednesday hissing but there’s a sadistic little smile on her face.

“I crave you, cariño,” She sighs out. “Harder.”

Enid obliges with a purr, digging in her nails; Wednesday whines in response. Like static straight through her nerves, Wednesday’s back arches with little control, making her jolt against the restraints, Enid’s knee pressed against her cunt doing very little in terms of helping the growing desperation that builds inside her. She is already so close to demanding her needs be tended to. She is sure Enid can tell.

The smirk across Enid’s face as she leans closer for another kiss says it all. She leers just above Wednesday’s lips, meeting Wednesday’s gaze, the smug expression growing wider as Wednesday chases her mouth… and distracted by this kiss, Wednesday is left unaware of Enid’s intentions until she feels a hand tease her underwear waistband before dipping inside.

But no relief comes.

Wednesday stares intently at Enid.

“Darling.” She says sternly.

“Wednesday.” Enid replies, humming sweetly, dipping her fingers a little lower until they are just teasing the edges of Wednesday’s folds. “I do not hear any begging, but something tells me you want it.”

A feathery brush of fingertips; Wednesday’s breath catching in her throat.

“Perhaps…” She breathes out.

“Then ask, baby…”

Wednesday looks at her defiantly.

“Earn it.”

Enid rolls her eyes, but smiles still. She kisses down Wednesday’s jaw again, stopping at her neck again as her hand continues it’s gentle teasing touch. She kisses and soothes over the existing marks and bruises, moving to the side she had previously neglected. Her fingers continue to tempt submission. Seeing the tensing of Wednesday’s throat, Enid eagerly bites down again. Her teeth sink into Wednesday’s soft neck with ease.

Wednesday isn’t sure what sorcery Enid has pulled, but the combination of the bite with the subtle strokes of her fingers sends a surge of arousal through her, making her lower stomach feel like a cavern that aches like nothing before. She writhes, and a whine is pulled from her throat that makes her face blush a pale pink. She doesn’t know what comes over her.

“Fuck.” She groans. “Fuck, Enid.”

Wednesday stares at Enid, taken aback. She knows she wanted this - but shit, if she doesn’t feel exposed. It is exhilarating; terrifying even, to beg so unabashedly… but Gods, she couldn’t need Enid’s hands inside her more if she tried.

Enid moves her head up to look at Wednesday with a tilted smug smile. A drop of blood sits on her mouth corner.

“Yes?” She purrs.

“In me. Now.” Wednesday pleads. “I need it. I need you.”

“Finally,” Enid mewls, with a carnal look in her eye. Pressing a kiss to Wednesday’s lips, she then parts Wednesday’s folds and glides her fingertips through Wednesday’s slick, brushing her clit ever so softly.

The pleasure is instant, Wednesday gasping and grinding her hips as Enid’s fingers apply just the right amount of pressure to where that throbbing ache has sat all this time. She wishes she could push herself down more, but frustratingly she is held in place by the ropes, which rub and burn at her wrists. It hurts like a bitch… but Wednesday can’t deny it only makes her wetter.

Enid watches this desperation with a dark enjoyment. She hums amusedly, circling Wednesday’s clit before dipping down to tease Wednesday’s entrance.

A restrained moan passes Wednesday’s lips, laced with desperation. What follows is a gasp and shudder as Enid wastes no time sliding a finger inside Wednesday; a second added in quick succession.

Now, the way that Enid and Wednesday fuck varies - they can be slow and sensual, fun and experimental, but this? This is pure hedonism, fuelled by adrenaline and desire. That is to say – Enid starts thrusting her fingers in and out of Wednesday’s pussy with an unstoppable fervour, taking little notice of whether it is gentle enough… not that Wednesday minds, as the roughness is exactly what she craves. Enid’s fingers curl at each push, brushing that sensitive spot inside, that makes Wednesday whine and buck her hips in a way that most people would deem uncharacteristic… but it’s not - not when it’s Enid fucking her like a slut who deserves every rough bit of pleasure that she is so gracefully offered.

This is it, this is her prize for finally removing one of the biggest thorns in her side since they were kids. Though his death may be a prize in and of itself, the trophy of Enid’s touch certainly makes the pedestal of success that much richer. Wednesday’s head tilts back. Her eyes shut and her mouth hangs open in a silent cry; behind her eyes she sees the scenes all over again, their poignancy only exacerbated by each stroke of Enid’s fingers:

Xavier scared for his life, and wolf Enid chasing him down. Blood… so much blood, and savagery. Raw; chaotic, yet graceful as claws penetrate his chest. Then the satisfaction as Wednesday confirmed the kill herself with a slice to the throat. Silence. Satisfaction – a job well done.

Those once bloodied claws are now Enid’s hands, fucking her within an inch of her life – though her nails are no longer the beastly shape they once were, there’s a ferocity that has Wednesday panting and moaning the more she thinks on what those hands have done. She tugs on the ropes, itching to grip her fingers into Enid thighs and let her feel the tenseness coursing her veins

Enid watches Wednesday struggle and come undone. She smirks, never dropping pace.

“You like that?” She purrs as she leans closer to Wednesday’s face.

Wednesday pulls her eyes open. She stares at Enid and nods, wincing as she feels a tightness beginning to build inside her, swirling in her lower stomach like the apex of a storm. With how far she let herself be teased, it was foolish to think she’d last long. Enid flashes a grin.

“Mm... so dark and mysterious, but such a good girl for me, aren’t you baby?” She teases.

Wednesday cannot even muster a snarky response before her voice is stolen by a whine as Enid slips a third finger inside. She even angles the base of her palm to grind against Wednesday’s clit – subjecting Wednesday to a wealth of stimulation that crackles through her core. The coil inside her tightens inexplicably quick, as though being thrown right into the depths of a hurricane.

Not yet-

It’s too soon.

Enid continues to slide her fingers in and out. Each push of her digits strikes Wednesday’s g-spot with an unforgiving drag. Her palm teases and grinds Wednesday’s pulsing clit with each uncontrollable writhe of her body. Wednesday catches a mischievous flicker in Enid’s eye.

Not-… No-

Enid trails kisses from the corner of Wednesday’s mouth, across her jaw, and up to her ear. She lingers for just a second, biting softly on Wednesday’s earlobe before a whisper makes its way to Wednesday’s ear.

“Cum for me.”

White noise.

White noise is all Wednesday hears as the coil inside her snaps free and she is thrown to the apex of climax. She silently loathes the speed at which it happens; yet greedily accepts the tidal wave of bliss. A guttural moan pierces the silence as Wednesday feels her insides tighten and shudder, with Enid’s free hand coming to cup her jaw as she offers a proud, loving smile. The orgasm is intense, breathtakingly so, leaving Wednesday wide eyed and overstimulated. It is pleasure beyond all describable words.

Enid coaxes her through it, her pace turning languid as Wednesday’s dripping slick makes it difficult to maintain any sort of friction. She eventually pulls her hand out, recognising the way Wednesday’s nerves are now frazzled and fried.

It is a moment of euphoria, slowly lost as reality seeps back into Wednesday’s vision, and she can feel nothing but the thrum of her heart and a warmth bleeding into her spine. Perfection.

Wednesday releases a tense breath; her body goes limp. This is everything she wanted, and more - Pleasure in pain, and pain in pleasure. She looks at the results of their fun, glancing downwards at her roughened, marked skin and even lower, to a wet patch on the mattress… it seems her underwear did little to contain the aftermath.

She looks at Enid, who smiles at her and presses a kiss to her lips. She unties the ropes and Wednesday’s arms fall to her sides, shaky; wrists bruised and friction burned.

Neither of them will forget this night for a long time. For a multitude of reasons.

Enid presses a kiss to the wounds, and to every other wound inflicted – whether by her, or their earlier victim. Wednesday watches in silence as she gathers her bearings. A moment later and Enid is curled up against her, seemingly exhausted.

Wednesday brings a shaking hand to the fresh kill mark on Enid’s ribcage. Her thumb brushes across it gently and despite a gentle wince, Enid does not complain. She smiles, in fact.

“Energy spent, amor?” Wednesday enquires. Her voice is but a rasp.

Enid hums softly, nuzzling into Wednesday and nodding.

“Yes…” She sighs.

How wondrous; how deeply taboo their recent acts have been, and yet Wednesday could not imagine anything better… Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Murder as foreplay is not a permanent thing in this life. A shame, truly.

A quick glance at the cheap LED clock on the night stand reveals only a short while until the collection team come to deal with Xavier. It means that – for now – there is no more time for enjoying the alluring pheromone of adrenaline. It is a pity, but there will be more time later. At least there is time for a brief rest and recovery after such an exhilarating night.

Wednesday can only hope their next mark is half as exciting as this one has been… because she lays now, in this filthy bed, in this cheap dilapidated hotel... and despite her usual standards; her desire for the finer things in life - she could not picture a finer way for the evening to close. Truly, a defining moment. One she will remember for a long, long time.

She kisses Enid.

Blood marred lips have never tasted sweeter.

4 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 9 months

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fic, chapter 35 (Final Chapter)

Description: Now aged 22, Wednesday Addams is an up-and-coming author. Her time at Nevermore is well behind her, and she is alone, and that suits her just fine...But when a 'new' neighbour shows up in her apartment building, she'll truly be tested on whether her "bad habit" of caring truly has been broken. (Hint: It hasn't.)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

Wednesday did not believe she cared about places and things. Generally speaking it is true – she does not care about her surrounding so long as her body may tend to its needs, and her possessions could be lost, for they can all be replaced. She is not sentimental. She never has been. Everything turns to dust eventually, and she is no exception to this rule.

Except...maybe she is sentimental. Maybe in the deep, darkest crevices of her black little heart, there is some measure of ache for the homes she once knew, and the items lost to time… her old dorm room at Nevermore; the snood she left behind to escape the Hyde. Curiously, her sentimentality seems tied to Enid, as many things seem to be – As if Enid is the key to Wednesday remembering her humanity and the place it has in her life.

Whatever the case, Wednesday may deny it. She will definitely, in fact. Especially now, as she stands in the empty shell of her old apartment, a suitcase in hand, feeling a sense of dread as she faces the last few moments within the confines of this dark and dreary space. It has been such a perfect home for her.

Enid approaches, taking a thoughtful look around, before nudging Wednesday’s side. She offers a reassuring smile. Wednesday feels herself settle slightly.

“It’s totally crazy, right?” Enid says softly. “We’re about to head to our new home.”

Wednesday notes a bloodstain on the carpet, previously hidden by her couch. She had forgotten about it, and finds the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she is reminded of how her darling brother had nearly bled himself half to death in that spot, upon insisting he could sew his own sutures faster than she. He was wrong, and nearly died. It was wonderfully entertaining. The bloodstain is a permanent fixture and one Wednesday adores – but she also desired a larger couch, so it was regretfully covered up. It is nice to get a final look at it before she leaves. Enid has also looked at it, but has very wisely decided not to ask. She is not built for such stories.

Wednesday takes Enid’s hand, guiding them gently away so they face into the kitchen instead. She looks at her empty counter tops.

“It is certainly a strange feeling.” Wednesday agrees, her voice somewhat wistful before dropping back into it’s usual monotony. “But all things must end.”

She then glances at Enid, frowning in thought.

“Are all of your things packed?”

“Yeah! I don’t know who those guys are that your parents called, but they’re super efficient. And pale.”

“My mother’s legion of undead helpers,” Wednesday answers, nodding slightly. “They do not divulge in conversation much, but they are very hard workers.”

Enid looks speechless for a second, but shakes herself out of it, smiling amusedly. It seems she is perhaps fully catching up to the Addams’ kooky ways and is realising it is better not to question it, but simply accept the weirdness as it comes. It lights a small flame of pride in Wednesday’s chest. Despite what her blank expression and dry tone may indicate, she can only feel delight at knowing she is about to start living with this piece of sunshine-made-human… Any other version of her would’ve baulked, called herself pathetic… but Wednesday feels nothing but a deep and admirable warmth as she watches Enid pad gently into the kitchen and playfully spin in a circle. She is ridiculous, yes; perhaps overwhelmingly colourful too – but Enid is the only person that Wednesday could ever accept that from. More than accept. Adore, even.

Enid spins again, stumbling slightly and laughing.

“I’m going to miss this kitchen.” She says idly.

“You’re going to miss my kitchen?” Wednesday asks, as her brow quirks upwards.

“Yeah I spent a lot of time in here.”

“Eating my food, I remember.”

Enid stops dancing around, approaching Wednesday to steal a kiss from her lips. She smiles.

“I didn’t see you complaining.” She replies.

Wednesday remains quiet. She glances to the side and tuts thoughtfully.

Enid simply smirks, her smile growing wider by the second as she takes Wednesday’s hands in her own.

“… I suppose not.”

Enid hums, satisfied with the answer. She then lets go, skipping towards Wednesday’s doorway to collect the backpack she left there, containing the last few essentials she held onto. Glancing at the time, Wednesday now realises – it’s time to go. As of midday this apartment is no longer hers. It’s five minutes past now, meaning she has already overstayed her technical welcome. It is time for some other poor fool to deal with the bloodstained carpet; tend to the random creaky pipes, and, consistently try to seek out the rat that lives in the wall. Truly it has been the perfect apartment. Hopefully her parents will find a tenant who will appreciate it as much as she did… or they’ll change the carpets, fix the plumbing and call an animal removal service. Unfortunate if the case.

Regardless, it’s time she leaves. Wednesday takes a few steps towards the door, feeling her stomach grow heavy. She turns her head back and pauses.

“What is it?” Enid asks, concerned suddenly.

Wednesday sighs, shaking her head. This sentimental pain is pointless. She stares for just a moment longer, taking in the meagre lighting, darkly painted walls and counter tops. Where they are heading is inarguably better; nicer than anything she could desire… but it is different, and Wednesday does not like different. Unless it is Enid. She can like it if it’s Enid.

She turns her head back to Enid now. Wednesday will face this change with a brave stoic face, knowing it is Enid who is the catalyst for desiring change at all. Wednesday refuses to let her pathetic emotions slow her down, anyway. She grabs her own bag and hoists it onto her shoulder.

Fishing the apartment key from her pocket, they then walk out together, silence falling as Wednesday locks the apartment for the last time. She will return the key to her parents later.

Enid takes Wednesday by her free hand and they walk together towards the stairwell.

As they exit the apartment building together, they see the last of the moving trucks disappearing off into the streets of New York, leaving just Lurch and the family car awaiting them. Wednesday is glad she convinced Enid to utilise her parents assets as opposed to booking an Uber. God forbid her first memories of arriving at their new home feature any potential for hearing modern pop music blasting from the shitty sound-system of some poor Millennial normie’s Honda civic. No, the hearse is a much better option.

Lurch takes their bags and places them in the trunk before swinging back around to the driver’s seat. Wednesday and Enid settle into the passenger seats, both staring out the window at the building that is no longer their home. Enid takes Wednesday’s hands and gives it a squeeze.

The car gently pulls away from the building. Enid hums softly. Relaxing back into her seat, she then closes her eyes and sits, a gentle smile playing her lips.

Wednesday turns her attention to her, gaze softening the second she sees the contented look upon her girlfriend’s face. There is a flurry of feelings running through her head right now. Anticipation seems to the one that wins out – a fluttery spark of something that has Wednesday on the metaphorical edge of her seat (although she would never sit in such a way), now that she has pushed away the space where her sentimentality had lived. She squeezes Enid’s hand in return.

Onto their next adventure.

The drive to their new apartment isn’t long – Not long enough, in any case. It is supposedly twenty minutes but it would seem that time is playing tricks, and it is most inconvenient. Annoying, even. Wednesday is in the middle of kissing at Enid’s neck after a conversation about their future – that Wednesday was completely fine and normal about – when the car judders to a stop, and the sound of boxes and furniture being moved fills the air around them. It would seem they have arrived. The engine clicks off.

Wednesday sighs slightly, pulling away.

“Some other time.” She grumbles as she mourns the loss of Enid’s electric touch.

Enid giggles sweetly.

“Priorities, Wends.” She hums, turning now to look out at their new apartment building. She freezes and gasps. There’s a dramatic pause. And then, quietly, two words tumble from Enid’s mouth. “Holy shit.”

Wednesday shuffles and peeks through the window herself. The slightest hint of a smile curls upwards on her mouth, and despite her prior angst, seeing Enid’s reaction settles something in her. This is perfect – and perfection is not something Wednesday finds easily.

“It is most impressive in person, is it not?” Wednesday says proudly.

Enid does not answer. Instead, she pulls the door of the hearse open, stumbling out, taking a few quick steps to stare up at the towering apartment block. Wednesday cannot see the grin on her face, but she knows it is there. Enid turns back to her then with that predicted smile plastered brightly upon her lips. Her hands gesture excitedly, urging Wednesday to join her.

And Wednesday does. She slides herself out of the vehicle, approaching Enid, coming to a stop a few steps earlier as she watches her mother’s legion of workers tend to their packed furnishings.

It’s happening. It’s really happening.

She and Enid stand outside the building for what seems like an hour, but perhaps is only fifteen minutes or so, before taking the elevator up to their apartment floor. As the doors open, they are met by a few of the movers, who greet them with an idle grunt as they trudge through the hall with their boxes.

Wednesday had visited the apartment prior to moving, but now as they enter it, their belongings strewn around them, it feels a lot different. Especially now Enid is here. It is more serious, almost; more real. But somehow nicer, too.

It’s been painted since Wednesday saw, a muted white contrasting against the decorative wooden beams across the ceiling. This new apartment is a modern yet cosy space, emulating some minor rustic design whilst remaining premium. Wednesday is glad for it. Whilst she enjoys the stark coldness of modern design, she finds it lacks character. This space certainly finds a palatable mid-point… and as for Enid? She is enamoured. More than enamoured, for she is walking around with a wet-eyed smile beaming across her face. Wednesday knows this is what she deserves – that is, the best.

There is no measure of shitty ‘hatred of change’ angst that could stop her relishing in this moment.

What follows is a whirlwind six hours as Wednesday and Enid direct and sort and begin to mould this space to their liking. With an open plan kitchen-diner, a separate living room, office, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, not to mention a balcony space – this new home certainly needs arranging. It takes a bit of negotiating (particularly as they argue whose bed will be theirs and whose becomes the guest bed) but they get it done. Fortunately the undead workers physically cannot complain. Then, as they go around each room, they decide whose furniture will go where. Wednesday mostly claims the office, though there are desks for them both, and Enid mostly claims the living room, her various gaming consoles filling the TV stand. Each space becomes a little of each of them, melding just as it did in Wednesday’s old apartment – only now, there is room for it to breathe. It is truly their space once and for all.

Then, comes the bookshelves. Perhaps one of the most important things when it comes to their personal belongings.

Wisely, the book shelves are placed in the small hall space between the living room and office, allowing them to be accessed from either room without much hassle. Wednesday takes left, Enid takes right. A simple agreement, thankfully.

Whilst sorting through a box, Wednesday happens upon a familiar book. Her own. The very same one she saw upon her first visit to Enid’s old apartment. How strange it seems to hold it now, after all this time. She picks it up, noticing the lightly furled pages and tattered spine. It has been read again since she last saw. It is a shame to see a book so worn but Wednesday can only assume that such poor condition means it is well loved, in a strange sort of way. She would not treat her own books this way but regardless it lights a small warmth in her black heart.

Enid glances over.

“Oh, You should read that! It’s super dark, totally up your alley.”

Wednesday holds it out to Enid, her face remaining stoic. Her eyebrow quirks slightly.

“An astute recommendation” She replies. “Though, you will be disappointed to know I have already read it.”

Enid takes the book, finding a slot for it in her bookshelf after a thoughtful hum. She pauses after, scowling, her mouth hung open in a silent question as she turns back. Her eyes brush over Wednesday’s own bookcase.

“You...don’t have your own copy though?” She queries.

A beat passes.

“I wrote it.” Comes Wednesday’s answer. “I have the manuscript.”

She expected her heart to thump when this moment came; for her stomach to drop into a pit or a void or something equally deathly, but no. Her admittance comes out simply as if recounting a news story. She is not sure why… No one, and she means no one knows her writer alias. In most cases, she would rather claw out her own vocal chords than tell someone. Wednesday has even neglected to tell Enid up until this point, feeling a sense of safety in knowing her writing remains a separate entity from herself – a voice she can escape to when the world is unbearable. Which is often, frankly. The world is largely a terrible and undeserving place.

Perhaps that is why she is suddenly so open to Enid knowing. Enid is too, a safe place for Wednesday to escape to, especially now as they begin their lives together living in the same space. Maybe this is just the last secret to let go of.

Wednesday cannot believe she has let go of them all in the first place. Love is truly a curse… but one she will bare with a white knuckle grip so long as it is Enid.

Enid stares at her. She blinks once; twice.

“What?”

“I wrote it Enid.”

“No...no I heard you, I just- what?!”

The slightest hint of a smirk pulls onto Wednesday’s face. If she had known this would be Enid’s reaction, perhaps she would’ve considered telling her sooner.

“Judging from your taste in colour, I know your eyes do not work properly...but do not tell me your ears are suddenly failing too.”

Enid plays mock offence and playfully hits Wednesday with one of her books. Wednesday hits back with a side glare, refusing to humour such childish behaviour. However it seems Enid is quick to change tact, as she suddenly discards the remaining books needing to be sorted back into the box and all but begs to talk about Wednesday’s book.

“Ohmygosh you have to tell me everything!!” Enid squeals.

Admittedly, this is not something Wednesday had prepared for.

Regardless, she just about allows herself to be dragged away from her precious organisation and into the (kind of organised) living room.

This consequently leads into another two hours of time disappearing, both Wednesday and Enid locked in conversation that mostly consists of Enid excitedly chattering. Wednesday does not mind, even with her mind constantly drawn back to the mess around them. She is glad what little information she offers provides such enjoyment – despite the fact her book itself is rather horrific, ironically. It is strange Enid likes it to begin with, though Wednesday supposes she should not be surprised that Enid breaks expectations. She always has.

And by the time they are finished, the sun has dipped out the sky and the night is drawing in. They have still not finished unpacking... Perhaps it was foolish to believe it could be done in one day, but Wednesday stubbornly wishes to keep working at it, determined to at least organise the last of the living room so she can feel a little bit not psychotic about the various boxes scattered around.

However, after only five minutes Enid is in her personal space, warm hands interlinking with Wednesday’s own, pulling her away from a box and to her feet. She is irritated she cannot continue… but cannot be mad at Enid when her eyes are so warm and her smile so loving. Enid pulls Wednesdays hands around her waist and begins to slowly rock from side to side. It is a poor imitation of dancing – not that Wednesday will say as much. Her heart thumps loudly in her chest, regardless. She does not understand why this is happening. Maybe she doesn’t need to.

“It’s been a long day.” Enid hums softly.

Wednesday begins to protest, stating she be allowed to keep working. Enid shushes her, holding tightly as they keep slow-dancing in place.

“No more tonight, Wends. We can work on it tomorrow.”

Wednesday goes to protest further, but is stopped by the gentle press of Enid’s lips against hers. The kiss is sweet, captivating, filled with a contentedness that seems to have only grown as their living quarters has. It is electric. It’s just… Enid.

“We can work on it tomorrow,” Enid repeats. “And the next day...and the day after that too. Until it’s done.”

Wednesday frowns.

“You underestimate my organisational skills.”

Enid kisses Wednesday again, a soft laugh tumbling out of her mouth against Wednesday’s lips. She slowly spins Wednesday around as they dance.

“Let me be romantic, baby.” Enid smirks.

They continue to dance. It slowly becomes more composed, as Wednesday subtly leads Enid into the right positions; shows the right steps. After some time, they are nearly waltzing – the boxes on the floor long forgotten, even by Wednesday herself. It is ridiculous. Dancing in a living room… what is the purpose, truly?

There is no purpose, Wednesday supposes to herself. It is simply done because one wants to. She did not know she wanted to until Enid made it so. What a strange thing.

Wednesday lets out a sharp hum.

“Fine.” She replies, but her soft gaze betrays her blunt tone.

And so they dance more. And they kiss. In their new home that they share. Perhaps they will dance all evening and simply just enjoy the new space they find themselves in. It might be messy right now, and it might take some time to adjust… but Wednesday does not think she would change it for the world. She can only hope Enid feels the same.

It’s taken them a short while, with old wounds re-opened and reddened once more – but this time, they’ve gotten to heal right. They’ve gotten to heal together.

And Wednesday… well, she is not alone.

And that suits her.

Just fine. x-x-x-x-x-x A/N:

Hello, my loves

This is the end of Old Wounds. Thank you so much for joining me as I wrote this fic over the last 8 months. It's been such a joy to write :D

Thank you for every comment and kind word. It's really meant a lot <3

As of posting this (8th August 2023), I will be taking a short break from fanfic writing - however, please keep an eye out because I have two fics planned! A oneshot based in the same universe as Old Wounds (but able to be read separately), alongside an entirely new multi-chapter!

As always, thank you for reading. I'll see you in the comments.

- Hatchet <3

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3

16 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 9 months

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fic, chapter 34

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

After a restless night, Wednesday awakes to her empty bed. Despite having owned this bed for a long time, it is the first time it has felt far too big and far too lonely. It is an inconvenient feeling. It is as though, within such a short period of time, a space that was hers has become unfamiliar and strange; missing something that it has never previously needed... and with the realisation from the previous evening, seeing that empty spot in the dimmed morning light - well, it makes Wednesday’s chest squeeze uncomfortably.

She is glad to have figured out her predicament, but this only leads her into more questions; more puzzles to solve. Her body is still thick with sleep though, and she cannot think yet, but her black little heart yearns for Enid’s presence by her side – this much she can feel. Her thoughts will come to her later.

Wednesday glances at the clock on her bed side table. It is barely 6am. It is the perfect time to awaken and seize the day. If this was any other day it would be, at least. Today Wednesday does not feel motivation for much at all, despite her previous determination to catch up to speed with her novel. Perhaps she simply needs to push her affections aside and push forward. She is still 6000 words or so behind, after all…

But with each bleary eyed blink, Wednesday’s thoughts come back to Enid; come back to the home she desires them to have. Together. Wednesday is more than aware that she is not someone to drop something once she wants it. Ugh.

It’s fine. This is fine. Wednesday needs to think first anyway. She cannot run into this head first, as much as she would love to do exactly that… But no.

No, what she needs is… Sigh. Advice.

She baulks at the thought.

Wednesday Addams does not ask for advice.

She figured out how to filet a body by the age of 6; She wrote her first novel as a teenager. She has never needed advice on anything… though, that may be a slight exaggeration. What Wednesday means to think is that seeking advice is to show weakness and she has only shown such vulnerability a few times before – each time more painful than the last.

And, much to her chagrin, she cannot even ask Enid for this assistance.

So who does it leave? Well. Just her mother, of course.

Maybe the baristas at the coffee bar, seeing as they clearly know everything about she and Enid… though, Wednesday has likely burned all her bridges with them by this point (after totally not breaking the manager’s arm alongside other minor acts of terrorism) and she cannot stand the idea of pretending to be approachable just for a modicum of self gain. It’s not worth it. No one is worth that effort, frankly. Imbeciles.

Sighing, Wednesday sits up and swings her legs out of the bed. She pads quietly out of the room, irked by the silence that is so void of Enid’s gentle hum, or the joyous monotonous tone of her typing on her laptop, or even (much to Wednesday’s behest) the annoying little sounds of that elven man on her gaming device. Wednesday has grown strangely invested in the plot… though, she is frankly hoping the maleficent forces win and overrule the world. Enid has told her that’s not how the game works. Wednesday disagrees.

Not that Wednesday thinks about it frequently, regardless… Anyway-

Walking into the living room, Wednesday eyes her forgotten manuscript in the typewriter. There’s a page sticking out, flopped over after being so passively abandoned. Wednesday approaches the desk. Looking at the page, she reads over the writing, noting the subtle romantic whims that have crept into the subtext between the antagonist and villain once again. Prior to Enid, she had disgusted herself with such words, and even now it seems abnormal… but perhaps now she sees the tension written in their narrative: spitting words and blinding fights, never wanting to face anyone but each other. Her two characters are enemies, yes, but they only wound each other, searching endlessly to leave the final blow. They hate each other but… do they?

Wednesday removes the page, holding it in her hands. For a second she is tempted to screw it up; abandon it, and never let it see the light of day. Her readers might think her mad for something so uncouth… But, it’s her book. It’s her life. She can do whatever the fuck she wants.

Wednesday adds the page to the manuscript pile. She will never forgive Enid for this.

(She will. She already has.)

She stares at the page for another moment, before pulling herself away to deal with the chores of the morning. She knows her mother will have the answers she seeks, but she cannot contact her yet, for her mother insists on at least 8 hours of beauty sleep a night. With the current time, that equals at least another hour.

Suffice to say, it drags. An hour can sometimes feel like a blip, and other times an endless stretch of void that sucks any remaining willingness to live from your soul. Frankly, the hour that Wednesday experiences is very much the latter. Despite tidying, preparing breakfast, showering, sharpening her throwing knives; not to mention refilling her whisky decanters, re-organising Enid’s tea collection, and taking a short walk to collect her mail from the day prior, Wednesday is still left with 15 minutes of spare time. Enid has said the way she is productive breaks the space-time continuum. Wednesday simply believes other people are just slow.

The last 15 minutes passes with what Wednesday can only describe as psychosis-inducing slowness. Nothing on this Godless earth seems to resolve the way time seems to drag, and Wednesday finds herself slipping lower and lower into her couch, awaiting the sweet peace of death – as it would likely come sooner than the turn of the hour.

Her eyes bore into the ceiling, tracing invisible patterns, and she thinks maybe finally she might have lost it. Her mind, that is.

Five minutes until 7am – Her phone begins to ring.

So much for slipping into insanity...

Wednesday rushes over to it, scowling, but answering without a second of hesitation.

“Hello, little raven.” Comes her mother’s dulcet voice. There’s a knowing lull to her tone, and oh, how it makes Wednesday’s chest tighten. Her mother knows something. Of course – she always does.

“Mother.” Wednesday greets stiffly in return.

There’s a thoughtful murmur that comes through the speaker; it is clear Morticia hears the tension in Wednesday’s voice, and questions her next words… but she is still her mother and has no qualms about making her intentions clear. It is not the Addams way to speak coyly.

“I am to assume you have figured out your predicament?”

“I am to assume you have also.” Wednesday quips back.

Morticia hums airily.

“Of course, that is why I knew to call you, dear. Do keep up.”

Wednesday is silent for a moment, rolling her eyes...But then as the moment settles, the question she wants to ask claws at her throat. It feels violent, the way it suddenly wishes to erupt from her mouth, but unfortunately, she is yet to find a way to ask that does not admit weakness nor fear of the situation she is presented with. Even if it is her mother, she cannot stand the idea of receiving pity for such feelings. She hopes her mother simply prompts it instead. For once, Wednesday believes her mother’s insatiable desire to be a know-it-all may come in useful – she simply needs to let her mother pry. She hates that idea as well… but it is arguably more palatable than any other course of action.

Wednesday remains silent; she knows her mother will wish to fill the silence any second now.

…

Any. Second.

“So… you and Enid living together, hm?”

Sweet, gut-wrenching relief. The topic being broached feels like both the calmness of death finally approaching and yet also the unpleasant feeling when the sun creeps through the clouds on a rainy day. That is to say Wednesday accepts its approach, but it is begrudging at best. Though, it is not as though she has a choice – she simply cannot live with this want of hers left unmanaged.

Wednesday lets out a quiet sigh.

“Yes. I do not understand why I desire such a thing.”

“You know why, Wednesday.”

Wednesday pauses. Regretfully, her mother is correct. She always is; it’s infuriating. It’s quite simple really. It is love. Love, and yearning – nothing more, nothing less. It is disgusting… yet Wednesday craves it, still.

She cannot believe Enid has done this to her. The audacity.

(She loves her more than anything.)

What Wednesday expects to follow is an unsolicited story-time from her mother, that details the dull, lengthy – and likely excessively romantic - process of how her father came to ask her mother to live with him. Undoubtedly it involves at least one musical number or piano ballad, and some blood oath exchange. Wednesday can already feel the second-hand embarrassment crawling up her spine.

Unexpectedly, this does not come to pass. Instead her mother is shockingly practical. She offers Wednesday information that is actually useful, and not covered with five layers of sticky sweetness that leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Wednesday could say she almost enjoys it. Receiving information in a simple and unadulterated format is truly the superior method, particularly when conversing with other people.

And thus, within the course of maybe an hour or so – Wednesday has a plan. It is a plan that requires a little more effort than she had expected, but her mother is extremely competent at offering a compelling argument. Wednesday is not someone to sway easy, but truly her mother crafted quite the idea.

It is, dare she say, rather genius.

Though, it does require a small amount of time. Perhaps a few weeks if she and her family were any normal humans. Fortunately they are not – they are Addams’, and so Morticia claims this plan may be enacted within the week.

Considering Wednesday’s (lack of) patience when it comes to matters of her desires, this proves to be quite the challenge… but not impossible by any stretch. As much as Wednesday is eager to act on her whims, she hates losing more – and to reveal to Enid her plan would definitely be losing.

So she stays quiet.

Their lives continue as normal for the six days that follow, half living around one another in Wednesday’s cramped apartment with Enid returning to her own place as often as she sees fit (which admittedly, is becoming less and less often). Wednesday continues to write her book, and Enid comes and goes from her job as required. It just works, despite the increasingly evident lack of space. Wednesday can only be relieved this delicate balance will soon come to an end.

On the sixth day itself, Wednesday receives a small parcel in her mail. She knows that this parcel means the plan is ready, and all is in-place for when Enid arrives after work. There is a grumble of something unpleasant sitting in Wednesday’s chest as she stares down at the box in her hands, but this plan ultimately belongs to her mother – and though she hates to admit it, she would trust her mother with almost anything.

It’s going to be fine.

Wednesday takes the parcel up to her apartment. She undoes the intricate bow wrapped around it, taking off the lid to reveal the chopped off hand of a politician – One of her parents many targets in their recent slew of assassinations against corruption. Though this is not the item necessary to her plan, Wednesday is delighted by the surprise gift. It has been a while since a severed human hand has ended up on her kitchen table. It brings back good memories…

Curled up in the hand’s fingers sits the item that Wednesday requires. She pries it out, careful to avoid snapping anything, before placing the item to the side. She then admires the hand for a moment – considering briefly, if she’d like to taxidermy it – but upon turning it over, she notices a faint tattoo of some pathetic alt-right group’s symbol. She sighs, shoving it back into the box.

Why must all good things become tainted? Ugh.

Wednesday shoves the box next to her trash-can. She’ll take care of it later.

She takes the item relevant to her plan, and carefully places it into her pocket. Despite her confidence in this plan – how she knows it is beyond the realm of failure – part of her feels a kick of concern over Enid’s response. Logic would dictate she will be elated...but Wednesday has reasonable belief that this is a much larger undertaking than any other surprise Enid has received before. So, it is difficult to calculate. Wednesday thinking about how much she hates not knowing may as well become an inside joke at this point. Except it won’t, because Wednesday hates comedy unless it is black and cold.

(Un)Fortunately, Wednesday is given little more time to ruminate on this, as she is alerted to a set of keys jangling in her door, before it swings open to reveal a grinning Enid. She walks over, humming proudly to herself as she approaches Wednesday. Wednesday ensures the item in her pocket is well hidden and then offers Enid a quirk of her eyebrow.

“You are humming that grating Kpop tune again. You must have had a good day.” Wednesday muses, softening slightly as Enid presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

Enid nods, as she drops her bag on the counter. She pauses, coming back to kiss Wednesday again, smiling even more. “My article got chosen to be on the front page of our website!”

By all accounts – a big deal. As a junior journalist, Enid has been vying for her first major publications. A web page article may not be print, but Wednesday can (at the least) recognise this achievement for what it is. It reminds her of when her first short story was published in a local newspaper as a child. It received fifty-two complaints for excessive dark themes. She is still very proud of it.

“The article about the Thorpe family and their latest corruption scandal?” Wednesday asks, tilting her head thoughtfully.

Enid clasps her hands together excitedly.

“Yes!” She squeals. “I can’t believe it got chosen! I didn’t think people would still be interested in the Thorpe family after Xavier’s dad almost lost all their money… but damn, Xavier really didn’t fall far from the corruption tree.”

“Always satisfying to see another one of our past acquaintances fall. It means we’re winning.” Wednesday replies, the slightest dark amused hum tagging onto the end of her sentence. She then takes Enid’s hand, giving it a gentle kiss, relishing in the static feel of Enid’s skin against hers.

“You have done well to publicise their misery.”

Enid beams. She runs into the living room, rooting around for her laptop and charger. She rambles aloud that they should’ve posted the article during her commute home, which means it’ll be online and ready to read now, which means they can read it together, which – deep breath – means they can enjoy Enid’s first posted article for the first time right now.

Wednesday stands stiffly. She has other ideas. Her hand brushes to the item in her pocket. A cold chill runs down her spine.

It feels far too soon, suddenly. She needs more time.

“Enid.” Wednesday says suddenly, her voice appearing before she can think, stalling. “Perhaps you could bring me my notebook?”

A ridiculous task. Pathetic. It will take no time at all. Enid yells back confirmation regardless, and remains in the living room for a bit longer. Wednesday brings the item out of her pocket now, staring at it. Despite its small size, it feels heavy.

What she holds is her future – Their future. It is strange; bizarre even, to consider where she has come from where she was. She did not even want Enid in her apartment not too long ago...and now she cannot stand to watch her leave. Wednesday wants this, that much is desperately true… but taking that step. Is she ready to leave this dark, dingy apartment behind? It represents a lot more than just a space to live in.

Enid appears in the doorway. She waves a small notebook in her hand.

“This one?” She asks. “I figured it would be by your desk, but I could only find this one on your bookshelf.”

Wednesday’s head snaps to Enid. She looks at the notebook, paying little to no attention to which one it is.

“Yes. That is the one.”

Enid’s head snaps to Wednesday’s hands. Wednesday realises instantly she cannot pull them away or hide the item without giving herself away.

“Whatcha got there?” Enid asks.

Shit. Wednesday’s heart freezes in her chest.

Enid walks over. She glances at Wednesday’s hands that have curled over whatever she is holding. Enid gently takes Wednesday’s hands and pulls at her fingers, uncovering what is beneath them. She stares for a second.

“What...what are those?”

Wednesday takes a stiff breath. There’s no hiding it now.

“They’re keys, Enid.”

Enid frowns, confused.

Wednesday continues.

“To our new apartment.”

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3

17 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 10 months

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 33

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

Another few weeks comes and goes.

More and more of Enid’s belongings encroach on Wednesday’s apartment. Like a festering infestation of colour creeping along her floor, hanging itself over her chairs, and collecting in the corners of rooms – Enid’s presence in her space has become increasingly permanent. Like a flower field erupting from a graveyard.

Wednesday does not complain. Such invasion of her life; her home, would usually draw exasperation and a desire to paint the walls with one very specific colour: red.

However, despite Enid’s offensively bright existence, Wednesday cannot find herself any reasonable level of upset at what is occurring before her. She cannot find any upset, in fact.

Of course, Enid still has her apartment. She returns to it occasionally, the still broken door creaking on its hinges despite being crudely patched up. Wednesday insists on paying for a replacement but Enid insists in return on leaving it like that for ‘just a bit longer’.

Wednesday does not question the decision. As bizarre of a thing it may seem, Wednesday can understand the desire to leave a reminder of those that wronged you, to keep that hatred bubbling under the surface. It is motivation to outgrow them and make them nothing more than just a pitiful comma in the narrative of your life.

The nights without Enid have begun to feel strange now. Wednesday does not like people in her space – she likes her private phone calls with her mother, and the quiet of typing her novel alone. Even more so, she despises her things being displaced; out of alignment with where she wishes them to be.

Enid, despite what one might think, manages to slip in the shadowy cracks of Wednesday’s existence and make herself home quite easily. Her stuff is here, yes, but it finds a place away from Wednesday’s own, letting itself settle in a way that makes it seem like it belongs… and during moments that Wednesday would expect to find distraction (as Enid was often extremely obnoxious during their school years), she finds herself in a surprisingly comforting session of parallel play, wherein Enid commits to her own tasks such as reading, gaming, and working, without so causing Wednesday even the slightest of annoyances.

As Enid spends more and more time within her apartment, Wednesday keeps expecting the apprehension to set in… and yet every day she awakes with comfort that feels akin to the way nature settles around an old house. Vines creeping through the windows, the wood crumbling to dust, and yet it is beautiful despite being changed, for this is the way it was perhaps meant to be – with the nature of things ultimately winning.

This difference Enid has compared to others is further emphasised on the days they venture out, back to the coffee shop where Tom and the other baristas await, smiles playing their lips.

At first they leered slightly, staring at Enid and her scars. It worried her; it made Wednesday furious. These staff members try their luck at getting closer, trying to pry into their private affairs, putting on a friendly front that would have any blank minded simpleton throwing tips by the hundreds… But Wednesday, naturally, does not humour such pathetic endeavours.

They still attend the coffee shop (it is Enid’s favourite, after all), but one day all the staff seem much better behaved, and the general manager lingers in the corner with an arm wrapped in plaster.

Wednesday claims she saw him fall. Enid does little to question it.

It is now a Tuesday. A perfectly normal and average day by any means. It is one of the days when Enid returns to her apartment, and Wednesday is left to her solitude. It is useful, in a sense, as Wednesday very much needs to continue working on her book after all these recent distractions. She is approximately 8,549 words behind schedule. It is unacceptable.

This solitude used to suit her quite perfectly, but she sits now, typing loudly into the quiet of her apartment and something feels… off.

Wednesday’s delicate fingers flow between the keys of her typewriter. Words pour onto the page with a beauty symphony of clicks and clacks – but there are moments of pause, when Wednesday’s brain needs a moment to conjure her next sentence, and she cannot help but feel the silence prick into her spine like needles.

Wednesday likes the silence; likes the comfort of knowing this space is her own… so why is it now so wrong? Wednesday sighs. She stops typing, pushing herself away from the desk. Glancing around her living room, she feels an anxious grumble in her chest at the sight of Enid’s things. It is not a mess… at least, not a mess in the way other people’s things would be in her space, but it is also not how she would have it. But she lacks desire to change it too. It is peculiar.

Wednesday goes over to one of Enid’s hoodies that bears the logo of some vomit inducing boy-band she enjoys. Grimacing slightly, Wednesday picks it up off the side table it lays on, folding it neatly before placing it back down. It does little to change the anxious grumble.

But it is not regret; nor hesitance… so what must it be?

Wednesday stares at the hoodie, pondering it all. It is confusing. She does not know why Enid’s more-permanent presence does not irk her. She loves Enid, of course, but her personal space has always been her personal space.

Wednesday hates not knowing.

And so, Wednesday stands there. Staring.

It is perhaps a few minutes later when she stops, interrupted by a rapid knocking on the door.

Wednesday snaps out of her trance. She straightens her spine, snapping her head towards the noise, before her legs carry her into the kitchen. She looks at her apartment door for a moment. The knocking continues. She sighs slightly, before trudging over.

It is a god damn Tuesday night. Who is idiotic enough to darken her doorstep at this hour best be prepared for face a level of wrath that will have them-

Oh.

It’s Enid.

She smiles at Wednesday meekly, waving her out-of-battery phone, mumbling an apology.

“Sorry I didn’t text first.” She says.

Wednesday steps aside wordlessly, and Enid trails in. She presses a gentle kiss to Wednesday’s lips in greeting, a happy little hum coming from her as she walks into Wednesday’s kitchen, and heads straight to the fridge. She begins rummaging through it, picking out ingredients.

Wednesday watches, confused but unquestioning.

“I forgot to buy groceries.” Enid answers anyway, exhaling amusedly. “I spend so much time with you, I guess I forgot my own apartment needs food too.”

Wednesday walks up to her. She observes for a moment as Enid starts preparing a dish – something with spaghetti, eggs, cheese, and pancetta… Carbonara, if Wednesday had any guess. A good choice.

She finds it fascinating watching Enid cook. For someone who has a pretty free-flowing approach to many tasks, Enid is surprisingly meticulous in the kitchen. She sharpens Wednesday’s knives, preps ingredients with a fine level of precision – best of all, being part wolf, Enid does not find Wednesday’s interest in uncommon cuts of meat to be particularly disturbing.

Wednesday would trust few in her kitchen, especially with the high spec and expensive equipment she has curated over time (only the finest, of course) but she finds Enid’s repeated presence in this space to be one that doesn’t leave her gagging. It is curious.

Very curious indeed…

“I must call my mother.” Wednesday announces. “It’s that time of the evening.”

Enid quickly reaches out, giving Wednesday’s hand a quick squeeze, winking as she does. Wednesday’s expression softens, and she nods, turning around and walking back into the living room. Glancing around the room again, she pulls out her phone; her mother’s number pulled up instantly.

Enid looks at her, a fond smile on her lips.

“Okay Wends, I’ll just be in here.”

It rings exactly twice before her mother answers. Perfectly on time, as always.

“Darling,” Morticia greets warmly. “A pleasure to have you call, as always”

Morticia replies in English. She makes an amused hum, her voice rich, velvety; begging to tease Wednesday in that motherly way she does.

Wednesday glances towards the kitchen door, feeling a sudden tightness in her chest.

“Hola mamá,” She greets, the words flowing out of her mouth in fluent Spanish. “La loba está aquí.”

“Not at her apartment, no? I believe you told me she does not stay Tuesdays.”

Wednesday lets out an indignant noise. Perhaps she already regrets calling her Mother (she doesn’t), especially if she going to receiving her infuriating all-knowing tone. She could just hang-up right now (she won’t).

“No, no se queda… Pero está aquí, haciendo la cena. Ella no tiene comida en su propia casa.”

A quiet laugh comes through the speaker.

“And she could not have ordered food via one of those silly little applications, or perhaps visited the store?”

Wednesday is quiet for a second. She feels her brows knit into a frown.

“Podría, sí.”

Wednesday does not have to see her mother’s smile to know it is there.

“Mm, perhaps the groceries themselves are not the most important part of this equation.”

Wednesday has heard quite enough. There is an implication there that makes her black heart twist in it’s cage.

“Voy a colgar,” she claims...but her hand makes zero motion towards the ‘end call’ button. She simply stands there, silent, dead air hanging between them. After a few seconds, a small chuckle comes from her mother.

“Are you going to hang-up, little raven?” Morticia hums down the phone.

Morticia makes a slightly dramatic sigh.

Wednesday remains silent. Her brain twists and turns at her mother’s words, stubbornly refusing to let them go. She paces around the room, looking into the kitchen for a second. Enid notices, and smiles briefly, as she tends to a pan of boiling water; Wednesday feels her stomach flip. She walks away from the door, holding the phone now as if it owes her a secret.

“Explica.” She demands.

“Darling, can you really not understand it? You are so intelligent, and yet-”

“-En lo que a navegar relaciones respecta, ¿soy como una asesina en serie novata? Normalmente no dándome cuenta de lo verdaderamente importante.”

A low, humouring chuckle comes from her mother. She is amused, and Wednesday finds it irritating – Not for the amusement itself, but for the lack of clarity that comes with it. She understands there is something she is missing; something reaching for recognition in her brain and body… evidently her mother sees this, and yet offers her not the pitiful mercy of giving her a straight fucking answer.

Damn it all to hell… Granted, her Mother would be quite at home there.

“Honestamente, no lo entiendo, y yo-” Wednesday begins to chastise, cut off by Enid walking into the room with two bowls of food.

She holds one up to Wednesday and steps over to the coffee table, placing it down softly. There is a sweet little smile on her face, and she presses a quiet kiss to Wednesday’s forehead before settling onto the couch. Enid then begins eating, not thinking much of it. Wednesday looks at her. Her heart beating profoundly in her chest; her expression softening at the gentleness Enid offers so unabashedly. Wednesday pulls the phone away from her ear slightly. She looks at the ‘end call’ prompt. She pauses for a second.

“Mamá,” She says firmly. “Tengo que irme.”

The call ends with a tap of her screen.

Wednesday discards her phone onto a couch cushion. She grabs the bowl and joins Enid, sitting quietly. She stares down at meal before her.

“I figured you probably hadn’t eaten either, since it’s your writing time, then you call your mom, and then after that you usually eat. So, I made enough for both of us.” Enid explains, slurping back spaghetti with a smile.

Wednesday continues staring at the food. She grabs the fork Enid also brought and twirls some spaghetti onto it. She eats slowly; thoughtfully, her brain ticking away at it all. Wednesday glances around the room, looking at her stuff mingled with Enid’s… even the room smells differently now, slightly floral notes mixed in with the usual scent of aged wood and ink.

She looks at Enid, who looks at back with a sweet smile. God, that smile could kill.

Swallowing her mouthful of food Enid asks, “How is it?”

Wednesday blinks, pulled away from her thoughts. She takes another bite. Truthfully, it is delicious. Perfectly cooked pasta, the sauce is the correct consistency without any lumps or mouth-feel nightmare, and – being carbonara, that is made traditionally with eggs as the base of the sauce as opposed to cream – it is a strong pecorino flavour that holds zero flavour of the egg used. Wednesday is not one to hand out compliments, but she cannot deny that Enid has beautifully crafted this dish. This goes without mentioning the personalisation she has done to Wednesday’s own bowl.

“It is skilfully made,” Wednesday comments, “but I do detect-”

“A shit tonne of pepper?” Enid queries, interrupting with a grin. “You drown your food in the stuff so I saved you the effort.”

Ah. Impressive. Wednesday is taken off guard by how finely Enid has noticed her habits; the small choices and patterns that dictate her life. It is bizarre yet oddly comforting – considering this is a behaviour often delegated to stalkers and psychopaths. Though… truly, what is being in a relationship if not choosing your own personal brand of consenting stalker?

Enid likely wouldn’t have noticed these things had she not been staying so often; had she not grown to see this space as she sees her own. Wednesday still cannot discern why she does not mind.

Regardless, Enid’s effort is appreciated. The pasta is very edible. Especially with the added pepper.

Wednesday’s head continues to mull and muse as the evening continues. They both finish their meals, and Enid takes their bowls through to the kitchen – collecting Wednesday’s with another kiss to her forehead, naturally. She washes the dishes as Wednesday tidies the ingredients away that were left out. The way the work together is simple, peaceful, with only a few playful jabs at each other for their own nitpick habits – Enid using too much dish soap; Wednesday’s meticulous way of organising her food. It is good natured, and vicious, and quietly loving, neither having to say much to say anything.

And then they settle, Wednesday opting to forgo her writing so she and Enid may spend some time discussing the week that has passed. Wednesday is still not good with feelings; still stumbles her way through these conversations awkwardly, both stubborn and cautious to say too much or too little… but Enid guides her, prompting conversations, taking a gentle lead in their exploration of the emotional depths.

Enid says she’s going to start therapy. Wednesday knows her initial reaction (that is, abject disgust) is not appropriate, not for Enid anyway. Therapy has not, and will not work on her… but for Enid it might. If Enid wishes to pursue such things, Wednesday will not speak her objections aloud. She loves Enid and will support the choice – though, it does not go without saying that she will find out everything piece of public (and non-public) information about whichever therapist Enid chooses, on the off-chance they are anything like that useless, drivel spouting failure that was Dr Kinbott. If they fail to help; they will fail to exist.

Wednesday does not mention this to Enid… but has a feeling Enid already knows.

After this, Wednesday and Enid kiss for a bit. Perhaps a bit longer than a bit. Maybe they even end up with clothing pulled aside, and desperate sighs as they yearn for each other’s touch. Though, it goes little further than that – owing to Enid’s bedtime alarm ringing out across the room from her (now charged) phone. There’s a few huffs; a few more quick, pleading kisses, before Enid reluctantly pulls away and insists she needs to return home.

Home, she says, with a hesitance.

Wednesday elects to ignore it.

Wednesday then walks Enid to the door of her apartment and they confirm they will text one another in the morning. Enid kisses Wednesday one last time, before leaving. Wednesday does not like watching her leave. Her chest twinges painfully at the sight.

So, she distracts herself with more writing. It does not help all that much, but she writes for hours and hours regardless. Her brain does its best to push away every slithering thought that comes close… Unfortunately, it does not ever quite calm the curiosity that has followed her this evening through.

And so as the night draws in and Wednesday feels her eyelids droop, the siren call of sleep pulling her ever closer to collapsing on her desk yet again, Wednesday does – in fact - find it in herself to push away from the desk and quietly shuffle to bed. She still needs to write...but writing can wait until the morning.

She pulls her clothing off, folding each item neatly despite her exhaustion. Then, she clambers into her sheets, hissing slightly at the chill that meets her skin. It's nice - like a cold drawer in a morgue. She rolls to her side instead of her usual crossed arm corpse position, not noticing the way her arms reach out into the darkness... but she catches herself after a second, staring into the empty space beside her. That's where Enid sleeps. But she isn't there.

Wednesday feels herself tense, a realisation hitting her like a punch to the stomach. The very air itself seems to freeze in her throat. All she wants is Enid there; body warm, and smile soft. She wants Enid there tonight, and tomorrow, and every night after...

She wants Enid to live with her.

And that terrifies her to know.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3 #they're in love your honour

22 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 10 months

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 32

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

Authors Note:

Hello dear readers,

As a warning - This chapter features sexual content.

If you are not comfortable with this, please skip this chapter and wait for the next - I have written it as such, that you will not miss anything plot relevant by skipping this chapter.

If you do read, I hope you enjoy <3

- Hatchet

Enid pulls Wednesday into the bedroom.

A million thoughts, words; feelings pour out of them in every single kiss; every single touch that they make as they fumble their way towards Wednesday’s bed. It is uncoordinated and messy, in a way that Wednesday would not let herself be with anyone else, but there’s still an elegance to it – a grace in the way they know each other's bodies, able to direct one another without a single stumble.

Enid is kissing and leading, and Wednesday reciprocates with her own subtler control. She gently guides Enid across her bedroom floor, silently aware of the space they inhabit; reeling from each lightning touch, and every crack of thunder in her brain that echoes from Enid’s heavenly sighs.

Wednesday’s anticipation feels like standing on a cliff’s edge. She is not so inexperienced any more; not so unfamiliar with the rush these actions bring, but it is still a rush all the same. It makes her stomach drop, her chest heave with both a thrumming anxious energy, but also lust – sinful, dark, hellish lust. One that consumes her so much, she wishes to get lost in it’s power and make it her own. It will be one day, truly. Until then, she is simply a base jumper learning where free-fall meets the ground.

Currently, her knees are meeting the bed and she is buckling under her and Enid’s weight, being shuffled up the bed until she’s against the pillows, and Enid’s straddling her and – oh fuck – this is like deja vu. She knows this part. It’s familiar, and familiar is knowledge, and knowledge means confidence

Her hands come to Enid’s sides, steady and strong, holding Enid’s waist as she continues to kiss and tease Wednesday’s lips. She feels Enid smile in recognition. Enid’s wearing sweats, but her crotch is undeniably warm against Wednesday’s upper thigh as she lightly grinds and teases.

It is a head rush of a start, but Wednesday cannot deny her own excitement. The aggression, the need – the pure animalistic way that Enid has been unable to qualm her own desire after their recent words exchanged. It is hedonistic, violent bliss. However, It is perhaps not just that, Wednesday thinks… but she also thinks it is perhaps not the best time for thinking… Particularly when Enid is so eagerly brushing her tongue through her parted mouth, and her hands are eagerly clutching the sides of Wednesday’s jaw.

Thinking is for later.

Wednesday returns to the moment, settling into the tingles that roll through her spine as Enid eagerly kisses, and nips, and marks her way down Wednesday’s jaw, to her neck; to the slither of collarbone that shows from Wednesday’s displaced shirt collar. Every part of her body feels like it’s vibrating, and in her lower belly there is nothing but a throb, begging to be attended.

It is overwhelming, making her feel light-headed. However, in Wednesday’s growing trust of intimacy, the gentle pressure of Enid’s fingers pushed against her skin, and the soft whispered affirmations, Wednesday can find a measure of grounding – Like a lighting conduit for the dissociation that has teased her relentlessly when her senses get overloaded. It is still a lot, but it is manageable… and when it’s manageable, she can focus on the pleasure.

Wednesday runs her hands over Enid’s clothed skin. She watches Enid’s reactions, the gentle rising and falling of her chest when the feather touch tickles her slightly. It is mesmerising. Wednesday wishes to explore more; see the dainty yet dangerous frame she knows Enid possesses. A beautiful, dangerous painting in motion.

Their kiss breaks for a second, Enid leering close. Her eyes are black as night; her lips swollen as she bites down on them hungrily.

“Shall we keep going?” She asks

Wednesday takes a breath, assessing her nerves. Everything is firing at a million miles a second, her body burning like furnace; sparking like a live wire… But even so, even with how sensitive everything is, and how crazed she feels by each and every touch, she wants to keep going. She wants to be swallowed whole by this festering, sinful feeling.

She nods.

Enid’s hands come to the bottom of her shirt, tugging at it gently. There’s a questioning look in her eye. Wednesday feels her chest tighten.

“Just the shirt?” She questions. Wednesday is not sure the order of these things; is not sure if she even could remove more. How does one be naked in front of another and not wish to simply implode like a poorly built submarine facing water it was not built for… Is it acceptable to offer only something and not it all? And what if-

“Whatever is comfortable, love.” Enid answers softly, her answer interrupting Wednesday’s thoughts. “We can stay fully clothed if you want.”

Oh. Of course. Wednesday pauses for a second to think.

“Very well, just the shirt.” Wednesday then agrees, pulling her back off the bed so Enid may remove the garment. She returns the favour, Enid’s shirt lifting off to reveal Enid’s beautifully toned stomach, lightly scarred from their years of adventuring all those years ago.

Wednesday’s own torso does not fair much better.

Enid’s hand comes to the singular, larger scar that sits on Wednesday’s lower belly – The place she was stabbed and very literally died six years prior. It is nothing but a memory now, but feeling Enid so tenderly brush her fingers along it for the first time makes lightning bolt shivers rush Wednesday’s entire body.

And they sit there, for just a moment, their eyes wide; chests heaving. Wednesday catches the thoughtful tense of Enid’s jaw as Enid’s gaze scans down her body. Never has she felt so exposed – Never has she been so exposed before. It is disconcerting… but where Wednesday would normally find apprehension, she finds a willing curiosity. It is fuelled by her arousal, naturally, but also a level of trust no other human could ever hope to achieve.

No one else could ever deserve her this way.

Enid’s hand comes to the side of Wednesday’s face.

“What now?” She husks. “What would you like me to do?”

Wednesday’s heart beats loud in her ears. She doesn’t know. She hates that she doesn’t know. There are so many things she wants – so many things she desires, and yearns for – but how does she vocalise it; make it real?

She stares at Enid, her gaze intense.

Wednesday pulls her mind back to the start of their relationship; back to that first week, and their first times experiencing each other in an intimate way. It was breathtaking then and it makes Wednesday’s insides squirm to think about it now… That possessive hold that Enid had briefly; that she continues to show in small moments, before pulling it back. Then there’s the boldness Enid took on that last weekend, commanding herself with a dignified strength that had Wednesday mesmerised and her pathetic siblings scrambling to escape. Enid is powerful, no doubt. Wednesday wants to see that. Wants to be the one that power is used on.

Perhaps that is all she needs to say.

Body thrumming, Wednesday brings a hand to Enid’s chin and pulls Enid close once again. Enid grins slightly and Wednesday catches a sight of Enid’s lightly fanged canines – another reminder of the beast that Enid can be. Wednesday feels herself shudder at the sight.

Yes.

This is what she wants.

“Show me your power, mi cariño.”

Wednesday watches as Enid’s eyes grow wide, her neck straining as she swallows hard. Enid’s eyes then dash to Wednesday’s side where she cannot see, before glancing back, somehow growing even darker. A curious thing; but nothing much to dwell on. With a renewed vigour, Enid presses herself down, pushing her lips against Wednesday’s with a greedy hunger, their chests flush, warm skin brushing against warm skin in a manner that sends dazzling sparks straight to Wednesday’s core.

One of Enid’s hands comes to cup Wednesday’s bra-covered breast, evoking a gentle gasp from Wednesday that has Enid smirking against her lips. Wednesday’s hands fall back to Enid’s hips. Her grip is tight, nails digging through the material of Enid’s sweatpants.

As they continue to kiss, and Enid continues to tease, Wednesday becomes acutely aware of Enid’s other hand. It is neither touching her body nor dipping down the mattress. Wednesday goes to turn her head, but the hand that was on her breast quickly snaps up, holding her by the jaw with a grip so strong it is nearly bruising – but God, how good it feels. The pressure is painful, but only just; only enough to send lighting strikes of pleasure that are quickly soothed by Enid’s wandering lips as she apologetically lets go.

“Sorry,” Enid murmurs as she kisses and laps at the points where her fingers dug in. “I just have an idea.”

Wednesday’s curiosity piques at this. Though, it seems she needn’t ask.

“I can show some power, baby,” Enid says lowly. “Do you trust me?”

Considering where she lays; how she lays… Wednesday does not know how this can even be a question. She holds Enid’s gaze and gives a slow, intentional nod.

“Show me.” Wednesday commands quietly.

Enid obliges. Her free hand returns to Wednesday’s view. In it, sits Wednesday’s knife. The very same silver tipped blade that Wednesday had used only a week prior… Wednesday had started keeping it on her night-stand when Enid decided to sleep in her bed – feeling it would be an ideal weapon in an emergency, considering it’s potent effect last time.

And now, Enid is holding it with a careful but strong grip, as she straddles Wednesday. There’s a glint in her eye.

Wednesday watches as Enid brings the knife to her chest, tracing the blade up Wednesday’s sternum lightly so it leaves but a faint tickle and the lightest of pink marks in its wake. Wednesday is not sure why or how, but it awakens something in her- feeling now as though this intimacy is approached from a perspective she is familiar. That is to say, with a weapon in hand and a wicked smile on someone’s face.

Wednesday can barely breathe from how turned on she feels. Her skin is burning; her ears screeching white noise – it is as though she should start to dissociate and feel the world pull away from her with all this stimulation, and in a way it has, but she is struck by Enid’s mischievous, loving gaze, and this (along with her white knuckle grip on Enid’s hips) makes everything stay in focus. It is a beautiful purgatory.

The knife comes to Wednesday’s throat. The knife's edge sits parallel to Wednesday's windpipe, bobbing gently as she drags in a stilted breath. She looks up to Enid, whose eyes are dark and dazzling; nearly black from the way her pupils are blown out.

The cold metal sends a hellish and indulgent tingle down Wednesday's spine. It is intoxicating. This blade; this danger; Enid above her with every little bit of control - Wednesday is mesmerised in a way she hasn't ever been before.

Enid could kill her right now. She would not mind in the slightest.

And that… That is power.

It is a wealth of stimulation to process; yet still not enough.

Wednesday finds her hand snaking around the back of Enid’s neck, fingers entangling in the hair at the base of her head. Enid gasps slightly as Wednesday pulls her in for a kiss, moaning appreciatively at Wednesday’s desperation – and it is desperation at it’s finest.

Wednesday cannot deny herself any longer, there is an ache inside her that needs to be fixed, and she knows the only cure is Enid. She wants Enid; all of her. It may be a while until some bridges may be crossed, but right now she is willing and ready for something; anything that will satisfy this need of hers.

As Enid kisses her, she feels the knife push against her throat. It does not cut, but applies enough pressure that Wednesday can feel a slight restriction of air, and it drags a small gasp out of her, hips bucking slightly against Enid’s involuntarily.

Enid smiles at this, biting gently down on Wednesday’s lip.

She hums, pushing the knife ever slightly more, her free hand then coming to trail itself down the length of Wednesday’s stomach. It evokes a shiver from Wednesday that has Enid reeling.

“Thank you for trusting me.” Enid whispers, as she begins drawing light circles above the edge of Wednesday’s waistband.

Wednesday’s breath catches in her throat, and she lets out another stilted shudder, trying her best to keep it together. Enid has not even touched her yet, and there are already stars twinkling in the corner of her vision. She feels a little pathetic, a little starved, and a whole lot of something indescribable altogether – but knows ultimately she would kill a thousand men and shun the world twice-over for the privilege of being in this position again.

“Only you.” Wednesday gasps out quietly. Her grip on Enid’s hair tightens.

Enid mewls appreciatively. “Only me. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.” Wednesday demands, swallowing hard.

Enid pulls back for a second, meeting Wednesday’s gaze and staring intensely. Wednesday gives her a small nod, confirming her decision and, nodding in return as she tosses the knife aside, Enid then crashes their lips back together as her hand slips under Wednesday’s waistband and into her underwear.

Enid’s hands meets wetness, and Wednesday’s breath catches in her throat. She whines slightly, an uncharacteristic noise by all accounts, but one she cannot help as Enid’s fingers brushes against her testingly. Lightning rockets through her body, making Wednesday gasp and curse quietly under her breath. It is a hellish, sinful feeling – one that makes her whole body feel as though it is freezing and burning at the same time. It is torturous pleasure that she wants to feel again and again.

And feel it again, she does. Enid’s hand makes a few long strokes, feeling up and down, as she hums sweet nothings in Wednesday’s ear, praising her for handling it so well. Then she starts a rhythm; gentle circles around Wednesday’s clit. She’s slow and methodical – all too aware of Wednesday’s sensitivities, but full of intent and desire.

“Rock your hips against me” Enid murmurs, as she trails kisses alongside Wednesday’s jaw, “Just like I did to you, remember?”

Wednesday nods, stifling a moan. The memory strikes at Wednesday’s core, flooding her with another wave of arousal that makes her hips buck unintentionally as she tries to rock her hips with Enid’s motions. It takes a second, causing a few dazzling strikes against her as she tries to match pace, but she gets there eventually. It is all so new and confusing; overwhelming and strange. Each of Enid’s gentle touches is like an electric zap of pleasure, buzzing inside her like static, building up slowly. Wednesday has never felt such enjoyment from another person’s touch – probably never could.

Enid brings her mouth to the spot where the knife had sat on Wednesday’s neck. She gently kisses the area, her tongue lathing over the slight pink mark left behind. Wednesday inhales sharply.

Enid practically purrs, giggling against Wednesday’s skin.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you’re not very vocal” Enid says lowly as she continues to worship that delicate patch of skin.

Wednesday lets out small gasping breaths, feeling another moan begging release from her throat… but it feels unnatural. It is a sound she has never made before; one of desperation and pleasure – which, yes, are often one and the same with her, but not in this context.

Wednesday’s internal struggle continues, as Enid’s hand keeps playing her, teasing and rubbing, causing increasing waves of bliss

Wednesday doesn’t know what to do with herself, so she just rocks her hips as Enid instructed, keeping one hand in Enid’s hair; the other gripped tight in the bedsheets beneath her. Her black little heart pounds away in her chest. It feels like it may burst out of her chest at this rate, yet continues to climb higher and higher as Enid’s fingers work diligently.

Enid’s mouth brushes back up Wednesday’s neck, pulling away briefly, and she searches Wednesday’s eyes for signs that she may have gotten too overwhelmed. Wednesday meets that glance, feeling her chest tighten inexplicably more at the sight of Enid’s loving, possessive gaze.

There’s something in it, the way Enid’s eyes burn into her like fire, concerned, and loving, and wild, that only fuels Wednesday further – makes that moan in her throat accidentally escape as a restrained whimper. Enid clearly drinks it in, purring slightly.

She keeps the eye contact intense, leaning closer to press a gentle kiss to Wednesday’s lips.

“Again.” She murmurs.

Wednesday shudders, jerking as Enid changes pace ever so slightly. She whines again; tries to swallow it back, turning it into a deep, heady noise that has Enid reeling. If Wednesday felt as though there was fire, ice, and static in her body already then there is no description for what she feels now -

Heaven; hell; all of the above? Wednesday does not believe in Gods. They are useless to her.

But by the Gods (every inexistent one), she believes in Enid.

Despite feeling like they’ve barely started, Wednesday feels a tension building in her now; one that makes every nerve in her body feel like she’s about to jump off a building of an unknown height. She can’t calculate the fall or what awaits her at the bottom but she is nearing the edge. Step by careful step.

Her grip on Enid’s hair tightens, Wednesday’s hands now tugging on a fistful of blonde locks.

Enid keeps going; keeps kissing, and murmuring, and teasing her fingers over Wednesday’s sensitive spot. She is relentless, giving Wednesday everything and taking nothing in return except her own delight at watching Wednesday come undone beneath her.

Her lips ghost over Wednesday’s ears, sending shivers down Wednesday’s already sensitive spine. A deep throb pulses through her – an indicator of what is so close.

Enid whispers, “You’re doing so good, Wends… Let me hear you one more time…”

The tension builds more, coiling inside Wednesday like spring. She feels the corners of her vision turn a little hazy; her usually stiff legs beginning to tremble. It has taken so little time for Enid to claim her, make her body shudder and make her mind little more than an incoherent mess. Wednesday cannot believe this is really happening. It’s so fucking hedonistic and indulgent, in a way that she would never have allowed herself to be before – not with herself; certainly not with another party.

But it’s Enid – and Enid is different. Enid is always different.

Wednesday’s rhythm against Enid’s grows messy, her hips unable to keep time as desperation settles in her bones. Wednesday finds herself searching, aching, silently pleading for more pressure, more friction, and each time she finds it that tension grows. Her insides are squirming; thrumming in anticipation.

The tension grows, and grows, and grows-

And then, as Enid pulls her into another deep kiss, everything comes undone all at once. Wednesday moans loudly against Enid’s mouth, writhing as she reaches her peak. She orgasms intensely, unable to predict the rush of pleasure that floods her system, throwing everything into disarray. White noise screeches in her ears; unadulterated bliss crackling through every nerve-ending like a brief meeting with death. Wednesday cannot control herself for once. Her hips buck; back arching; thighs squeezing against Enid’s hand. It is all so relentless.

Enid – of course - works her through it, a loving hand cupping Wednesday’s cheek whilst the other strokes slower and slower still, until eventually coming to a stop.

Wednesday’s orgasm similarly trickles to a stop, leaving her a tingly, overwhelmed mess. She watches as Enid retracts, before gently shifting to lay at her side. There’s a moment of silence. It is peaceful, heavenly almost, with only the sound of their breathing filling Wednesday’s room.

Wednesday blinks a few times as the world focuses anew. The white noise in her ears is replaced with the gentle rustle of bedding as Enid curls up against her. How bizarre it feels; how wonderful; how right. She feels no different – still the same Wednesday she always is and will be...but somehow evolved also. It feels as though this has unlocked a whole world of possibilities – a million things now accessible that weren’t before.

It is mildly terrifying, and yet utterly welcomed.

Enid strains her neck, planting a gentle kiss to Wednesday’s cheek.

“Mine?” She asks quietly.

“Yours.” Wednesday responds.

And truer words could never be spoken.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3 #It's sexy time wheeeeee

24 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 10 months

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 31

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

It is a week after the incident with Enid’s brothers.

And everything is fine...well, as fine as it can be, all things considered.

For Wednesday, it has been interesting. It feels both distant and yet painfully close to that fateful day. Aside from some minor bruising, her physical reminders of Enid’s brothers are minimal. However, when thinking upon her feelings, she merely thinks back on it with regards to Enid. Sure, on a technical level, Wednesday hates Enid’s family more than ever - but to her, they are ultimately forgettable. Not worth the space in her brain.

No, She only thinks upon them in the way they have affected Enid now; how Enid has been feeling, and acting ever since it all came to a head. Plus, Enid’s physical reminder is much worse. Even with her advanced healing factor, those slashes on her face are quickly turning to scars, and she is no less beautiful – Wednesday could never find her less beautiful – but Enid still finds upset in their appearance. Considering all this, Wednesday finds angst, anger, and a fierce level of protectiveness.

Frankly, Enid has been twitchy, and on edge for the whole week. She has struggled to sleep and has found herself in Wednesday’s bed more than a few nights (a new development for them). She has gone to work, but comes back exhausted, and bleary eyed. Most notably, she is quieter, especially in the moments she typically fills with noise and brightness. Wednesday would generally not complain about a lack of happiness – but when it is Enid, how wrong it feels.

The last few days she is certainly a little more chipper, but Wednesday cannot help but analyse every interaction; notice every little moment of sadness that bleeds out of Enid when Enid thinks she is not looking. Wednesday is unsure of how to help. She has asked her mother, and even consulted – gag – the internet for assistance. Not much luck. Not that luck has anything to do with it.

And so, she has simply remained diligently by Enid’s side, letting Enid take and give what she wishes, and quietly (sometimes violently) ensuring the world that ensnares them offers Enid little upset during this healing period… Suffice to say, a certain debt collector may fear to enter their apartment building ever again. Wednesday neglects to update Enid on this.

Wednesday is fortunate she has grown accustomed to affection, and is learning now how important it is to comforting someone who is dragged into the depths of despair. She still struggles with the words and the affirmations, but being physically present is possible enough.

And now they sit together on Wednesday’s couch, watching some gut-rotting musical romcom of Enid’s choice on a laptop. It is frankly torturous, but if it means Enid will get comfortable and perhaps even fall asleep, then Wednesday will bare the pain of the film’s ridiculous and unrealistic portrayal of the world. How these high-school children are finding time to break out into song around what should be their very busy school day is nothing short of immersion breaking. Plus they are treating the school musical as though it is life and death. Wednesday would love to see these stereotype characters actually face life and death – Let one of them turn murderous and chase their fellow students down the halls. It would be much more entertaining… Sigh. Enid seems to enjoying it, at least. She’s hugging against Wednesday’s side, very gently bopping her head to the screechy pop music. Wednesday thinks her ears might bleed, but she holds strong.

Fortunately, a slightly more sombre song starts playing and Wednesday feels some sweet relief. She looks to Enid and Enid glances back, offering an apologetic smile.

“You hate this, don’t you?” She asks.

Wednesday stares at Enid for a second. Enid raises a brow at her in response.

“It is torturous, mi cariño.” Wednesday confirms, though she makes very little effort to actually change anything about the situation. “If I ever hear the phrase ‘Wildcats’ uttered to me after this day, I will take myself to the nearest zoo, and throw myself into a real enclosure of wildcats so I may be free of this suffering.”

Enid rolls her eyes, her smile widening.

“Would you take me to see the penguins first?”

“I thought a visit to the arachnids and insects would be much more romantic. The mood lighting in that building is quite spectacular.”

Enid grimaces, shaking her head as if trying to escape the imagery. She lightly taps her hand against Wednesday’s knee - a gentle but playful telling off. Wednesday is delighted to see a spark of Enid’s sass return to her, even if it is only fleeting. “Ew, no! Those things are creepy.” Enid admonishes.

“It is hardly more terrifying than this movie.” Wednesday replies plainly.

Enid side eyes Wednesday before turning her eyes back to the movie. Almost instantly, there’s a shift in her personality, the smiley and snarky mask quickly slipping off. She still wears a slight smile, but it’s more like a habit than one of genuine enjoyment, and though Enid’s eyes flicker with the motion of the film, it’s quite evident to Wednesday that Enid is more looking through the images on the screen, than looking at them.

She looks sad, again.

Wednesday, yet again, feels herself grow weary of her shortcomings in regards to offering an emotional safety net. She knows Enid feels safe with her because she has done nothing but ensure that truth this entire time… but Wednesday does wonder what words lurk on Enid’s mind.

Wednesday finds it incredibly perturbing that discussing heavy emotions somehow comes to her less easily than admitting her love for Enid. Darkness, and dread, and angst – those feelings are her emotional home turf, so why does sharing intimate details of such things make her heart want to collapse in on itself like a dying star? She made progress sharing feelings during their visit to her family home… So, why can’t she just fucking ask Enid what’s going on in her brain?

It’s such a simple question.

Wednesday grits her teeth, feeling discomfort settle in her belly. She stares at Enid.

Though this does not last long, as only a few moments later, Enid finds herself sensitive to Wednesday’s burning gaze and pauses the movie. She turns back to Wednesday, her head tilting with a silent question; her eyebrows knitted slightly in confusion.

Wednesday isn’t sure what to say. She wants to show Enid she cares; that she wishes to know, but with little time for her to ruminate on the question or words due this sudden and fleeting opportunity, Wednesday finds herself silently grappling with her own instincts. God, it shouldn’t be this hard. She just needs to be honest.

Honest... Yes. Okay.

Wednesday can do honesty.

Letting impulse take over, Wednesday lets out the one thing she’s noticed time and time again over the last week. It is not elegant; not the gentle enquiry of concern that she would assume such a situation requires, but it is something. Even when approaching it like this, her chest tightens uncomfortably. Despite it, her voice comes out steady and unwavering, unable to betray the way she feels inside. “You seem sad whenever you believe I am not looking.”

A tense beat passes.

Enid looks at Wednesday for a second, before her eyes dip down abashedly.

“Well...that’s ‘cause when I look away, my reason for smiling isn’t there.”

Wednesday feels herself soften; feels her stubborn angst get undermined by the tug of her black heart. Her brows furrow, feeling now cast into the icy waters of this emotional moment. This is what she wants… but god, it makes her blood run cold. Colder than usual, anyway.

She watches then as Enid takes her hand in her own. Enid entangles their fingers, and Wednesday feels that familiar electric tingle dance across her skin. The sensation pulls at her, offering a saving grace from the depths that tempt her to sink. She cannot help but pull their hands up so she may plant a gentle chaste kiss to Enid’s fingers wrapped around her own.

This is okay.

At the hand kiss, Enid’s smile turns more genuine, but a tinge of something other – something darker – remains. She sighs slightly.

“I’ll be okay, baby…” She says quietly, “It just hurts to basically lose your family twice. Especially as a werewolf. Our packs are supposed to be forever, y’know?”

It’s a heavy opener… But family is something Wednesday can understand, fortunately. She nods, settling slightly; thinking upon Enid’s words solemnly. Wednesday cannot imagine a world where her family is not a part of her. As much as she may appear to repent their affections, Wednesday would set the world on fire before letting her family suffer.

As a werewolf, this bond is surely of a similar intensity...but Enid’s family have proven themselves insufficient. They have made themselves twisted – in a way most evil. They do not deserve such devoted loyalty. Wednesday wishes Enid did not yearn for them, and though she could never wish such a thing on her own family, Wednesday hopes Enid’s family does nothing but slowly fall apart. Wednesday replies, “What they have done is beyond acceptability, and they should suffer gravely for it. Emphasis on grave.”

Enid continues to fidget with their hands. The idea of their demise seems to do little to comfort her.

“...And if they don’t?”

Wednesday takes pause at this. It is a good question… and the answer Wednesday would take displeasure to utter. Though Wednesday believes inherently in justice (her own violent take on it, at least), she believes that the world around them is inherently lacklustre in it’s karmic intervention. She has always chased her own justice and made even the hardest of stone bleed...So if left to the universe, even if Wednesday wishes it and even with their consequences laid before them - Enid’s parents arrest, Jacob’s brush with death - it is perhaps poorly thought to think these people would recognise their own faults and suffer over them privately. No, they are frankly too idiotic. So what is there?

Wednesday feels a pan flash of aggravation, and she frowns in thought as she watches Enid’s hand dance around her own. If the consequences will be nill, then there is only one truth remaining… and Wednesday is good at speaking the truth.

“Your family are not worthy of you, then.”

Enid exhales an amused breath. It is still marred by sadness.

“Yeah.” She sighs. Enid continues to look down, fidgeting with their entwined hands. For a brief moment, Enid positions their fingers as such that the pads of their fingertips are held together. She holds them there, and they both stare, feeling the faintest of thrum of each other's heartbeats through their shared skin. It is the most bizarre, striking feeling. As though they are one for just a quiet, secretive second. Enid looks back up at Wednesday then. Her expression turns from one that is lost, to something a little more profound. The tiniest of smiles curves onto her lips. “Maybe I should just choose my own family.”

Wednesday’s heart jumps in her chest. There’s an implication there that both delights and terrifies her – and she cannot discern which one is winning out. Her eyes widen a little.

Enid catches this, quickly grappling and grabbing Wednesday’s arms to keep her grounded.

“No no no” She rambles out, “I didn’t mean like that! Remember it’s waaaaayy too early for anything like that.”

Wednesday remains tense, feeling a niggling apprehension that tempts her to shut down the conversation - but suddenly Enid’s hand is gently cupped on her cheek and she is smiling, and god, Wednesday cannot deny the way it calms the way her brain thrashes against these icy emotional waters. Wednesday takes a quiet, stiff breath.

It’s okay.

Enid stares deep into Wednesday’s eyes.

“You love me, don’t you Wednesday?” She asks.

“More than anything.” Comes Wednesday’s response. Zero hesitation.

“Then maybe what we have is already the start of our own little family...One that’s defined by our own terms and no one else’s.” Enid suggests, her smile hopeful. “You’ve always been good at going against the grain.”

Wednesday looks at Enid for a moment. Something in her brain clicks. She sees Enid’s point; sees the actual implication she had missed – a legal bond does not a family make, and it is not what Enid was requesting either. Simply, they are together, making their way through this world as two people who are not typical; who will never be typical. Who could handle them except each other? There is no one Wednesday could desire like Enid - desire to protect, and love, and behold like Enid.

So in this way, Enid is a part of her already. Her kin... Family.

Seeing it in this way, it strikes Wednesday immensely...but it does lower her concern. In fact, it actually grows an impassioned fire in her chest. One that makes her aggressively yearn to be the family that Enid deserves – To make Enid’s bio family seethe in knowing they lost to her. Perhaps they will get to suffer a little bit, after all. Good.

The slightest wicked smile pulls onto Wednesday’s lips.

“My love,” she says, growing emboldened now. “Let us make a family that strikes fear into those that wrong us.”

A few tears prick at the corners of Enid’s eyes. Her smile is growing wider though; breaking the their trail as they dare spill down her cheeks. Enid then pulls Wednesday into a searing kiss - her hands desperately pulling at Wednesday’s jaw, needy and hungry, and raw. The kiss is heavenly, sinful, sad ,and happy all at the same time; an overwhelming cacophony of emotion that sends Wednesday’s head into a spin. Enid pours herself into it, brushing her tongue lightly through Wednesday’s parted lips. It sends a shiver through Wednesday’s spine.

She has kissed Enid many, many times before, but never has there been such a silent promise exchanged between their two lips. Never a moment of pure possession so intent and ravenous.

Enid pulls away, her eyes growing dark.

“I’ve missed this.” She whispers.

Their faces brush gently, and Wednesday presses a kiss to Enid’s wounded cheek. She hears Enid’s shuddering breath and it breeds a gentle thrum of need in Wednesday’s lower belly. “You have needed time,” She states honestly. She also needed time, but that is not important right now.

“I have.” Enid confirms, trailing her own kisses down Wednesday’s jaw down to her neck. “You’ve been so patient.”

Wednesday’s breath hitches. Enid’s lips ghosting her skin sends dazzling shock-waves through her body, that dance through her veins like a storm. She is reminded now, of Enid’s intimate touch and how dangerous it is; how intoxicating desire can be when she gives in to it. Wednesday knows this hedonism is still a game of uncovering her limits; of taking each strike of thunder as it tempts her overwhelmed senses, but with each of Enid’s kisses, and the possessive tone she takes, Wednesday feels herself yearning to explore just a little.

“I have patience only for you,” She breathes out. “No one else.”

“Just me?” Enid asks, as she returns to Wednesday’s lips and captures them again.

“I will not repeat myself.”

Enid hums a laugh against her mouth, pulling away then so she can take a second to breathe. She takes Wednesday’s hands in her own again, brushing her thumbs along the tendons that run up the backs. Enid’s breathing is heavy; her pupils blown out and elated. She looks to Wednesday as if she has been promised the universe, and wishes to explore every inch of it.

The static rush of Enid’s touch makes Wednesday feel insane. It is such an innocuous gesture, but knowing Enid’s power; what Enid is capable of, especially after she commanded herself so fiercely that short week ago… It is blinding how her nerves tingle beneath her skin. Wednesday suddenly desires little more than for those hands to be pressed around her throat, allowing Enid to claim her once and for all. The idea alone sends a darkened shiver of arousal right through her spine.

It might be too much… They have not explored much more beyond what happened back at the Addams’ mansion… but Wednesday desires it all the same.

And what better way to solidify their committal to one another than to hold one another’s lives in each other’s hands?

Wednesday looks at Enid. Enid looks at her in return, and with a lip biting smile, she tugs on Wednesday’s hands and leads her towards the bedroom.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3

12 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 11 months

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 30

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

Uncomfortable.

A word, by definition, that means to describe when something causes or produces a feeling of unease, or awkwardness. Many things can be uncomfortable… Clothing, socialising; merely existing can even be uncomfortable, should you not fit into society’s definitions of normality.

Wednesday is just that, but she loves things that are uncomfortable. Specifically, she loves being the cause of discomfort. There is little more amusing than watching the light drain from someone’s eyes upon realising they will not find a lick of amenity from her presence. It is better still when they are made aware her presence is non-optional, and they must face her disagreeable temperament, whether they wish to or not. It is rather fascinating too, as each person expresses their discomfort differently; the way people silently writhe is nothing short of spectacular – Their shifty eyes, nervous fidgeting, and sometimes if particularly lucky, they break out in a pathetic sweat. Truly, it is a delight to be the cause of such discontent.

Of course, to be the cause of such angst is not always entirely a victory. It may come at a price. Right now, as Wednesday sits opposite a silver-poisoned, shivering Jacob – She will admit that it is highly disappointing she cannot proceed from the cushy shores of discomfort, into the bloodied waters of torture and dismemberment. It would be such a natural and well-deserved continuation from the prior events of the day...but alas. It is a pity, frankly.

However, Wednesday values her word and loyalty above all else, and given that she vowed to Enid to not pursue her brothers to their timely end, she is in a bind. So the uncomfortable air of which she thrives in creating will simply have to suffice.

In any case, it is still somewhat satisfying. Mason – the number #2 of the dynamic dimwitted duo – has left Jacob on Enid’s couch. Him and Enid have moved into another room so they may chat in privacy. This leaves Wednesday sitting across from Jacob, watching like a hawk it’s prey. On the outside, she is glaring, her expression stoic and intense. Internally, however, she feels intensely smug, knowing this wasteful excuse for a werewolf has little in the way of chips for bargaining. He is at Enid’s mercy… which doesn’t exactly extend to Wednesday herself, but she still gets to enjoy it all the same.

Jacob sits quietly, huddled in a blanket. He shivers, occasionally eliciting an uneasy breath with the coming and going waves of nausea he is experiencing as the silver continues to wreak havoc in his veins. He avoids Wednesday’s eyes.

It is a quick ailment, silver poisoning - A status exclusive to werewolves and certain subsects of vampires. Silver on the skin simply burns, but if it touches any internal parts of the body, one can guarantee a poor time to be had. Weakness, sickness, lowered inhibition; potentially even death, if not treated quickly enough… though Wednesday had assumed these high and mighty alpha wolves would’ve at least kept a few spare silver-poisoning pills around, especially if they were preparing to go around starting fights.

It is yet another testament to their idiocy.

From the other room, Wednesday hears Mason begging Enid for a share of her own emergency medication. The conversation has been going on for some time, and the longer it continues, the less compelling his argument seems. He clearly is not much of a wordsmith. How unfortunate.

Wednesday continues to glare at Jacob. What a detestable sight he is.

After a short while, he finally looks back. His eyes are sunken; hollow looking, and full of pain. He huffs slightly, but his breath is wheezy and weak. He is a pathetic in appearance… but that doesn’t seem to stop his boldness.

“What are you looking at, freak? Never seen a man on his death-bed before?” He grunts at her.

Wednesday’s eyebrow quirks the slightest amount. It is amusing that he believes himself above her in this situation. In any situation, frankly. She cocks her head to the side slightly, her eyes narrowing. Oh, this foolish man-thing.

“Multiple times, actually.” She replies plainly, “I never tire of watching the life disappear from someone’s eyes.”

Another wave of nausea seems to hit Jacob suddenly. His neck and jaw tense uncomfortably.

“You’re sick.” He grumbles.

“I believe you will find you’re the one currently sick… or would you prefer another stab wound just to make sure?”

Wednesday pulls out her knife, turning it over in her hands. It is an empty threat – of course – as she is committed to keeping her word, however it is fascinating to see the widening of Jacob’s eyes as he watches the blade pass between her deft fingers. It is a shame it must remain unbloodied.

Jacob clamps his mouth shut, silently seething. It is evident he feels inconvenienced with the company he is currently in after their short interaction. Good. Weakly, he then shuffles himself to a better sitting position, and reaches out to the coffee table to grab his phone. Wednesday watches him struggle, enjoying every second. Once he grabs the device, he releases a slight relieved sigh, only to freeze dead in his tracks as it slips from his grasp and tumbles onto the floor. He stares at it, jaw grinding. A beat passes. He glances at Wednesday.

Wednesday meets his glance, then looks at the phone. She does not move an inch.

The audacity of it all.

After a moment or two Jacob sighs, resigning himself to his fate. He actually seems to realise pretty quickly, so he is perhaps not completely an idiot after all. Though, Wednesday would argue that’s giving him too much credit… Regardless, with another huff, he stretches down, grimacing wildly as he pathetically grapples for his phone. His fingers brush it a few times and he hisses painfully at each swipe. Wednesday watches in silence, amused. She will give him kudos for not bending his will and trying to grab it himself, fruitless it may be… but she would not be opposed to him asking, just so she can take delight in saying no.

A few futile attempts later and Jacob is wheezing slightly, his muscles trembling from the effort as the silver-poisoning continues to weaken him. Truly it’s done him out, and he slumps backwards, tiredly rubbing his face with his hands and groaning.

“This is fucking dumb.” He growls, slamming his fist into one of Enid’s couch cushions. “I don’t fucking deserve this shit.”

His outburst weakens him further, and he hunches over, chest heaving.

Wednesday scowls at him. His insolence is overwhelming, frankly, and it ignites a simmering frustration in Wednesday’s veins. It should be amusing to watch him suffer – and it is – but Wednesday cannot help but find his self-importance and ignorance towards his reality more than a little angering. He is idiotic. Beyond so. He deserves everything he has received so far, and even more than that. He needs to learn his place...

Wednesday takes pause. She angles her head towards the closed kitchen door. Mason is still pleading his case; the conversation sounds heated now, perfectly distracting and certain to not end soon.

It gives her an opening for something a little more devilish...

Wednesday stands then. She takes the few small steps required to put her at the other side of the room. Jacob looks up at her, his expression confused and antagonising. Wordlessly, Wednesday puts her foot on Jacob’s phone. He looks at her challengingly. When that expression hits his face, for just a second, Wednesday considers tipping her weight and letting the device get crushed… but she instead opts to simply slide the device away, letting it drift across the floor until it comes to a stop a few metres away. It saves her the headache of Enid’s complaints later – though a broken phone is hardly a loss.

Jacob’s eyes watch tiredly as the phone disappears from his reach, before dragging themselves back up to Wednesday. He lets out a small sigh.

“Can I help you?” Jacob asks.

Wednesday leers over him. She looks at his dishevelled appearance – his skin pale, eyes dull and weepy; his broad body somehow seeming frail and weak. She is proud that this is her doing. Though she is less happy by the way Jacob holds onto his spirit. He does not deserve the dignity he holds onto so tightly; certainly not in the wake of him scuttling back into this apartment, with his other sibling begging for assistance. He ought to be more humble.

Wednesday knows she cannot permanently harm him further – and it would seem that kind of pain only fuels his attitude further, regardless – but there’s nothing saying she cannot inflict a little psychological damage… and Wednesday has just the idea. He just need to be a little more riled first.

She narrows her eyes.

“You can help me by dropping dead.”

Jacob scoffs.

“is that the best you can come up with?”

A mischievous glint shimmers in Wednesday’s eyes as Jacob takes her bait without even a hint of hesitation. Of course he is too idiotic to recognise such a basic insult is below her.

He wraps himself up in his ego, not knowing it will soon be the very thing that strangles him. It is delightful knowing his prideful tower is soon to lose its foundations, all because of his tactless hubris.

Wednesday twirls her knife in her hand once more. She runs her fingertip across the blade, wiping off a few crusted blood marks. If only it could be fresh blood once again… Sigh. maybe one day. She wipes the blood on the bottom of her shirt.

“I do not need to come up with much more. You are soon to be dead, and then Enid shall never need worry about you invading her home ever again.”

“Enid wouldn’t let me die.” Jacob retorts arrogantly, his jaw tensing. He coughs a few times, gasping out a few shaking breaths between the rattle of his lungs. His body is really starting to struggle now. “You’re full of shit, just like you’ve always been.”

Wednesday makes a disapproving hum.

“Elaborate.” She dares.

Jacob glares up at her through his eyebrows, his expression strangely victorious. Wednesday is not sure what fight he thinks he’s won, but whatever it is, he is about to lose very, very badly. She just needs one more little push and then she will tear him apart.

“I don’t know what Enid sees in you. Outcasts like you and your family are a stain.”

Oh.

Oh yes, there it is. He’s done it now.

In a swift movement, Wednesday’s hand comes to Jacob’s neck, holding it with a broad grip as to not bruise. She leans down, pushing him with ease so he is pinned against the back cushion of the couch.

Jacob’s eyes widen in panic. He is suddenly all too aware of the strength he lacks. What little breath his lungs can take is pushed away and he gasps, wheezing pathetically, spluttering for air. He is weak, unable to push himself against Wednesday’s hand; there’s a fear that grows from it – taking root in his expression like the darkness of night swallowing the dusk, but it is a little too late for any sort of mercy now. Not that Wednesday would offer it regardless. She is not causing him any serious harm and that is kindness enough.

Wednesday squeezes his windpipe just a little.

“What Enid sees is beyond your comprehension.” She utters, “And the only stain here is you, hurting your own kind for the sake of power.”

Wednesday leans a little closer, her expression dark and glowering, watching as Jacob feebly blinks away the pained tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He chokes, trying desperately to drag air into his lungs. His laboured breathing turns into a slight growl as he fruitlessly attempts to gather some paltry wisp of strength to fight back. It’s pathetic.

“You’re...just…as...bad…” He gasps.

Wednesday adjusts her grip on his neck, feeling for a pulse point. His heart is racing – no doubt a result of the silver poisoning that continues to sap his life away, along with this newly fledged fear he is trying so hard to negate. She curls her fingers a little; her nails digging ever so slightly into his flesh. Nothing permanent; nothing that can be measured.

“No,” She refutes. “I’m worse.”

Jacob stares emptily, his mouth beginning to tremble slightly. There is some combination of ailment and dread that has started to consume him now, and though he is trying, there is no hiding it. It eats away at him. Wednesday can smell the fear that drips out of him, and how intoxicating it is – how divine it is to see such a wretched being crumble beneath her, falling off his throne built from lies.

Jacob says nothing in response.

Wednesday flashes a hint of a wicked smile.

“I do not hurt for power, Jacob. Those who I hurt deserve it, and I do it for my amusement.”

She pauses thoughtfully for a second, admiring Jacob’s deathly paleness in the wake of his struggle for breath. He continues to remain speechless.

And so, Wednesday continues. “I would greatly enjoy hurting you more, but I made a promise… and you see, I am loyal, unlike yourself. I have been rewarded greatly for it.”

Jacob scowls at her.

“I have been granted the thing you clearly, desperately want… Enid’s respect.”

Wednesday’s hand shifts up his neck, grabbing the bottom of his jaw now. She pulls Jacob’s drooping head up, forcing him to look her in the eye. Jacob breathing now shallows, coming in short, sharp gasps. If Wednesday had to guess, this sudden adrenaline rush has served him no favours, and the silver poisoning is leeching the last of his strength. He’s not quite dead – not for some time yet, but there’s absolutely zero chance he’ll be fighting back now.

Wednesday holds him for just a moment more, letting his actions and reality catch up with him. It seems to have worked, judging from his silence. Then, unceremoniously, she pulls away and lets him slump to the side. He lets out a small groan.

“One more thing, Jacob,” Wednesday adds, as she takes a step back. “You may never gain Enid’s approval again… but you may receive her mercy, just this once. Frankly you do not deserve it, but it is not my choice. You will respect her once she returns from her conversation with your moronic brother. This is non-optional. Do you understand?”

Jacob looks at her, taking slow, laborious breaths. He wears a frown that reads nothing short of detestation, but he is broken and defeated, with no ground on which to offer a counter. After a moment, he nods.

Wednesday’s black little heart relishes in a moment of glee.

She wins.

And with that, she returns herself to the armchair.

The time that follows is quiet and musing. Wednesday feels a measure of relief, having now expelled at least a little of her violent whims. It’s not quite her preference, but between her vow to Enid, and the state of Jacob, there is little wiggle room to work with. It made it a challenge at least, and she quite enjoyed it.

And now things have settled, every few minutes or so, Wednesday glances over to Jacob to see if he’s still breathing – not on account of her caring, but simply because it should be Enid who decides if he lives or not. Theoretically, he should still have a couple more hours, but the timeline on these things is never very specific.

Fortunately, it would seem Mason has finally run the nearly endless river of Enid’s patience dry. Their conversation has thusly ended. Mason emerges from the kitchen first, looking awkward, and avoidant. There’s a slight redness to his eyes. Though, Wednesday does not fully get a chance to look upon his meagre appearance, as he quickly crouches by Jacob’s side to check on him. Mason is panicked at first upon seeing the progression of Jacob’s ailment, but visibly relaxes upon seeing Jacob open his tired eyes and manage a quiet mumble stating that he isn’t dead yet.

Mason shoots Wednesday a mistrustful look, and looks as though he is going to accuse Wednesday of misdeeds – but the chance is ultimately squandered by Enid returning from the other room.

She throws Wednesday a small, curt smile, seemingly growing more comfortable upon seeing her. The moment doesn’t last though, as she hastily returns attention to her brothers. Wednesday is curious to see what agreement they came to; if there was any agreement at all, in fact.

Knowing Enid’s heart, there will be something… but Wednesday cannot discern if Enid would so willingly offer Jacob her own full set of silver-poisoning treatment. Not only is it expensive, it is hard to procure – even more so in busy cities where Outcast regulations are stricter, not to mention it would leave Enid without her own protection.

Wednesday is intrigued. Very much so, in fact… So she simply sits back, and awaits to see what shall unfold.

Mason makes an effort to help Jacob sit up properly again. There is a lot of pathetic, pained breaths and grunts, but they get it done. Jacob stares up at Enid then, his expression quietly pleading; a true universe away from the man he had been only a short while ago. Wednesday feels a quiet smugness in knowing her influence plays a part in this newly fearful, submissive behaviour. It is how he deserves to feel; how he deserves to act. With true violence is stripped from her, Wednesday knows she would threaten this man time and time again to ensure he treats Enid the way she should be treated.

Enid looks at Jacob. There is a slight sadness to her expression, but it is marred by an anguish rooted in anger. She absent mindedly brushes her hands across the scabbed slashes on her cheek – a final contemplative moment, before she procures a small amount of medication from her hoodie pocket.

Wednesday squints.

It is not a full dose; not a half dose, even.

Enid holds the medication out to Mason. She sighs, her tensing jaw giving away the internal conflict that runs beneath her brave face.

“You two…” She starts, her tone accusatory. “You kicked me out of the pack. You tracked down my apartment. You broke into it. You hurt me and you hurt my girlfriend…”

She’s listing off their errors one by one, making it known how disappointed she is by each act that has committed against her. How bold she sounds; how magnificent and brave. How deadly, even. Wednesday watches her with a wide eyed zeal.

Mason takes the medication off her with a tentative look. He swallows hard, avoiding her downward gaze.

“-And, you are my family, but I am not your doormat any more.”

Enid looks at Mason as he assesses the medicine she has provided. Mason looks at Jacob, then back to the medication again. He seems worried. Wednesday realises now that based on the amount of pills in his hand, that what Enid has given him is perhaps only enough to stave off the effects of the poisoning until Mason and get Jacob home – if used sparingly. It is mercy but only just about. For how Enid typically is, it is a cruel and harsh offering.

Wednesday feels a wealth of pride.

With that, Enid gestures towards her doorway.

“Now leave...and don’t you ever come looking for me again.”

Mason pockets the medicine, keeping a single pill in his hand for Jacob to take immediately. Though Jacob is weary and weak, Mason recognises they are no longer welcome and so, with metaphorical tail between his legs, he heaves Jacob to his feet.

They leave without another word. On their way out, Jacob strains his head to take one final glance at Enid. There’s a lingering bitterness in his expression; something that tells Wednesday they likely haven’t seen the last of him, despite the warnings…

But it is done. They are gone.

Good fucking riddance.

Enid stares at her doorway for a moment, her hands anxiously fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie. There are tears welling in her eyes, ones that she had prior held in defiantly. She looks to Wednesday, and Wednesday – still struggling to parse the ways of comforting – simply stands, and approaches Enid with a tender look in her eye.

Never has Wednesday felt a greater measure of pride in another person. She is unsure how to fully express it, for it is an emotion separate from the love she has become acclimated to… but she knows in time this might become easier. She hopes so, at least.

For now, she lets the magnetic pull of Enid’s presence lead her, letting it qualm the uncertain rumble in her chest. She stands face to face with Enid now, their eyes locked on one another – intense; loving, even when unspoken.

Wednesday puts a hand to Enid’s slashed cheek. She holds it as though one might hold a treasure. She looks at Enid as though she is the moon in the night sky.

“Enid.” She says, with an empowering tone. “You did it.”

Crumbling under Wednesday’s touch, Enid’s face collapses into a watery smile.

“I did.”

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3

16 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 11 months

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair Fanfic, chapter 29

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below! x-x-x-x-x-x

Pain.

Silence.

Then more pain.

This describes the last few hours of Wednesday’s life following her successful attempt to hinder Enid’s brother, Jacob. Whilst Wednesday would love to claim she is having the time of her life… she very much isn’t. The fleeting moments of consciousness she’s experiencing are nothing short of agonising, and frustratingly, time seems to escape her grasp, drifting in and around her, unable to be caught. Sometimes – briefly - Wednesday feels awake; the left side of her body stiff and aching. Other times, it as though she’s underwater; quiet, muffled voices sending incoherent whispers of conversation her way. Otherwise there is darkness and nothing much else. Time seems slow… yet everything seems to pass in an instant.

Wednesday cannot tell how long it has been.

She cannot even tell where she is during her brief flashes of awareness. All Wednesday can feel is a softness having replaced the floor, and the desperate begging from her bones to continually rest. She fights it, naturally. She does not wish to heed the temptation of the darkness that encroaches on her vision. Unfortunately, she is repeatedly tamed by her humanity. It is cruel, really. No amount of Addams stubbornness can keep an injured body awake – much to her behest.

Most recently, she manages a bleary eyed glance into the room. She sees dark shapes; blurry outlines of figures she cannot discern. Her eyes cannot focus, and when she attempts to pull her head up slightly, she is met only with a sharp resistant burn from within her shoulder before she is pulled back under by the depths of unconsciousness.

So Wednesday closes her eyes and awaits the cycle again.

Silence.

Pain.

Muffled Noise.

Pain.

But then…

After some time, and out of nowhere-

Enid.

Enid’s voice. Hoarse; tired, but unmistakable. It reaches Wednesday’s ears like a beautiful symphony of rain come to ruin a sunny day, or the soothing screech of bats on a dark night. It is the first time a voice has been recognisable since she passed out… which by all means could have been ten minutes ago, or five hours. It is impossible to tell.

But it is Enid’s voice, and it calls to Wednesday’s addled brain.

It is a soft whisper. Secretive, almost. As though Enid wishes for no one to hear but Wednesday herself.

“Wednesday?” She says, gently.

Wednesday stirs, her consciousness pulled to the sound of her name.

“Wednesday, baby, please… you need to wake up now.”

Enid’s voice is like a tether, desperately latching itself around Wednesday’s wrist. It pulls, and tugs, and pleads against the shroud Wednesday finds herself accosted by. Enid seems close and yet a million miles away - but each gentle sentence uttered, Wednesday feels that distance grow shorter and shorter. She is lead like a dead man to his grave, Enid’s voice growing louder as consciousness grows nearer.

Until, with a gasp, Wednesday finds herself flung into the world of the waking. Her eyes open and she meets a ceiling that isn’t her own. She feels groggy, like she’s multiple drinks and a vial of poison deep. There’s a searing pain in her shoulder; a crippling headache behind her eyes. It is – frankly – not the best she’s ever felt. Quite the opposite, one might say… but her eyes fall upon Enid standing beside her, and Wednesday’s body grows quiet of its complaints.

Enid’s face erupts into a relieved smile.

“Hey.” She hums.

Wednesday lets out a quiet groan.

“You’ve been out quite some time.” Enid explains, “I was getting worried...”

Wednesday rubs at her eyes with the hand that doesn’t hurt to move. Initially, she cannot truly recall what she is doing here; why her body aches in the way it does… but it doesn’t take long for her memories to seep back in. They return to her slowly, rebuilding themselves up to the very moment she collapsed. She sees flashes, like a vision in reverse – Enid’s leering brothers, their taunts; attacks, threats. It feels almost like a dream, despite the very real outcome that lays before her now… and now she’s awake, she finds herself both concerned and frustrated with knowing she has missed potentially hours of time – Hours that could’ve been used making sure Enid’s family never bother her again. She doesn’t even know where her knife went…

“Where am I?” Wednesday asks, her voice struggling to come alive. Her throat feels like sandpaper.

“My bedroom.” Enid answers.

Of course. The first time Wednesday sleeps in Enid’s bed and it’s because she passed out from being injured. If this were any other time, Wednesday reckons there’d be a storm in her chest and a void in her stomach – but she’s much too focused on the mystery at hand: what she’s missed; where Enid’s brothers have gone, and how she can stop them from ever coming back.

Wednesday goes to push herself up and sit, determined to pursue answers about this missing time, but she is quickly paralysed by the crippling pain that burns through the nerves of her upper left body. She hisses; teeth gritted through the agony. It would seem Jacob really did a number on her shoulder. The bastard.

Enid expression turns uncomfortable.

“You need to go to hospital, Wends.”

Wednesday scowls. There’s no time for a hospital visit. There are more pressing matters at hand, and in any case – the only part of a hospital she’d willingly visit for her own use is the morgue.

“No.” She mutters. “It is simply a dislocated shoulder. There are other matters to attend to.”

Enid stares at her flatly.

Wednesday maintains her scowl, her eyes having now adjusting to the dim lighting enough that she can fully see Enid’s features. Though she shouldn’t be surprised, Wednesday will admit to herself that she is silently stunned by the sight she meets: the red slashes down Enid’s cheek – clean of blood, but still raw and angry… and on Enid’s brow on the other side… is that a bruise? Wednesday does not remember that being there before…

Did something happen whilst she was out?

Wednesday’s stomach drops. Her free hand comes to hover at Enid’s cheek. A possessive anger fills her body as she stares upon her injured girlfriend. Family or not, Wednesday will not stand for someone hurting what belongs to her.

“The bruising… It was not there before.” Wednesday points out, a hint of venom staining her words. “What did your brothers do?”

Enid’s hand brushes along her brow where the bruise stains her skin. She winces slightly.

“Oh, this?” She replies meekly. “No… I-… I kind of half fainted whilst cleaning my face up.”

Wednesday relaxes slightly at this, but feels a twang of guilt in realising Enid has dealt with the aftermath of everything that happened alone. This should have been her responsibility. It is her responsibility. It is her who insisted on chasing her vision to fruition, and what for? All it has resulted in is misery and misfortune – and not in a way that Wednesday can even claim to be satisfied with. It is quite infuriating, in fact.

Considering the nature of her visions, Wednesday should’ve expected this... It is not an uncommon occurrence for those around her to end up maimed, or worse. In most occasions, such bad luck is something Wednesday would be delighted by. These consequences generally mean little to her.

But with Enid, it is different.

Enid should not have had to deal with this outcome alone.

Wednesday glances down, staring emptily into the darkness of the room.

“My vision missed out key details. This outcome could have been prevented.” She states. As with all her guilt, this has caught up with her after it’s too late and the damage is done. Her answer-hungry hubris has reaped what she sewed, and now she finds herself in an even deeper trench – wanting more resolution; more blood spilled, so she may right what she got wrong. She needs to know what happened to Enid’s brothers.

Wednesday then pulls away the blankets and pulls herself up, clamping her jaw shut to prevent an anguished whine escaping her mouth from the pain emanating out of her shoulder.

She continues speaking as she clambers out of the bed, speaking through gritted teeth, “You have been harmed beyond what I foresaw. That is unacceptable.”

Wednesday notices her knife on the bedside cabinet. She picks it up, and tucks it back in her pocket.

Enid looks at her exasperatedly. There is a distinct discomfort in the way she stares.

“Wends, you need to rest… we can talk about this later.” She pleads.

Wednesday stares at Enid for a moment. She glances back at the bed, feeling the weight of her body; the pounding in her head. She does need to rest, frankly. She should. Enid is correct.

But she cannot.

“Enid, please cover your eyes.” Wednesday requests.

Enid frowns in confusion.

“This is for your benefit, not mine, mi cariño.”

Enid takes pause, still frowning, but evidently thinks better of second guessing such a request. She wordlessly brings her hands up obscure her vision.

Then, in a swift motion, so that her body cannot paralyse itself in painful hesitance, Wednesday throws up her left arm. She immediately grabs the underside of her left elbow with her right hand and gives it an almighty tug. Her shoulder is hit with a lighting strike of agony that would cause most to weep, but Wednesday does little more than hiss out a tense breath. Her shoulder pops back into it’s socket with a satisfying click. All at once, the agony stops. Wednesday’s body floods with relief.

There. That’s one problem solved at least.

Enid grimaces. She peeks through her fingers.

“Did you just-”

“Set my shoulder back into place? Yes. It is quite simple.” Wednesday answers. She rolls her shoulder a few times to test her work. All seems good.

Enid’s face pales, but she holds herself steady.

Wednesday then takes a step towards her, closing the distance between them so she may closer inspect the gashes along Enid’s face. Her hand comes to Enid’s chin and she gently turns Enid’s cheek towards her. A fire grows in her chest as she fully takes in the extent of the damage. The slashes are not particularly deep – not enough to require stitches, at least – but they are long and they will certainly scar. Enid has always cared for her appearance; it is why she spent so long fading her previous scars so they were barely visible...and now, that work is undone.

Unsure of what to say, for comfort is something Wednesday still struggles to grasp, she leans in and plants a chaste kiss to the corner of Enid’s cheek. It is intended as both an apology and a promise. She cannot fix these wounds, but she can stop their cause before it happens again.

As she pulls back, Wednesday notes a single tear rolling down Enid’s cheek.

She gives Enid a questioning look.

“Please don’t go after them,” Enid sobs suddenly. Her face crumbles as she drags her sleeve across her wet eyes, trying vehemently to prevent herself from crying further. She dips her head away from Wednesday’s touch. “Look...It doesn’t matter what happened...whether your vision was right, wrong, whatever. Either way, it was either us getting hurt or my apartment getting ransacked. We were screwed either way.”

Wednesday scowls. She’s not sure what Enid is trying to say.

“Well I intend to make it so there are no futures where anything-”

“-No, Wednesday,” Enid interrupts, sighing. She wipes her eyes again. “It doesn’t matter. Bad shit just happens and you can’t always fix that. Going after my brothers isn’t going to fix anything.”

Wednesday disagrees. She pulls her knife out of her pocket, turning it over in her hand. She can still feel the way it felt when the blade jammed itself into Jacob’s back. She felt powerful; unstoppable, even. In that moment she had taken control – and Wednesday wishes to take that control again. To stop anything bad happening to Enid, and to herself, and to bring misery to those who oppose either of them.

She would kill Enid’s brothers, if necessary… and would happily die, doing so. Either way, what bliss.

Enid watches her as she explains this, her teary eyed gaze turning quietly sombre. As Wednesday finishes her reasoning, Enid simple shakes her head, sighing once more.

“You don’t even see how reckless you’re being.” She mumbles. “Or how reckless you’ve been…”

“I pursued resolution, and I must continue to do so,” Wednesday argues. “If I can just-”

Enid interrupts again with a frustrated groan. It stops Wednesday in her tracks. She stares at Enid, frowning slightly, peturbed by Enid’s lack of foresight. If she could simply follow her nose; know what she missed, and track down Jacob and Mason once again, Wednesday could guarantee this time that they will never hear another peep out of them again. Enid would be free from her family’s torment, and Wednesday would be free of her vision-related error. Surely that is an ideal solution?

Enid does not seem to agree. She stares Wednesday down, her breathing uneven and angered, eyes brimming with tears again. She walks over to the bed and sits, head in hands.

Wednesday looks at Enid, unsure what to say. She wants to justify herself, again...but something stops her. This weighty angst that sits in her stomach, dragging her ego down with it. The situation feels familiar, suddenly.

“This is just like when we first met.” Enid sighs.

Wednesday’s blood runs cold.

She does not like where this is going.

Enid continues, “You know what I’m talking about? Where your desire to have answers and hold the cards in the situation nearly blew up everything before it even started?”

Wednesday feels herself shrink. The bravado filled might she had just instilled within herself quickly dissolves. She wants to feel right; to feel the control she craves… but in an instant, Enid has reminded her that it was almost her downfall before, and could very well be once again.

That silver knife in her hand may as well be stabbing through her own black heart.

Wednesday says nothing.

Enid rubs her eyes, laughing bitterly.

“Everything’s been going so great with us, and I thought maybe you had really changed since that first argument, because you've grown in so many ways… sure everything’s been quick, y’know, barely a full couple months but… it’s us. It always had been.” She then looks back to Wednesday again. Her expression is nothing short of forlorn. “But this impulsive, reckless need to win? I’m scared it can’t ever change. It’s going to get you killed.”

Wednesday’s heart fully sinks. Enid has spoken like a cannon shot directly to the helm of Wednesday’s pride. She did not think things would end up here. As she basks in the silence left after Enid’s words, it dawns now what she has done - what she truly has done. Wednesday believed this righteous impulsivity a nobler cause than the pathetic ‘interrogation’ she put upon Enid during the earliest days of their rekindling relationship… but, when it is simplified, it is all the same.

It is her, wanting to throw caution to the wind, and chase a resolution that may be unachievable; that may have dire consequences affecting more than just her… all because she needs to be on top.

Letting go simply isn’t an option…

Wednesday redirects her gaze to the floor. She feels angry, guilty; frustrated – A whole symphony of dissonant emotions that swirl inside her, but different from how she felt them before. It is now self-directed upon being faced with the reality that – yet again – these serious matters are not puzzles to be solved; not games to win, as much as she would like them to be.

She grinds her jaw for a second, thinking of what to say. She still thinks Enid’s brothers deserve to meet a cruel fate, and she cannot ascertain they will survive should they ever meet in a dark alley – so must she simply stand down, otherwise? It does not sit right with her.

Though, it cannot be emphasised enough that she would do anything for Enid. She would overcome her resentment of attachments, unlearn four years of isolation, accept her ability to love, and care, and yearn. She has done all these things that did not ‘sit right with her’.

So is letting this go an option, after all?

Wednesday lets out a quiet, thoughtful noise.

“You are scared of me dying?” She asks.

Enid sniffs. She nods, a few stray tears staining her cheeks once more.

Wednesday clasps her hands together in front of her. How troubling it is for another to be concerned with her mortality in such a way. To die, by the Addams’ standard, would be the biggest adventure of them all… but Enid is not an Addams. Enid is different. It is this that drives the last nail into the coffin of her decision.

Wednesday stills feels a fiery murderous intent, and perhaps she always will – but she will hold onto it for now; let it burn itself to ash.

“Very well.” Wednesday says after a moment. She joins Enid on the bed. “I will cease my pursuit.”

Enid turns to Wednesday, eyes glistening. Without another word she engulfs Wednesday in a hug, and all her love, and relief, and amazement could not be louder stated. Wednesday feels it, like that familiar electricity that Enid’s touch always brings, except somehow stronger - Consuming and engulfing, but Wednesday can only let it wash over her.

Is this what Enid needed from her all along… not bloodshed; not vengeance, nor a resolution to her family’s insufferable appearances. Enid just needed her.

Wednesday can only hope the message sticks this time.

But then, as their embrace continues, there is a strange growing sense of malice in the air. Gentle scuffing noises begin to reverberate from outside the apartment.

Suddenly, there is a loud banging from outside Enid’s bedroom. Presumably someone knocking on what remains of Enid’s door.

Then, a voice.

“Hey Enid… it’s Mason. We- We couldn’t find anywhere to go. Jacob’s in real bad shape.”

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3

21 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 11 months

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 28

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

It’s never a good day when Enid’s family comes to visit.

Obnoxious, audacious, uncouth – these are just a few of the nicer terms Wednesday has used to historically describe the rest of Enid’s family. A pack of snarling mongrels who wouldn’t know true family loyalty if it bit them on their wolfish snout during a full moon. There are many things one can say about werewolf packs and how they’re run. Typically, they’re a prideful yet loving community, and Wednesday finds it quite intriguing... but there’s always been something sinister about Enid’s pack; something rotten at it’s core, with endless aspirations from her many brothers to tear the others apart to get into first place. All encouraged by her mother, of course. That vile woman.

Enid’s family visits at Nevermore always seemed intense and exhausting. Werewolves are supposedly free spirited and loyal – Traits that Enid herself has always exhibited… but the rest of them? They seemed unhinged at times, with their respect forged in fealty. Wednesday had never asked too much about Enid’s mother and the things she said or did, but it was always clear she had a cruel spirit, and not in the way that Wednesday could respect. In fact, the day that werewolf conversion camp got mentioned was the day that Wednesday decided this family was not worth her time, respect, nor the sacred werewolf cursed they were gifted. Enid was the best of them – Is the best of them.

And now, they’re back. Under worse circumstance, no less… Two of them, loathsome as ever. Tall, broad, with dark hair that contradicts Enid’s blonde locks so greatly that the metaphor for Enid’s difference is almost laughable.

Wednesday remembers these two. Not by name, because they were never important enough to be put to memory. No, what she remembers is their nature. On multiple occasions they were threatened with expulsion from Nevermore due to their incessant rivalry – constantly scrapping with each other, recklessly throwing themselves around the school; often ending in the nurses office. Wednesday enjoys a good fight, but their poorly choreographed scraps were pitiful. Not to mention the frankly appalling approach to honourable fighting. Even Wednesday and her family – murderous as they are – believe in the basic decency of fighting with respect…

There truly is some disgusting irony in how her family is somehow the better example of something. Frightening, almost.

In any case, those two rival brothers are here. They must be on better terms now, or maybe one of them finally won since it’s the quietest Wednesday’s ever seen them. It must be the latter, if the scarring on both their faces is anything to go by and the quietly submissive nature of the smaller brother standing behind.

Regardless, it’s time they leave. Immediately.

Wednesday goes to step towards them. Enid puts her arm out to keep Wednesday in place.

“Wednesday, don’t...” Enid whispers. “Let me handle this.”

Wednesday grits her teeth. After all the lead up to getting here, there’s a fire in veins that wants to burst out in a furious tirade. She wants make Enid’s brothers pay for not only the mental strain they’ve caused her over the last couple hours, but for all the shit they ever caused all those years ago, and likely have continued to cause during the four years since she’s seen them last.

It strikes Wednesday painfully what Enid must’ve gone through without her there. It is a conversation for later, perhaps…

For now, she wants Enid’s brothers to pay for being here, where they do not belong.

But, reluctantly Wednesday knows: This is Enid’s fight. This is exactly what her vision was leading up to, whether she wants to accept that or not. Restraint like this hasn’t ever been her forte, particularly when it’s so easy to push forward and make that first strike… she could easily pull out her hidden pocket knife, and give those two idiots silver burns that would make them weep for a week.

Except. She couldn’t. Because she is no fool and infuriating it may be, her reflexes are no match for beasts like these… There is no bigger idiot than the one that goes hand-to-hand with a human jacked up on wolf blood.

Wednesday says nothing to Enid, but simply continues to glare at the two men.

“Ah, so that is the Wednesday Addams.” The taller one says. “Nice to see where your loyalties lie, Enid… with someone who disappeared for four years. Not with your family.”

“Shut up, Jacob.” Enid grumbles. “Leave Wednesday out of this... Why are you even here? How are you even here?!”

The taller one – Jacob – pouts mockingly.

“Aw don’t you wanna see your big brothers? We have some interesting updates about the pack… The wolf network worked so hard to find you.”

Enid huffs. She walks towards the broken and cracked door of her apartment. “No.” She says. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, especially after you just broke into my apartment.”

Wednesday takes a few steps to follow behind Enid, remaining quiet but alert. She doesn’t like this. It seems too calm; too composed…

When Enid reaches the door, she attempts to move past Jacob and her other brother, acting distinctly pacifist despite the obvious tension that sits in the air. As her body crosses Jacob’s, he grabs her by the forearm, holding her in place. His grip is tight; threatening.

Wednesday feels every fibre of her body tense at the sight.

“Nuh-uh, we’re not done.” Jacob says lowly.

“Yes. We. Are.” Enid punctuates. She yanks her arm away. “Go home.”

Wednesday stops walking, staring at the red mark on Enid’s arm. It’s going to form a bruise. She feels her stomach tighten in a sickening fashion, knotting itself around the rage stirring inside her. Enid looks back at her, a wary look in her eye.

“C’mon Wends.” Enid says, cocking her head towards the inside of her apartment.

Silently seething, Wednesday takes a few more steps towards Enid. Her hands are balled into fists; fingernails indenting in her palms. There is very little that is keeping her from toppling the precipice of anger she sits atop…

But then, Jacob decides to stand in-between her and Enid...and, as the detestable life-form that he is, he crosses his arms, smirking. Wednesday stares up at him. This is the last thing she needs.

“Move.” Wednesday grunts.

Jacob whistles and the smaller brother steps away across the room. He positions himself at the entrance to the stairwell, leaning against the wall there. Jacob remains where he is.

“How’s that? Mason’s a good listener.” Jacob taunts.

Wednesday feels her face twitch as her anger begins bubbling to the surface. She’s had quite enough of this already… and most of her vision hasn’t even come to pass yet.

“Your attempts to intimidate me are pathetic.”

Jacob glowers at Wednesday.

“Hey, I’m just trying to talk to my sister. Addams’ aren’t invited.”

Wednesday scowls at him. She can feel her fingers twitching, aching to reach for the knife hidden on her person. It’s poorly advised, no doubt… but it would look so fitting jammed right into the side of his neck. The rouge of his blood would make such pretty decoration for the hallway – Fitting in an apartment building full of outcasts, no?

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t.

But Wednesday is starting to see red and it won’t be long before she can’t help herself.

No… no, she needs to keep a lid on it. For Enid. She’s just going to ball her fists and push past him. That’s easy enough.

Except it isn’t, because of course.

Wednesday attempts to move past him, towards Enid’s door. Jacob isn’t having it. His hand grabs her upper shoulder, and if his previous moves weren’t already mistakes, this sure as hell is. Wednesday’s eyes flicker down immediately; breath catching in her throat at the visceral rage that overwhelms every sect of patience she had previously called upon. There is no thinking; no conscious thought about what she’s about to do – her body simply reacts with a simple internal message:

‘No one puts their hands on me’

One of Wednesday’s own hands comes up. She grabs Jacob’s wrist, ripping his grip off of her. Wednesday’s other hand shoves outwards, palm striking in the square of his chest, making contact with a heavy thud. Wednesday hits with enough force to knock a regular person to the ground. Jacob, however, only stumbles a few steps – but he is dazed; blind-sided even.

And oh, he is mad. Jacob wheezes, growling and clutching his chest. He looks at Wednesday then. His eyes seem to glow yellow; wolfish and enraged. He breathes out some incoherent insult, and he lunges at her – which, by all accounts, is fully predictable. Wednesday knows she can side step him.

Except...she can’t.

With instinct fuelling her moves, Wednesday had the upper advantage. She is a trained fighter and a devout keeper of her boundaries. She is angry, and powerful, and unstoppable against most… but now Jacob is riled, and as a less-adrenaline-fuelled Wednesday is fully aware of, werewolves are not to be fucked around with.

And shit, Wednesday sure did just fuck around.

She side steps. It doesn’t work. Jacob grabs hold of her regardless. Wednesday feels her whole body turn cold.

“Jacob!” Enid yells. “Let go of her. I told you she’s nothing to do with this.”

Jacob’s head whips to Enid, as if pulled from a trance. He doesn’t let go though, his bruising grip on Wednesday’s lower shoulder remaining tight and constrictive.

“Please.” Enid pleads, “We can talk. Just let Wednesday go.”

Wednesday’s heart pounds in her ears both angered and admittedly, a little concerned. It is a rare occurrence such consequences befall her and now she’s face to face with a being who could quite literally kill her where she stands… she is not a fan of these roles being reversed in such a way.

But Jacob seems to hear Enid out.

He glowers at Wednesday. He sighs.

“Ugh. Fine… but she’s staying out of this.”

He shoves Wednesday aside. It is careless and forceful; a push the power of five regular men. She slams into the wall on the other side of the hallway, an ear-splitting crack echoing through her body as she’s thrown to the floor from the force. White noise fills Wednesday’s ears. Sharp pains shoot up her side.

From the ground she sees Enid watch in horror. That horror turns to disbelief; turns to upset.

Wednesday attempts to pull herself up; insist plainly that she’s fine… but no air can reach her lungs, and no strength will steady her hands. She simply lays there, vision blurring at the edges. She just...needs a minute. Or five.

And from there – from that pathetic spot on the ground – her vision finally comes to fruition.

Jacob seems smug, casually turning away from Wednesday’s spot on the floor. He starts wittering away to Enid about the importance of keeping in touch; their lineage, and pride. It is a boisterous start. He goes on, explaining that ‘werewolves like them’ shouldn’t be around humans any more – even attending Nevermore was wrong. This is on account of their ‘exquisite bloodline’, which is something that he and the other brothers have been logistically figuring out how to ‘purify’, whilst their parents have been missing due to their arrest. He then insists that their pack is more important than anything, and Enid can return if she just swears fealty once more...alongside assisting in paying their parents legal fees, of course. Frankly, it all sounds insane, like recounting rhetoric from a cult.

He treats it so casually and Enid just...stares. She stares at him like someone unrecognisable – As though, even if he was someone with a single redeeming quality before, it’s now gone. It is clear whatever she knew of her brother has become something twisted.

Enid’s upset turns angry. A fury blends into her expression as he continues to talk. It goes on, and on, and on until eventually… she just-

Snaps.

Enid blows up at him. Her voice is dark, uncharacteristically so – both fierce and stern. It is yelling in a way Wednesday has never heard Enid yell before… It is the voice from her vision, clear as day despite the muffled hiss in her ears. It is Enid, and yet somehow sounds as someone entirely different.

Enid chews Jacob and Mason out, flaming them for their behaviour, for supporting their parents shitty decisions, for thinking she’d ever want to come back after what happened; after what seems to have unfolded since their parents arrest. She calls them every name for power hungry, obsessive assholes under the sun, never once missing a mark. It’s a tirade that seems years in the making. Enid has found her voice against her brothers and now finally pushed, she’s going at it without holding back.

She makes it very, very clear they are not welcome in her home. In their home.

And Jacob… well, he takes it for a moment, but as Enid’s digs get deeper and deeper, there’s a stiffness that grows in his posture. Wednesday eyes the tightening of his fists; the way his shoulders brace backwards. He’s squaring himself up.

Enid does not seem to notice. She continues to berate her brothers, saying now that they are idiots for falling into the traps of species-ist thinking. She isn’t surprised, though, she adds. Enid lowers her voice after this, turning softer, more venomous – She says then that even if her parents did awful, terrible things, at least they didn’t have superiority complexes.

That last comment seems to tip the iceberg for Jacob.

Wednesday pushes herself up slightly. It is a torturous feeling – every joint in her upper body screaming at the weight placed on them… but Wednesday grits her teeth and holds herself still. The blood that boils in her veins wants to desperately to stop what is so clearly about to happen. Not amount of pain will stop her.

Except… she’s already too slow.

What happens next is a blur. It starts with Jacob launching himself at Enid. His claws sharper; deadlier than hers, coming up to swipe at her face. It’s a first strike that leads into another, and another. It is straight up an attack, with Jacob doing all he can to silence the truth he so poorly accepts… and Enid is silenced, recoiling from the painful gashes. Marks of red mar her pale skin, almost perfectly replicating the scars she had so meticulously worked to fade after her encounter with the Hyde as a teen.

Wednesday watches with wide eyes as drops of blood splatter onto the ground by their feet. The very same from her vision. A sickening feeling washes over her.

It is ironic, in a way. That Enid’s brother’s boisterous schoolboy behaviour and childish temper brings them back to being children in more ways than one. Enid brushes her hand over her face, pausing for just a second to stare at the blood on her hands. She looks faint. She takes a deep breath.

“What is wrong with you?” She growls at Jacob.

Jacob sighs.

“You’ve never known when to shut up.”

They continue to bicker. Wednesday looks cautiously over to the other brother, Mason, who seems to really only be there for (questionable) moral support. He’s looking at his phone now – only occasionally glancing up and checking the stairwell to see if anyone’s approaching. He’s not much a threat.

Wednesday takes a few stuttered breaths as she pulls herself up further. Every nerve, every muscle; every bone in her body is still reeling from the impact against the wall. The room itself seems to sway slightly from the agony… but she’s crouching now, and she’s got a knife in her pocket just waiting for a victim. She knows it can work, she just needs Enid to keep Jacob talking.

And talk they do. Now Jacob has taken lead in the conversation again, he continues with pathetic attempts to lure Enid back to the pack. Enid tries to counteract but it is glaringly obvious that the fire in her belly has returned to a simmer, and she’s quickly on her way to fainting if she doesn’t stop looking at her own blood soon. Jacob takes that in his stride, boasting that they could help her; make her better. He calls Enid weak – claiming he only wants her to be the best wolf she can… and the only way to start is for her to leave these ‘feeble’ humans behind.

Wednesday doesn’t take to that kindly.

With a last big effort, she pulls herself to her feet. Her whole body trembles. With a glance to the side, Wednesday checks – No, Mason still hasn’t noticed.

Foolish mistake.

Enid looks past Jacob; notices Wednesday stood behind him. There’s a flicker of confusion in her face; then worry. Wednesday meets Enid’s eyes, shoots a look to Jacob, quirks an eyebrow.

Jacob is too busy recounting his ideology to notice. How the tables have turned. This hubris will be his downfall.

With unsteady hands, Wednesday pads her fingers along the hem of her waistband. She finds the pocket where her flick-knife lives, perfectly hidden; never suspected. She slides it out, running her thumb across the curve of the handle before flicking the silver-plated blade out.

She glances to Mason again. He seems to notice she is standing, but smirks, clearly thinking she is too weak for much of anything. Oh if only he knew the all consuming rage that was keeping her upright.

If only they both knew how stupid they are to underestimate an Addams.

Wednesday jams the knife into Jacob’s back.

He stops mid-sentence; a gasp caught in his throat.

“I’d advise you to be more careful about your words.” Wednesday grits out.

Wednesday gives herself a sickly smile. She watches with satisfaction as the knife both bleeds and burns his skin. She yanks at it, twisting it further into his flesh, and her ears perk up at the sound of his pained whimper. How pathetic.

She missed all the vital organs, of course – He is still Enid’s family, even if Wednesday thinks him deserving of nothing better than a shallow grave… alas, this will have to suffice.

He won’t heal fast from this, anyway. He might be strong, but no werewolf can outrun the effects of silver poisoning. That alone brings joys to Wednesday’s black heart.

Though, she gets little time to appreciate the effects of her actions. The world begin to spin again. The white noise in hear ears screeches back into focus; the searing agony in her side threatening to make her cry out in pain.

But she doesn’t… With gritted teeth, Wednesday takes a stumble backwards. Somewhere in her peripheral she hears her knife clatter to the ground, unaware that her grip had even slipped. The world itself seems to swallow her whole.

She only catches a glance of Enid’s panicked shove to get her wounded brother out of the way, before her back hits the wall again; everything fading to black. Wednesday hits the ground once more. She does not fight against the unconsciousness that calls to her.

As she drifts, there’s a commotion of yelling.

Enid’s voice calling her name.

Jacob calling to Mason for help.

A mad scramble of footsteps.

Then nothing.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3

19 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 1 year

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 27

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

“We have to leave.”

This is the phrase that escapes Wednesday’s lips the second consciousness seeps its way back into her body. She awakes suddenly, dazed; laying on the floor of her brother’s bedroom. The incomplete mess of her brother’s trap lay around her – evidently having fallen apart somewhat from how she passed out. There is nothing but a white noise screech in her ears and an indescribable dread flooding her chest. Her body aches; her brain aches even more. Everything feels all too much, and yet suddenly withdrawn.

All Wednesday can think and see and feel behind her closed eyes are the repeated images from her vision.

Sitting bolt upright, Wednesday rubs at her eyes in vain, unable to clear her mind’s eye of what she has seen; repeating over and over until it’s nothing more than blur. It is unescapable. Relentless. Wednesday forces her eyes open then, hoping it is a better option. Instead, the room spins, and it is like the midday sun beaming directly into her retinas. It is a pain that is quite unspeakable.

But even with this - there’s only one thing Wednesday can focus on:

They have to go. They have to return to their apartments.

Wednesday’s eyes adjust after a second or two, focusing now on Enid. There’s another flash of her vision; of blood, and yelling; a man’s voice, perhaps... It’s so unclear. The only certain thing is that there is something terrible awaiting them, and there is really no choice but to run towards it.

How cruel… and not even in a way that Wednesday can enjoy.

Enid stares at Wednesday in return, with a palpable fear in her expression; a tremble hidden by her teeth clamped on her bottom lip. She goes to put her hand out, and Wednesday instinctively pulls away with a wide eyed expression. She doesn’t mean to – it just happens. Her brain is on fire. Her body tingles like she’s been left to lay on burning sand. Wednesday blinks a few times, her expression flickering confusedly until it settles on a scowl.

Wednesday looks at Enid’s hand hovering a few centimetres away from her. It is the hand that wasn’t cut on the glass. How desperately Wednesday wants to have a redo and take hold of it, but she can’t. Something in her head keeps her from reaching out.

“We have to go home, Enid.” Wednesday reiterates.

Enid draws in a nervous breath.

“Why? What did you see? Are you okay? You passed out...” Enid replies, her words tumbling out in a nervous flurry. She tries to mask the quiver in her voice, but its unmistakable.

Wednesday eyes flick down. She puts her hands on the bedside table and pulls herself to her feet with a wobble. Enid stands too, her fear meeting with confusion at Wednesday’s quietness.

Wednesday doesn’t know what to say. Saying anything just means spreading fear; a fear that Enid need not wear. Visions are fickle – poignant, yet vague, and Wednesday cannot speak to the reality of what she just saw. Stubbornly, she hopes what the universe has unwillingly burdened her with is nothing more than a misdirect… and for that reason alone she is unwilling to share. Her visions have misguided her before, and she refuses to let it happen again. Never mind the fact that sharing such things is difficult in the first place. Not that any of these this truly matters - frankly, with the rate at which Wednesday’s brain is whirring, words fail to form regardless. She just wants to keep moving; to get out of this house and back to New York. Her vision’s foresight must be concluded. It needs to be concluded. She will not have peace otherwise.

Truly, how cruel of a ‘power’ it is. To know, and yet know nothing.

“I’m fine.” Wednesday says flatly. She says nothing else, and leaves the room, heading towards her own so she can begin packing her bags. Enid trails immediately behind her.

“Wends?” She pleads. “What’s going on?!”

“Grab your stuff. We’re going home.”

Wednesday doesn’t think about her tone for even a second. She lets the words pour out of her mouth without filter; urgent and unabashed. Her actions are similar as she steps purposefully around the room, collecting her belongings and efficiently shoving them back into the appropriate compartments of her bag. There is no time for gentleness here.

Enid watches for a minute or so, clearly unsure what to say or do. She realises soon enough that Wednesday’s focus is unwavering and so she resigns herself to also packing, despite a lack of explanation or understanding of what’s going on.

After a moment, Enid slows down and stares across to Wednesday. She frowns in thought.

“Was...I in your vision?” She asks.

Wednesday pauses, her jaw tensing at the question. Her chest tightens as flashes of Enid’s silhouette play behind her eyes. Wednesday proceeds to say nothing and mentally berates herself for doing so; for being unable to share.

From the corner of her eye, she watches the tension grow in Enid’s body: she’s shaken, worried; scared - but is so full of trust that she continues to listen and follow regardless. Frankly, It feels terrible; a misuse of faith so carefully built, particularly after the progress Wednesday knows she had made in broaching the topic of her feelings. Now it feels reduced to rubble all at the cost of not repeating the wicked prediction the universe has offered… Wednesday wishes she could explain it, but this particular vision is so violently unfair that she refuses to utter a word just in case she is being mislead.

Truly, Wednesday believes this silence keeps Enid safe - And that is what matters.

Wednesday collates all of her stuff within a matter of minutes. She drops her bag by the door of the room with a heavy thud, the miniscule echo it makes only further emphasising the quiet. Enid takes a little while longer to pack, but even so, they are both ready to leave in less than thirty minutes since Wednesday bolted awake from her vision. Efficient by any account. Though, it is still long enough that Wednesday finds herself waiting stiffly on her bed whilst Enid finishes up, glaring daggers into the wall across from her. Enid pretends to not notice, but her worried glances (no matter how subtle) are impossible to hide.

It doesn’t feel good.

Regardless, they’re ready to leave and that is all that is important. Enid carries her bag over to the door and grabs Wednesday’s also – Continuing to be thoughtful without even being asked. It is another dagger in Wednesday’s side.

Enid turns to Wednesday then. She looks disheartened.

“So...I guess we’re going now then?” She asks.

Wednesday directs her eyes away.

“Yes. I will go inform my mother and get Lurch to bring the car.”

Enid simply hums in acknowledgement.

Fortunately, announcing the sudden requirement to leave is a lot easier with Morticia. Wednesday tells her plainly that they have to go, and Morticia accepts at face value – Having clearly guessed this would be the outcome once Wednesday’s vision struck. It is a small mercy amongst what is otherwise a less than ideal situation.

Morticia’s grace doesn’t stop there however - she seems to take a special note of Enid’s suddenly sombre mood, and Wednesday finds herself being ushered to the car whilst Enid is offered a brief moment alone with her mother.

Wednesday does not know what words are exchanged between them, but from her view, she spots her mother and Enid share a hug. They then chat for a few seconds and Wednesday spots Enid’s face pick up the slightest hint of a smile again. It is good, she thinks, that her mother can provide some comfort when she cannot… but admittedly, Wednesday finds herself caught between her laser focused intention of returning home, and the tug of her blackened heartstrings knowing that she is the reason for the misery in the first place. What is more unfortunate is knowing that only further misery awaits.

This is only exacerbated by the drop in Enid’s expression as she turns away from Morticia and walks outside. She joins Wednesday in the car seconds later, eyeing Wednesday warily as she considers where to sit. Despite the tension, Enid still makes the decision to sit next to Wednesday. It is a relief, in a sense, to see that she is not so upset as to put physical distance between them, even when the chasm of emotional distance currently sits wide.

Lurch shuts the car door and makes his way to the drivers seat. The car grumbles into life moments later and pulls away. Wednesday watches in silence as her family home disappears from view, a heavy feeling sitting in her chest.

It is done. They are on their way home.

Even if this is what Wednesday wanted, it brings little satisfaction.

The good news at least, is that Lurch is driving them directly home this time, which saves time and effort. However, it does mean there is very little other stimuli for both Enid and Wednesday to focus on, meaning they are awkwardly drawn back to each other time and time again. It’s mostly subtle glances, tense moments of brief eye contact; them both quite unsure how to continue after the mad rush Wednesday has just commanded.

Wednesday decides to delve back into her memories, search her vision for clues, indications – anything that will truly give her a hint as to the true nature of what she saw, but even as someone as intelligent as herself, she struggles to piece together much aside a few things… There’s the setting (Apartment hallway...her floor or Enid’s?) a voice (Not her own...not Enid’s either?), a distinct blood splatter (Not a gunshot...something else… something sharper).

It’s those details. Those fucking details. Wednesday cannot discern them and it only makes her feel frustrated. Being so out of practice with processing her visions, it’s like wading through a thick fog, with every moment hazier than the last. Wednesday huffs to herself quietly.

Despite the frustration, she continues ruminating for most of the journey. She works herself into quite the headache running her vision over and over and over again; fruitlessly looking for answers. There has to be something that will show her the truth. She’ll let this developing migraine run rampant if she has to.

Enid meanwhile, ends up on her phone. She texts sullenly, her phone vibrating with responses every minute or so. Strangely, her expression never changes; never picks up nor shifts. For Enid – who literally wears her feelings on her sleeve and can’t hide a smile – it is quite disconcerting… evidently whoever she is messaging is not doing a very good job of cheering her up. She sighs after a while.

Her phone ends up discarded on the seat next to her.

Wednesday continues to suffer in silence over her vision.

The journey goes on, the world around them growing louder as they head into the city. After a while, Enid glances over to Wednesday, and even though her eyes have recently closed to stave off her headache, Wednesday cannot help but feeling the weight of Enid’s burning gaze. She peeks one eye open.

Enid fidgets slightly with the hem of the hoodie she’s wearing. Wednesday had been so consumed before that she not noticed that it is one of her own, or even that Enid had thrown it on in the first place… it must’ve been when she was packing. Originally black, it’s now a mottled grey, and it’s too short in the arms for Enid, but she still wears it like it was always meant to be hers. It’s a hoodie that Enid claims to find very comfortable...comforting, even. She usually only wears it if she’s particularly cold, or feeling unwell, or-

Oh. Right.

Wednesday draws in a sharp breath. A wave of guilt begins to rock the brazen ship of her impulsivity and yet again she finds herself adrift between the tide of her ruthless pursuit of conclusion and the reality of upsetting those she loves. Wednesday still does not want to say a god damn thing. It’s too uncertain… but is that just fear speaking?

Is she – The Wednesday Addams – truly so scared?

Maybe she is… Damn.

“Nearly there...” Enid comments passively. Her voice is quiet; uncharacteristically timid.

Wednesday is drawn from her thoughts. She opens her other eye, wincing slightly at the dull ache in her head. She looks out of the window at the streets passing them by. It feels strange how quickly the journey has passed despite feeling like a millennia… Though, she cannot ascertain just how many times she ran through her vision. Perhaps it was more than she thinks.

“Yes. Nearly home.” Wednesday replies flatly.

“So… Can I ask for any hint about what we’re walking into?”

Wednesday flashes Enid a pointed look.

Enid sighs. Her patience finally seems to be wearing thin.

“Wends… Please don’t shut me out, especially about this.”

Wednesday feels her face twitch at those words. She hates hearing it. She hates knowing it’s true. It is exactly what she is doing… but this vision, it contains a great potential danger and there is so much resting on it. What if she is wrong? What if her interpretation is nothing but a poorly aimed shot in the dark? It is a risk she would put on someone she doesn’t care about – they’re expendable by all means… but this is Enid.

Enid is different. She loves Enid.

Wednesday feels her resolve slip, but she wants so desperately to justify her actions. “Enid, I-”

“-No, Wednesday,” Enid interrupts. “I know what your visions are, and the kinda things they show you. If you wanted us home so bad then there’s something waiting there for us, and I wanna know what it is.”

Wednesday grits her teeth. She glares daggers into the floor of the car cabin. Frankly, this feels like yet another case of pulling teeth, and not in the way she gets to enjoy.

“I...can’t tell you.” She says after a moment. Her voice is quiet, but firm. There is room for a tinge of doubt in the nearly imperceptible pause she takes before settling on her words.

“You can’t, or you won’t?” Enid queries.

Wednesday feels herself grow hot; that lingering frustration building up now that accountability is being fired in her direction. It’s true that she is neglecting to tell Enid, and a deep part of her wishes she could… but what does she say? How does she say it? They may meet with a terrible fate. Or they may not.

Wednesday despises not knowing.

She says silent for a moment.

“Wednesday.” Enid asserts.

Something inside Wednesday snaps. Whether it’s the underlying guilt, the anger at herself for being uncertain; the anger at the universe for being so fucking inconsiderate, perhaps – she doesn’t know… But Wednesday finds herself feeling so frustratingly overwhelmed that what little patience she had flees. Now, all she wants is a conclusion no matter how it comes.

Something’s gotta give.

“I think someone is trying to hurt you badly,” She grunts out. “And I don’t want it to be true.”

Suddenly, the car jolts to a stop.

They’ve arrived at the apartment block.

Wednesday gives herself little time to consider the bombshell she’s just dropped. Adrenaline and anger fuelled, she thrusts open the door on her side and sprints into the apartment building. She does not even check to see if Enid is behind her; her feet simply carry her through the foyer and up the stairs. Her legs pound against each step, echoing through the stairwell. She arrives on her floor within seconds, skidding to a stop, and sees her hallway, quiet and pristine. It should be a comforting sight… but it is not. Not in the slightest.

It wasn’t about her apartment…

Enid appears from the stairwell a moment later. Wednesday cannot tell what expression is on her face, but the heavy footsteps indicate she is displeased at best. Unfortunately, she cannot pull her eyes away from the empty hallway before her.

“Hey Wends, what the fu-”

[Thunk]

Enid is interrupted by a series of heavy noises from above. They both jolt, glancing upwards, and then to each other. Enid’s expression grows fearful. Wednesday feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Whatever her vision was trying to show her – It’s happening.

It’s Enid this time that sprints upstairs first. She runs, taking the steps two at a time. Wednesday pursues after her, feeling a burn in her calves but is unwilling to slow down. Fortunately, Enid is only a single floor above so it is only another few seconds until they are face to face with the identical hallway where Enid’s apartment lies.

Or well, it would be identical. If it weren’t for the wooden debris of Enid’s front door scattered across the ground, and the two large figures lurking in her doorway. Enid sees them and freezes to the spot. She takes in a sharp breath.

The figures hear the commotion, turning around to reveal their faces.

Wednesday frowns. They’re familiar… distantly so, but something tugs at Wednesday’s memories. It’s a mix of hatred, disgust, and apathy. Whoever these men are, Wednesday already knows she wants them dead.

The taller one of the two smiles then. He displays a row of vicious, canine like teeth… and just like that, it clicks in Wednesday’s head.

“Heeeey Enid.” The tall one drawls, “I think it’s time for a little family reunion.”

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3

18 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 1 year

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 26

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

In a surprising turn of events, Wednesday and Enid’s Saturday evening is remarkably unremarkable.

Between the completely normal and delicious evening meal (served with a generous helping of wine, naturally), a competitive yet shockingly civilised few rounds of card games, before finishing with a few lessons in – completely standard, non-poison related - mixology from Morticia, an outsider looking into the Addams’ grandiose gothic home would perhaps be swayed into believing they were watching a completely average family.

This atmosphere sits uncannily with Wednesday through the whole night. She eyes her mother warily, expecting a comment, an implication; an ‘accidental’ enjoyably morbid something-or-other … but no, there is nothing but best behaviour, and innocent smiles where knowing glances would usually be exchanged.

It is jarring and unnatural.

Late becomes even later, and Morticia eventually bids them goodnight without so much as a deliberate glare or mischievous tone to her voice. Just a wish of sweet dreams for Enid, and nightmares for Wednesday. She then disappears upstairs with her usual graceful saunter… and just like that, their evening together comes to an end.

Anti-climactic does not even begin to describe it.

With their privacy now returned to them, Wednesday and Enid find themselves at a loss.

It feels as though there is something afoot. It taunts Wednesday’s mind ceaselessly. Enid is cautiously optimistic, guessing that Morticia perhaps saw error in her ways and simply aimed to make the evening quietly pleasant. Wednesday is not so easily convinced. However, aside from how abnormally “normal” her mother was, there is little to actually ruminate on. Wednesday has half a mind to follow her mother upstairs but she is dissuaded by Enid. Her pursuit of knowledge concerning her mother’s behaviour will simply have to wait.

Wednesday and Enid consequently spend the rest of the evening together alone – Which is not a terrible thing, by any stretch of the imagination.

And when Wednesday awakes the next morning, staring into the swirled plaster of the ceiling, with Enid curled up beside her, she takes some time to consider – once again – the confusing events from the night before… and thinks to the curious and strange day that must surely lay ahead of her.

But… the day isn’t strange. Nor is it curious. Not in an Addam’s way, at least.

And that – in itself – is strange and curious.

In fact, the morning passes without so much of a phrase or glance out of place. Morticia is kind, witty, but intentionally vague and somewhat distant. She seems...distracted? It only makes Wednesday more inquisitive; more intent on figuring out this puzzle.

They all have breakfast, walk the grounds of the house to feed the various wild beasts that roam the woodlands, and to forage for ingredients for Morticia’s arcane spells, before returning to the house for a midday meal and tea. Enid and Morticia do, in fact, paint each other's nails - much to Wednesday’s chagrin…even though she will concede that her lack of participation in favour of reading is beneficial on the grounds of her social battery.

Everything seems too good; too nice. It’s too simple.

It’s only as it dips into a gloomy afternoon that Morticia seems to perk up a little. The dark light that usually shimmers in her eyes makes a slight return just as rain begins to rattle gently against the windows. Though, she remains unexpectedly muted in demeanour… However, seeing as this is the closest she’s been to her regular self, it is seemingly the closest thing to an opportune moment Wednesday is going to be offered if she wishes to investigate.

And so with a subtle nod from Enid (who is now painting Thing’s nails), Wednesday slips away and corners her mother in one of the many hallways as she makes her return from the bathroom.

Although, ‘corners’ would be a forgiving use of the word. Without a pair of platform shoes to help her out, Morticia towers over Wednesday in a way that most would find intimidating… But Wednesday would never stoop to fealty on the basis of her height; not with her mother, certainly.

Her mother looks down at her with a questioning look.

“Wednesday…” She greets quietly. “What is it, little viper?”

Wednesday squints at her mother. She doesn’t buy the innocence that’s being offered.

“Cut the act. You’re acting strange… and not in our particular way.”

Morticia smooths down her dress, before tightly clasping her hands together. Pulling her lips into a tight smile, she gives a small, absent shake of her head. Whatever kind of performance she is putting on, it’s certainly one she’s invested a lot of thought into. Most would be convinced.

Most people are not Wednesday.

“It is nothing for you to worry about, darling. I’m just missing your father.” Morticia states. She attempts to shuffle past, but is stopped by Wednesday side-stepping to block her path.

“That is expected.” Wednesday replies flatly. Truly, it is. Her mother and father are rarely apart, if ever - so a desperate wave of separation anxiety is unsurprising behaviour… but, it would not manifest in this way. Wednesday knows this from experience. Her mother is usually much more sickly when her father is absent; dramatic, claiming physical ailments from the lack of her husband’s presence. It is most perturbing... But no, this behaviour is something else. Wednesday cannot be convinced otherwise. “But I am not a fool, and you are usually not a liar.”

Morticia looks aghast at the accusation. Her eyes widening, a measure of quiet shame fills her expression and her forced composure crumbles for just a second. She catches herself though, pulling herself back to form with a tight breath in. It’s uncanny how easily the mask seems to slip back on. Just like Wednesday herself, Morticia is not keen to let anyone catch her off-guard. She takes a step back from Wednesday.

“I have not lied to you, my dear.” Morticia says.

“But you have not told the truth.”

Morticia sighs. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

Wednesday stares at her mother intently. She is fortunate, in a sense, that she knows her mother expects this level of persistence from her. It means she feels unabashed in her pursuit; unrelenting in her desire for answers. Her mother should know better than to try and hide things from her.

“Why are you acting like this, mother?” Wednesday asks. Her voice is stern; demanding.

Morticia raises her hands in defeat. She concedes with a wary look in her eye, and a warning carried on her tongue.

“Because, Wednesday, I had a vision and I have been trying to alter the course it showed me.”

Wednesday scowls. She blinks a few times, confused.

That doesn’t make sense… Visions are simply a vague glimpse into the future’s path – and the path is certainly set in stone. There is no altering; no diversions. Why would her mother think herself separate from what awaits during those moments of insight?

Then, there’s a pang of something that hits Wednesday’s stomach. Like dread, but quieter. Ominous foresight, perhaps?

She looks back up at her mother with a questioning gaze.

“What do you mean?”

Morticia purses her lips slightly as she mulls over her words for a moment. She sighs again.

“My vision… it showed you finally having a new vision. A wonderful thing, you would think, being that my visions are rooted in positivity. But your visions-”

“- Are generally negative.” Wednesday finishes.

“Yes, and the timing seemed particularly poor, what with you being here and all… I thought that if I, perhaps, changed my actions, my way of interacting with the world that it may have some effect; delay your vision, so to speak.”

Wednesday nods slowly, now understanding her mother’s flawed logic. It is ridiculous, of course. A plan such as this will not and never would have worked...but her mother is nothing if caring - and cautious when it comes to certain things. Wednesday’s visions have always been fickle and consuming, but it has been a long time since they last surfaced. Perhaps her mother wishes for this dry spell to continue; to give Wednesday freedom from any threat that she does not willingly choose to participate in. It would make sense. Even so, Wednesday finds it demeaning her mother would neglect to speak on what she saw.

In truth, Wednesday is actually not keen to be thrown off her feet by the strangling sensation of the universe inviting itself into her brain, but she will admit she somewhat yearns for those dangerous peeks behind the curtain. It should be her choice whether she tries to avoid them or not.

“Why delay the inevitable? My visions must return at some point.”

Morticia eyes Wednesday gravely. She brings her hands to Wednesday’s shoulders, lightly hovering them above the fabric of the dark sweater Wednesday wears.

“Your visions are a subject of pride, but there are times they have struck fear into my blackened heart. I’m afraid that fear may have been leading me.”

Wednesday quirks an eyebrow. As much as this behaviour is distasteful, she lacks motivation to draw out any suffering from her mother’s actions, even if they are a grave misstep. Wednesday will concede privately that she understands the concern over poor timing, safety, etc. – though arguably, her visions have never had “good timing” in the first place, nor promised safety, so it is somewhat of a null argument… In any case, chastising her mother just isn’t as fun as it is with strangers or overly familiar acquittances. But she will still say something, just on principle. Just to make sure her disapproval is known.

“You should know better.” Wednesday chides. “I am an adult, mother. You do not need to protect me.”

Morticia swallows her pride, bowing her head slightly.

“I apologise.”

Wednesday offers her mother a deadly glare.

“All is forgiven, but do not attempt such a thing again.” She says sternly. With that, Wednesday then quickly turns on her heel and proceeds back to the living room. Behind her, she hears a soft rustle of fabric as her mother seemingly walks away in the opposite direction.

Wednesday mulls over what she has learned as she re-approaches Enid. A measure of concern sits in her stomach at the question of what this upcoming vision may show her. The potential is great; the potential threat even greater… It is certainly a mystery. Not ideal, really, but it is undeniable and something Wednesday is adamant to not run from. It would be easier if she knew the trigger, but it will unfortunately elude her until the moment strikes. Which is most inconvenient.

Enid and Thing greet Wednesday warmly as she rejoins them. Wednesday sits by Enid’s side, her confrontational gaze softening at Enid’s inquisitive smile.

Enid leans closer and presses a small, chaste kiss to Wednesday’s cheek.

“You get your answers?” Enid asks quietly.

Wednesday nods. She basks for a second in the bubble of privacy Enid has created.

“I did” She replies, her voice similarly low. “My mother’s behaviour was a futile attempt to protect me from my own visions… but it is all resolved now.”

“Oh, weird.” Enid says with a slight frown. She goes to continue her sentence, but snaps her mouth shut as Morticia makes an unexpected return, clutching a bundle of rope and some knives. Both Enid and Wednesday snap their attention to Morticia, who offers them a devious smile. Evidently, she is opting to move onwards and upwards as opposed to making herself scarce. A respectable move. Although, Wednesday would’ve preferred another moment alone.

Enid shoots Wednesday a subtle concerned look.

“I thought it might bring you joy to set a trap for Pugsley.” Morticia offers as explanation. She twiddles one of the knives between her thumb and forefinger. “Our last few activities have been decidedly censored. So perhaps it is time you create some real fun, hm?”

Well, now… this is interesting. Wednesday eyes the rope and the knives with intrigue, feeling the corners of her mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly at the macabre ideas filling her head. It is a devilishly clever move on her mother’s behalf – swinging the pendulum of overcompensation in the complete opposite direction; this time with the promise of pain and mischief. Despite the earlier err, Wednesday knows that her mother truly does understand her well. This offer may well be her equivalent of being offered cake and ice cream at a birthday party… even if the rest of the party was mind numbing, every normie grins for such a sweet treat.

And Wednesday sure loves setting traps for Pugsley.

If this is how her mother wishes to endear herself again, Wednesday may hold her tongue. At least for a moment.

“A tempting offer… Though I will also be needing some glass and one of those revolting processed snack cakes that Pugsley enjoys.” Wednesday says, scowling in thought. She looks to Enid, whose face now wears a mild bemusement. “Enid?”

Enid tries her best to pull her face into a supportive smile. She fidgets slightly with her hair. “You’re not planning to make something that’ll kill him, right?”

Ah yes. Brother traps are not something Enid is particularly familiar with. Morticia and Wednesday exchange glances. Fortunately, it seems Morticia is eager to qualm any misunderstanding. Wednesday is glad for it – she would struggle to explain the subtlety between a trap for murder and a trap for amusement. As long as there’s the potential for pain without excessive blood (or death), it’s all fair game… but for Enid’s sake, Wednesday would prefer a more palatable response, lest she again face that grumble of concern over Enid’s lack of compatibility with this area of her family’s interests.

“Of course not, dear.” Morticia answers. “We aim for nothing permanent. Gently maiming at the most.”

Enid looks at Thing. He makes an “Okay” sign, then a thumbs up – indicating his approval of this plan. Enid seems slightly comforted, but still somewhat hesitant.

“I think I’ll just watch and hold things for you.”

Wednesday stands and takes the various items from her mother’s hands. She turns back to Enid with a questioning look.

“You do not have to agree to this.”

“I know I don’t.” Enid replies, settling herself, giving an assured smile. She jumps up from the couch, shuffling over and reappropriating the items from Wednesday’s hands into her own. “Just ‘cause it’s not my thing doesn’t mean I can’t let you enjoy it.”

Enid then jostles the items into one hand and waggles her fingers, showing off her pink, blue, and purple nails. She adds, “Besides, I got my nails painted and you just sat there. It’s fair game, Wends.”

Wednesday stares at Enid. It is profound how easily Enid seems to jump over hills that Wednesday thought difficult to crest. She should not be surprise at Enid’s flexibility; her ability to adapt and accept things that may be strange to her, but Wednesday cannot help her quiet amazement. She eyes Enid fondly.

With a proud little smile, Enid takes Wednesday’s hand and pulls her towards the staircase; towards Pugsley’s room. It would seem the time for talking is over.

“Have fun, you two.” Morticia hums.

And have fun they do.

It’s all innocent fun, of course...well, as innocent as rigging up some knives to launch at a booby-trapped snack cake that has been also carefully decorated with glass shards just in case aforementioned trap fails can be. As designs go, Wednesday is very proud of what she has come up with.

Enid lets her work away, watching with intrigue as Wednesday nimbly crafts. Enid enquires into the history of this hobby; how it came to be, and Wednesday offers the best explanations she can whilst she continues to adjust, tweak, and fine tune her creation. Whilst this potential attempt on her brother’s life may seem backwards to anyone not in her family (not that Wednesday would care if they thought it backwards anyway), it is – in fact – a very deliberate and non-traditional way of showing the way she can make an effort. It’s a very typical Addams’ behaviour, she adds, perhaps with a slight hint of pride.

Wednesday explains to Enid that she is one of the very few exceptions to the rule when it comes to her showing positive feelings towards someone; love is a language she simply does not speak in most scenarios...but violence is a tongue she will speak any day. Thusly, if she can create intricate mechanisms, traps, etc. that require a high level of effort and then direct them at her brother? Well. It’s certainly not a typical sibling expression, but it shows she cares enough to try and maim him in increasingly ludicrous ways. There’s something in that.

That, and it’s simply fun to see how fast she can make various sharp objects fly through the air.

Enid seems puzzled somewhat at the logic, but she withholds judgement. She simply listens, and marvels at the way Wednesday seems to come alive as her brain is allowed free reign over potential chaos.

In fact, Enid gets so drawn in that she ends up shuffling over, leaning over Wednesday’s shoulder to see what she’s doing. Wednesday does not mind; she actually rather enjoys getting to explain each aspect as she adds the finishing details.

“-And if all goes well, at least one of the knives will strike.” Wednesday concludes, kneeling down as she finishes tightening one of the ropes. “If not...then the glass shards in the revolting processed snack cake is the next surprise.”

“We have very different ideas of surprises.” Enid replies with a smirk.

Wednesday flashes Enid the slightest devilish smile.

“Perhaps. Now could you just push the revolting processed snack cake slightly to the left? The trap isn’t armed yet, but it is not centred. The bait needs to be centred.”

Enid rolls her eyes playfully. She takes a few steps over to where the revolting processed snack cake ( Twinkie. It’s a twinkie.) sits on a plate on Pugsley’s bedside table. She carefully picks up the plate and inches it to the middle. She then looks at the twinkie for a moment, and in what can only be described as a moment of morbid curiosity, she touches her index finger against one of the small glass shards pointing out of it.

From behind her, Wednesday hears a small “oh no”.

Wednesday whips her head around to see Enid clutching her hand, pouting horrendously. She stands, scuttling over quickly.

“Enid? What happened?!”

“The glass.”

Wednesday frowns, her brows furrowing in concern. She takes Enid’s hand, and gently squeezes at the base of her finger to restrict the blood flow. It’s not bleeding heavily, but it’s enough to make Enid uncomfortable – visibly so. Wednesday is not good with sympathy, but she offers Enid a gentle look as she tends to her cut.

“It is small. You will be safe.” Wednesday states firmly.

Enid nods her head.

A small trail of blood begins to lead its way down Enid’s finger towards Wednesday’s hand. Wednesday doesn’t think to wipe it away and so it gently breaks and stains Wednesday’s own hand – not that she minds.

Only she isn’t able to actually think that.

Because the second Enid’s blood hits her skin, Wednesday’s head is thrown back and the world around her implodes into nothing.

The universe grabs her by the throat; leeches into her brain; leaves a future memory where nothingness once lay. She cannot parse it as it happens, but moments; words; voices echo through Wednesday’s head at a breakneck speed.

Wednesday tries to make sense of it as it happens but it is futile. There is too much – A whole realm of possibility trying to unveil itself in a matter of moments.

It is everything; yet just a flicker.

Just a tragic flash to the future.

Then nothing.

Wednesday blacks out.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3

15 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 1 year

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 25

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

The afternoon turns to evening with a slowness Wednesday can only describe as torturous.

Not in a fun way, unfortunately.

Following her mother’s mention of marriage, the conversation divulged further into her mother’s hopes for Wednesday and Enid’s future. Suffice to say, Wednesday quickly excused herself from the conversation and returned to her room. This is where she finds herself now, still ruminating over the words exchanged.

It is a fortuitous thing that her Mother thinks so highly of her relationship with Enid. Wednesday knows many people would find their pairing odd, or unfitting, and frankly she could not give less of a shit about that...but if her mother did not approve? Well. That is less easy to brush off. Impossible, perhaps.

But the mention of marriage? Now this has thrown Wednesday for a loop. Which – considering her general demeanour – is quite a feat.

Wednesday is sitting at a vanity table across from her bed. She watches Enid as she sleeps, and wonders what the future holds for them. Wednesday never expected to get to this point so she has never thought to humour the idea of anything more. Her future was always so clearly laid out before her prior to this; prior to Enid’s return. So, It is both somewhat imposing and slightly frustrating to feel an uncertainty about what is awaiting her.

As always, Wednesday hates not knowing.

Truthfully, it seems it is not the initial suggestion of marriage at all that causes Wednesday’s mental stumble. No, it is not the idea that getting married in the future is upsetting, which frankly, any precious iteration of herself would have balked at immediately. What it seems to be; what causes Wednesday to feel at odds is the casual nature in which it is mentioned. It is the way her mother brings it up, nonplussed and simple, that causes Wednesday this pause.

Because it’s clearly just so simple, right?

However, Wednesday is not someone who dates, or has dated historically to be more accurate. This is not a wheelhouse in which she is familiar, and it has been a particular source of frustration over the last...well, few months, technically – two weeks officially, of course.

It has been an uphill battle of learning, and adapting, and figuring out how these things work. Wednesday knows there are milestones in dating, sure, but what is the timeline for it? When should they happen? Should some of them happened already that haven’t yet?!

Wednesday can barely hold Enid’s hand in public yet; has to treat their affections like a closely held secret… So how does it seem fair to throw the idea of marriage into the mix when the days are so early?

Of course, there is progress behind closed doors; in the private intimate moments no one sees...those moments are what Wednesday lives for; what brings her confidence, when she gets to release the grating awkwardness of public affectations and show Enid how she feels without the prying eyes of strangers who do not deserve to bare witness anyway. Even so, Wednesday is yet to crest the hill of many things regarding private intimacy – with frankly little idea of how long it will take her to tackle the next steps.

Wednesday scowls at herself now, and at her own rapidly snowballing thoughts. It is ridiculous and unrelenting. She knows it is best to jump off this train of thought before she runs herself into a pit of misery… but, unfortunately for her, her mother’s words have a way of sticking around.

And now, as she considers the future, Wednesday’s mind also runs to the past. What she and Enid have now is all they have to show for six years. Two years at nevermore, growing and caring – only for Wednesday to disappear; isolate herself, regress. Add on four years, a fateful meeting and now it is all being turned around again. It is a lot of time… and there is still so far to go.

Wednesday has only ever cared about going at her own pace; never caring about the speed of those around her, nor if they think she should change her own… but now, as she sits watching, waiting for Enid to awaken, she is struck with a concern that maybe it is taking her too long – or has taken her too long. Enid has waited so far but can that last? Could Enid really desire more years of patience?

As someone often impatient in her own pursuits, Wednesday feels an increasing frustration at how time blind she has been. She is like a fish trying to climb a tree. Evolution is coming for her slowly, but she’s still not quite there and there is no telling how much time it will take.

So, coming full circle, how can Wednesday even marginally consider marriage and an endless future with Enid – even if she wants it – when she is so painfully aware of the investment it will take to reach so many milestones before it?

Ugh. This is exhausting.

Wednesday continues watching Enid. She silently seethes at this idea so unceremoniously planted in her head by her mother. It is uncouth and unfair, and making her act strangely, for certain...

And that still isn’t fully analysing the fact that the marriage suggestion itself doesn’t make her skin crawl.

Wednesday is unwilling to explore that particular thought further. She’s had enough of thinking as it is.

She stands from the chair and stiffly shuffles over to the free side of the bed. She carefully climbs atop the sheets, hugging her knees to her chest, and looks down to Enid asleep aside her. Enid stirs, eliciting a mumble of noise.

“Wends?” Enid slurs. Her voice is thick with sleep, barely conscious. “Is that you?”

“No, it’s an axe murderer,” Wednesday replies bluntly.

Enid makes a noise halfway between a smirk and a tired grumble. She rolls over to face Wednesday, nuzzling her face into the pillow. Her eyes remain closed but the gentle twitch of her eyelids indicates she is – in fact – stirring from her sleep. Perhaps she has been for a while.

“Axe murderer wouldn’t say that,” Enid mumbles indignantly with a yawn. She pulls one of her arms from under the sheets, and blindly reaches out, padding her hand across Wednesday’s side. “Mmm, not murderer. Girlfriend.”

Wednesday feels the electric tension in her body settle slightly at Enid’s conduit touch.

“I can be your girlfriend and an axe murderer.”

Enid blinks her eyes open. Staring blearily up at Wednesday, she then squints, as if analysing what she sees. “You prefer knives.”

Wednesday quirks an eyebrow.

“An astute observation.”

Enid smiles gently, humouring Wednesday’s reply. She stretches out, then shuffles so she’s angled upwards in the bed, lightly drooping against Wednesday’s side. Enid’s body is warm; soft – and this warmth bleeds into Wednesday’s cold flesh, prodding Wednesday away from her icy, distant disposition.

“Promise you won’t go all Ghostface, though?” Enid asks.

Wednesday makes an unamused noise..

“Please, the Ghostface killers in those movies are all amateurs. My murders wouldn’t be so predictable.”

“I fully believe you.” Enid replies, yawning again.

The light banter is an effective temporary mood lifter. Wednesday is not dragged entirely away from her focus has been laying, but she is able to find momentary peace from Enid’s soft and gentle awakening… But even so; even with Enid’s distracting, Wednesday cannot meet her gaze. Her eyes remain firmly staring out into the room, or at the bed sheets. Enid does not notice… or at least, she does not notice immediately.

It’s only after a few more exchanges; once the conversation dies down and Wednesday cannot keep up the facade, and Enid is fully awake, that she begins to realise.

Wednesday sees Enid’s brows furrow in thought. It’s out the corner of her eye, but it’s unmistakable. When worried concern knits into Enid’s expression it is like a sunshine at a funeral – which is to say, it is seems out of place; wrong, in many senses of the word. It’s also hard to miss. Wednesday knows Enid’s brain is ticking away at what may have transpired in the last few hours whilst she slept.

Wednesday says nothing. She simply waits for the question.

“...What did your mom say to you?” Enid enquires.

And, just like that. Nail on the head.

Wednesday turns her head to Enid. She lightly grinds her jaw, hesitant in finding the words. Wednesday does not want to find them, perhaps… This kind of emotional intimacy has always been the least tasteful in Wednesday’s mind. It is one thing to grow and accept love in it’s various intimate forms – but to spell out your concerns and doubts in full earnest? It makes Wednesday’s stomach feel like a chasm. It is one of the things she detests most.

But… she can see the sincerity in Enid’s expression; feel the warmth that emanates from all that she is. It’s just Enid. Her Enid, and she wants to help.

And like Wednesday told her mother - Enid makes emotions feel safe.

So...perhaps she just has to try.

“Yes. My mother and I talked.” Wednesday says flatly after a moment. It is a slow start, but one nonetheless. “She mentioned something rather… prematurely.”

Wednesday then sighs – at herself, mostly. This already feels like pulling teeth, and not in a fun way. “And I may have had a negative reaction to what she spoke of.” She adds.

Enid frowns thoughtfully.

“She must’ve said something totally awful, then?”

Wednesday shakes her head slightly. The concerning feeling in her stomach seems to only grow further as she carefully considers her next words, her discomfort growing akin to vines wrapping their way around her internal organs and squeezing out their usual tenacity.

“In truth, I believe most people would find what she said quite delightful…”

There’s a pause. Wednesday’s eyes dare to flick upwards and meet Enid’s for a brief second. She expects to find a measure of reluctance strike at Enid’s deep questioning gaze, but what Wednesday sees from Enid is in fact a loving concern, and what hits her instead is a sheepish desire for this to be easier.

Maybe one day it will be.

“...But as you are aware, I am not like most people.” Wednesday continues, her voice stilted.

“You’re not,” Enid agrees, smiling softly. “But that’s what I love about you.”

Enid brings one of her hands to Wednesday’s own. She does not squeeze it as she normally would, but just lets it rest, giving Wednesday control to pull away if she wishes. Enid smiles then, gentle and encouraging.

Wednesday looks at Enid’s hand. She takes in a heavy breath. Something about Enid’s touch; her smile, her intentional yet quiet way of encouraging is something Wednesday will always be undone by. So few can command things from Wednesday with so little, whilst also seeming unobtrusive. This emboldening zeal of Enid’s fights against Wednesday’s displeasure for sharing and it perhaps does not win outright, but it certainly gives Wednesday a push to keep going.

“My mother… She mentioned marriage.”

Enid splutters out a cough.

“I’m sorry- She- What?!”

“Marriage, Enid. She sees it in our future.” Wednesday reiterates. She’s then quiet for a minute, steeling herself. Her heart beats loudly in her ears. “And then… Well it is not without saying that our journey has been particularly strange. I find myself concerning over things I have yet to encounter and it, perhaps, occurred to me that…” Wednesday’s voice trails off, stuck for the final words.

Enid looks at her patiently.

And god, how Wednesday is jarred by the empathy she is offered every time. Perhaps it is no surprise she finds herself concerned about diminishing returns when every compassionate moment still finds a way to shock her.

“It occurred to me that… You have been incredibly patient in a world where most people grow weary of me quickly. For good reason. However, no one is endlessly patient and I thought that maybe-”

“-I would get tired of waiting?” Enid asks, finishing the statement so Wednesday does not have to.

It is a small mercy amongst the many Enid already offers.

Wednesday sighs.

“...Yes.”

Enid’s smile saddens slightly, but she does not seem overly upset at the admission. She shuffles a little, so she can face Wednesday more directly, offering a gaze so tender that Wednesday cannot help but be lost in it once she finally dares to look back up.

“Hey,” Enid coos. “It’s okay. Everyone gets a little anxious about relationships sometimes especially when parents start saying shit… But Wends, I’m not planning on going anywhere. The marriage thing is uh, something we can put on ice though. Little early for that.”

Enid lets out an awkward half-laugh on the marriage comment. It seems to discomfort her too slightly, which makes Wednesday feel a little better about her own feelings towards it.

Wednesday nods slowly, taking heed of Enid’s words. Her immediate anguish seems tamed by them, at the very least. Undoubtedly though, there is still a grumble of angst that lurks in Wednesday’s bones, but this is perhaps simply her cross to bare as she wades into the tepid waters of expressing her feelings. It is still distasteful...but as of now, there is only evidence that Enid can and will respond in kind.

Wednesday shifts the hand that Enid’s is covering, fidgeting slightly until their fingers intertwine. She stares at their hands then, tracing the patterns of Enid’s nail polish with her eyes.

“How do I prevent this doubt, then?” Wednesday asks quietly, an edge of frustration laced in her words. “Doubt is illogical to me. It is not something I generally have, let alone share.”

Enid offers an empathetic look.

“Well...ya kinda don’t? You just have to trust.”

“Trust?”

“Yeah, trust that I love you, and that you love me… and that we’ll, y’know, stick together.”

Wednesday glances back to Enid. She takes pause to consider it.

“I see... That does make sense.”

And truthfully, it does. How strangely simple it seems in hindsight.

“Plus, we’ll definitely try to keep your mom away from any more marriage comments. Even I am totally weirded out by that.” Enid adds, making a silly grossed-out expression.

She’s perking up now, trying to bring the mood to somewhere less dire. Wednesday would often prefer to wallow in her darkness, but admittedly, she is quietly grateful for this. This particular subject is one she would rather lay to rest in the deepest grave imaginable.

Though, considering that sentiment, perhaps this drab mood will be a little more difficult to shift.

“That would be preferable,” Wednesday replies flatly. “This has been exhausting.”

Enid rests her head gently against Wednesday’s shoulder. She lets out a lengthy exhale.

“It’s sure been a day, hasn’t it, dear?”

Wednesday feels a sudden small flutter in her heart at the new pet name… And,okay, she should definitely not be so easily dragged from her misery, but dammit - there is something so validating about hearing such a phrase from Enid’s own lips. Particularly after what has just passed... Maybe these grumbling doubts will take some wicked grip on her again another day, but for now, Wednesday thinks her malcontent sufficiently diffused.

“There is still a ways to go. There is dinner, and evening entertainment.” Wednesday reminds.

Enid rubs at her eyes.

“You’re right... Guess we better go face it together, huh?”

With that, Enid throws the sheets off herself and clambers from the bed. She scuttles over to her bag, picking up her tights and skirt from earlier that she had evidently replaced with sweatpants for her nap. She changes in a matter of seconds, giving a little twirl as she finishes, before taking a few steps back over to the bed. Enid then extends her hand towards Wednesday.

“C’mon,” She hums.

Wednesday climbs off the bed. Taking Enid’s hand in her own, Wednesday takes strength from the familiar static tingle that she finds in Enid’s touch. Things are not perfect, but they’re okay… more important, they are okay. She and Enid, that is.

Wednesday looks at Enid.

“Before we go…”

Enid looks back at Wednesday with a puzzled smile.

“I love you, Enid.”

Enid practically glows. Her face breaks out into a wide, adoring grin.

“I love you too, Wends.”

And then, they trail out of the room, ready to face whatever the rest of the night throws their way.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3 #Hi again it's me #authors notes in the tags #I know I never kept much to an update schedule #but I'm gonna try and commit to 10-11 days as opposed to weekly because man #I love writing slightly longer chapters but I write slow af #Anyway love yall thanks for reading

18 notes · View notes

sharpen-your-hatchet · 1 year

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair Fanfic, chapter 24

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

Following their latest tryst, Wednesday and Enid indulge in their privacy for a considerable amount of time. The day is still young enough that they have no need to rush back downstairs… and despite it’s unique appearance, Wednesday’s dark and dreary bedroom is quite the perfect backdrop for them simply enjoy each others company away from the prying eyes, ears, and other limbs of whomever lurks in this grand family home.

Which, considering the entrance they made earlier in the day is quite the blessing.

For Enid in particular, it allows her time to lay in a gleeful daze. She murmurs gentle affirmations about her experience those precious few minutes ago, and makes self-sustained small talk as she curls up by Wednesday’s side. It is hard to ignore how Enid is glowing. Truly she is on cloud nine – but despite this, she is still wary; still cautious. Ensuring Wednesday’s comfort is second nature to her at this point, and so Enid knows when and where to bring the energy down.

Right now is certainly one of those times – as their bodies and brains settle following their impulsivity. Wednesday is quietly thankful for Enid’s empathy. It is a trait Wednesday often considers a flaw in many people; a trait that makes them susceptible to manipulation...but Enid wears it with a piercing level of sincerity that it’s almost disarming. In fact, Enid sometimes uses it in her work to flip the narrative on others and make them the one being manipulated, all in pursuit of the latest gossip for article. It’s rather devious. Wednesday is quite fond of it, actually.

And of course, in this particular moment, Enid’s empathy brings both calmness and understanding. Perhaps it is not such a bad trait after all...

Wednesday watches Enid with a fond yet pensive gaze.

And Wednesday, naturally, does take this extended moment of restful seclusion to evaluate their latest sexual engagement. Now all is said and done, she mutely takes enjoyment from the intimacy, but knows herself better than to dare try and strive for more… In any case, she has enough to think on when she considers the touches, the sounds; the rush of endorphins Enid’s closeness brings.

Wednesday has never been one for drugs (unless they are of the poison variety, or being used for an appropriate kidnapping, of course), but she would wager the nature of oxytocin - that is, the brain’s love chemical – causes addictive rushes in much the same way. She feels crazy at times, but in a way that is much, much different from how she initially expected her loss of sanity to go.

Considering how she had wished for a dark psychosis to take hold of her, it is strange now to think upon how much she prefers this; how she prefers the love drunk inner chaos that Enid causes.

There is something she tries to not think too much on, however: there’s still a low grumble of need that sits in Wednesday’s lower stomach. It’s hungry and hard to ignore, like the quiet flame of a candle that refuses to snuff out… but Wednesday being Wednesday – she ignores it anyway. It’s rather inconvenient and she has no time for it just yet. Maybe one day, but not now.

Frankly, She’s still a way off addressing her own needs… but it’ll happen. Eventually.

Wednesday continues to muse; Enid continues to talks.

Enid returns to find Wednesday staring thoughtfully at a large painting of her mother and father. With a gentle nudge of her elbow, Enid offers Wednesday an amused grin at the portrait before them.

They lay together for a while longer. However, Enid eventually excuses herself to freshen up in the bathroom, which turns into an agreement to head downstairs. Conveniently enough, as she opens Wednesday’s bedroom door, she is met by their bags neatly waiting outside for them – presumably placed there by Lurch at some point or another.

Enid chucks them into the room with little effort. Wednesday then collects them and places them somewhere they’re less likely to be a trip hazard. Wednesday also neatens up the bedsheets, to ensure the room is as pristine as when they initially entered. She then exits the room, letting the door shut behind her with a satisfying ‘clunk’.

“Wondering how we’d look in our own painting, eh?” Enid jokes.

“Not at all,” Wednesday replies dryly. “Whilst I might show a preference for historic tradition, I find paintings like this to be frivolous and excessive.”

“Right? We could just take a selfie together!” Enid says with a light smirk. She pulls out her phone and wiggles it teasingly in front of Wednesday’s face.

Wednesday’s expression remains stoic. She is silent for a second.

“…Absolutely not.”

Enid rolls her eyes playfully, returning the device to her pocket.

“I’ll convince you one day,” She hums with a smile, as she quietly slides her hand into Wednesday’s own and gives it a light squeeze. “Are we ready, then?”

Wednesday looks down the staircase.

“Indeed. Let’s go discover what nefarious activities my mother has planned for us.”

Wednesday and Enid make their way downstairs. They seek out Morticia who has remained in the kitchen since their initial meeting. Thing is there too, and he casually greets Wednesday and Enid with a wave of a finger. He appears to be assisting Morticia by stirring a pot of something – A soup or strew, presumably, though considering the multi-use purpose of the Addams’ family kitchen, it could be anything – but he seems inexplicably coy for a hand who is usually so outspoken.

Enid and Wednesday exchange glances; a silent acknowledgement to each other that they now know for certain Thing must’ve been a part of Morticia’s earlier plans… but even with that in mind, Enid is far too excited to be upset and quickly scuttles over to him to have a catch-up. Wednesday is consequently left alone to the practised, disarming gaze of her mother.

“Have you and Enid settled into your room?” Morticia asks. Her voice is honeyed, a mischievous inflection leaving no room for second-guessing the true question that lurks behind her words.

Wednesday offers her signature glare.

“Yes, however Enid was intrigued and horrified by my collection of literature procured from the evidence of murder investigations,” She lies. “I am surprised you did not think to tidy them away. I had to spend 30 minutes hiding the ones with bloodstains so she would not faint.”

The falsehood rolls off her tongue naturally. On all accounts it sounds realistic too – from timekeeping, personalities; even Wednesday’s very real and beloved collection of murder books. Most people would fall for it easily... but Wednesday’s mother is not just anyone. Truthfully, Wednesday knows she won’t fall for it, but she also cannot see a world where she’d be anything but secretive concerning more intimate details of her life. Even with her mother who she trusts more than anything. Wednesday would frankly rather eat glass.

(Which suddenly gives her a great idea for a trap to set up for Pugsley.)

Morticia eyes Wednesday. She is clearly unconvinced, holding Wednesday’s challenging gaze for just a moment with a slight smirk and quirk of her eyebrow. She elicits a quiet, amused hum before she glances away to Enid and Thing across the kitchen.

“We’ll have to discuss these things later, my little raven. We must make haste with our activities for the day.”

Wednesday has zero qualms about this change in topic. Though she and Enid are both in the dark about these fun and exciting plans of her mothers’ – she is starting to think she might actually prefer the torture of painting each other’s nails than being subject to her Mother’s omniscient gazes… so long as the polish is black, and actually made from snake venom. She would be so lucky.

In any case, it would seem Wednesday’s concern about these planned activities are perhaps unfounded. Morticia directs them into her greenhouse, revealing a table overflowing with a number of dark coloured flowers, thorns, nettles, and ivies, etc. Morticia stands at the head of the table, hands clasped together. She explains that winter has been cruel to the grounds of the house and the family graveyard is looking terribly bare, which – naturally – is inexcusable for a family such as their own. As such, she would love to redecorate with a bundles crafted from the array of plant life before them. Morticia adds that it is wonderful group activity to partake in whilst they make idle chatter about the nature of life and death. Mostly death, of course.

So, flower arranging. She wants them to do flower arranging.

Enid seems pleasantly surprised to be offered such a calm and normal task, though she does stare a bit warily at the various nettles and ivies, concerned by their poisonous potential. That being said, she otherwise seems happy to start crafting after a little bit of guidance from Morticia. Wednesday, on the other hand, is hesitant… It’s not as bad as she expected, but her mother’s green thumb didn’t quite pass through the gene-pool, and Wednesday would frankly rather dig graves than decorate them. She’d even hazard a go at laying in an empty grave whilst it got filled in.

But alas she concedes, for the sake of Enid and her Mother’s happiness. They are both fortunate to be two of the few people in this world she actually cares for.

And so, Wednesday collects a number of thorned vines, and begins weaving them into circular shapes – similar to a wreath. It’s simple enough, and the weaving comes naturally to her. It is much like tying her braids, and though she cares little about the task at hand, she finds it similarly easy to let herself get entranced by the repetitive motion. Over. Under. Over. Under. Again and again, until she reaches the end and passes it over to Enid for her to decorate. They become quite the machine, seamlessly crafting amongst the idle chatter that Enid upkeeps with Morticia. Wednesday will not dignify calling this activity “fun” but she doesn’t feel like stabbing pins into her eyeballs...so, that’s something. Plus, Enid is enjoying herself, which is never a bad thing.

Every so often, Wednesday pauses to asses her work, and catches her mother watching them with a fond, prideful gaze. Though Wednesday says nothing, she can predict the conversation that is slowly forming behind her mother’s watchful eyes. She knows it’ll happen as soon as an opportunity presents itself.

And present itself it does. Unfortunately.

“Enid, darling, perhaps you should take a nap?” Morticia suggests. She puts down the bouquet she’s holding, giving Enid a practised sympathetic look. “We’ve made an exemplary level of progress, and in any case, it would give Wednesday and I time to have a personal catch-up.”

They have been crafting for a few hours when it happens. Enid begins to yawn. Just once at first – It’s a small, sharp yawn of someone who has been focusing on a task for a few hours without

realising. A gentle whip of fatigue that is quickly shaken off out of dedication to a person’s own enjoyment… but then she yawns again. A longer, deep yawn that brings tears to the corner of Enid’s eyes. She blinks them back, only to yawn once more seconds later. It continues downhill from there. It would seem the activities of the day seem to have caught up with her, and Enid’s energy seems to all but disappear within a matter of fifteen minutes. She continues talking, smiling, offering Wednesday cute little glances, but it’s glaringly obvious that her internal battery is running out of juice.

Enid bears a guilty expression for a moment, and she looks to Wednesday for support. Wednesday stares back blankly. She is stuck for an answer. If Enid leaves then she knows the kind of conversation she is awaiting, but if she convinces Enid to stay then there will be an inevitable pang of guilt that will needle its way into her stomach and gnaw at her like a parasite.

Feelings. How inconvenient they are at times like this.

Enid yawns again.

Wednesday feels her resolve soften. She knows what she has to do.

“Go rest, Enid,” She says quietly; quickly, before she can think to change her mind.

Enid offers an appreciative smile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” She whispers in reply, before standing from her chair. She takes a step closer to Wednesday and in lieu of a parting kiss, brushes her hand over Wednesday’s gently. Enid then looks over to Morticia and with another short yawn, she asks “What else are we doing today? I’ll make sure to set an alarm on my phone.”

Morticia waves her hand in the air dismissively, “Oh Enid, do not worry yourself,” She says airily. “Just rest, and we’ll continue our festivities when you return.”

Enid nods, and flashes a smile at both Morticia and Wednesday before excusing herself. Thing, who had been hanging around whilst they worked, hitches a ride on her shoulder – seemingly keen to leave the vicinity. He’s not the only one.

Wednesday now finds herself alone with her Mother. In person. For the first time in goodness knows how long.

Morticia looks at Wednesday with an indulgent, satisfied smile. She picks up the flowers again and gives them a sniff. She sighs happily.

“These flowers remind me of funerals, you know? Your father, despite not being a gardener, helped me plant a whole field of them just so I could see them everyday; just so he could watch my enjoyment. Incredibly romantic, is it not?” Morticia’s voice is dreamy, whimsical. She brushes her hand through the petals, and pulls one from the bunch, twirling it in her fingers. “I see a lot of your father in you, Wednesday.”

“It’s almost like I’m a genetic composition of you and him. Shocking.” Wednesday deadpans in reply.

She wishes she could refute her mother’s comparison. Despite her displeasure at being unceremoniously trapped in this conversation, she would never dare to find disgust in being directly compared to her Mother or Father – not in their presence, certainly. She did so as a teenager, and remembers the pain it caused with regret. Wednesday is happy to cause emotional damage to other people; people who don’t deserve to find kinship with Wednesday in the first place...but to her parents? No. She will accept the comparison time and time again, regardless of the situation.

Wednesday’s response elicits an amused hum from Morticia. She stands and waltzes to the seat that Enid had recently vacated. As she sits, she picks up and assesses one of the flower wreaths that came from Enid and Wednesday’s teamwork. She smiles.

“I see myself and your father in both you and Enid, actually. You’re more than just lovers, you’re partners, teammates, always quietly working together against the world’s expectations of you.”

Wednesday blinks, not expecting the emotional pang that hits her at her mother’s recognition. She forgets at times that her mother’s words hold meaning above everyone else’s… but the flicker of emotion is gone quick, buried before Wednesday can dwell on it too much. Mother or not, Wednesday will never be one for emotional displays.

“What is the purpose of this conversation?” She asks.

Morticia chuckles.

“Do all conversations need a purpose, little viper?”

Wednesday stares at Morticia blankly.

“I am simply expressing that I believe you and Enid to be a perfect match. Our phone calls had convinced me as much, but after seeing you two in person? Well… there’s no denying it.”

Wednesday softens slightly, but she can’t help offer a final bit of snark.

“The phone calls were ideal. It is always preferable when you can simply hang-up on a conversation.”

“Wednesday, you have not hung-up on me once.” Morticia bites back with a mischievous curl of her lips.

Wednesday pauses. She stares daggers into the table for a second as she realises – well shit – she hasn’t ever hung up on her mother. Frankly she would not dare. Wednesday has historically slammed the phone down on major book publishers, scriptwriters, even a Hollywood director or two without so much as a second thought – but may the non-existent Gods forbid she ever even attempt to end a call with her mother unprompted.

However, Wednesday will neglect to comment on the calls she has simply not picked up. Those are outliers.

In any case, Wednesday does not have a witty reply. She’s caught in a box of respecting her mother too much for her regular passive aggressiveness, but not prepared enough to offer any thing resembling emotional intimacy. So Wednesday silently grumbles and stares at the table.

“You find it hard to talk to me, don’t you? Especially in person?” Morticia queries. She reaches out, tracing her hand over the silhouette of Wednesday’s shoulder without quite touching her. “I understand, you have always been this way. I hope you find it easier with Enid.”

Wednesday glances towards her mother. She nods slightly.

“I do.”

A warm fills Morticia’s expression.

“Good. You deserve someone who makes emotion feel safe.

Wednesday pulls in a tight breath. Again, she feels herself soften against her mother’s fond words. Unfortunately she is still struggling to find an anchor to offer much more to the conversation, even with knowing it was going to happen; even when it’s her mother of all people.

Wednesday drags her eyes away from the table. She manages to settle them on her mother’s face, and does her best to offer an expression that does not resemble a glare… but, ultimately, she still says nothing.

Morticia’s hand snakes up from hovering above Wednesday’s shoulder, to floating to the side of her face, faux-cupping Wednesday’s cheek. There’s a pride sitting in Morticia’s eyes; a joy that can only be expressed by a mother seeing her child thrive.

“I am so, so happy for you Wednesday.”

Wednesday feels the tiniest hint of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. It’s miniscule – practically blink and you’ll miss it, but it’s there all the same, if only for a second. It’s enough for her mother to catch though; enough for her to see what Wednesday wishes she could express.

“-And who knows,” Morticia adds after a moment. “Maybe one day you two will get married.”

Wednesday freezes.

Oh.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3 #Hello hi #small authors note in the tags that my laptop is going in for repair #so uh next chapter might be a hot minute sorry :')

16 notes · View notes