Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her fluffy unicorn slippers drag across the stone floors of Ophelia Hall as Enid makes her way back to her room. She rubs the last droplets from her hair, hoping the pink and blue has fully replaced the thick, matted red.

Wednesday had been positively elated when she’d returned from a night of wolfing out in the woods in the dead of night, all but jumping out of bed—for Wednesday, this meant sitting up and uncrossing her arms—to get a better look at Enid’s bloodied face.

She’s got a couple of full moons under her belt now, but Enid still feels slightly uneasy about how she looks when she shifts back, especially after a tussle with one woodland creature or another.

As she comes up to their dorm, Enid stops. The unmistakable hum of Wednesday’s cello comes drifting through the closed door, the notes stringing together in a rendition that sounds familiar, if not slightly melancholic.

Enid listens for a while, eventually recognizing the song to be FANCY by TWICE, but in a minor key; giving the song a sinister, yet hauntingly beautiful vibe. A smile breaks out on her face as she opens the door and steps into their room.

Wednesday keeps playing as she enters and drops down on inky black bedcovers, not once looking up from her sheet music. Thing acknowledges her with a short little wave in-between flipping pages.

The low notes on the cello reverberate through her chest where Enid lies and listens. She can’t stop looking at Wednesday: the deathly pallor on her cheeks, the blueish bags under her eyes, an obsessive gleam to her black eyes as they track across the page. She’s beautiful, in that cold, adamantine way that grave angels are, sitting there in the pale moonlight.

Wednesday finishes the rendition with a decisive, loud pull of her bow, stilling after the movement as the sound fades. Enid starts clapping loudly before full silence can descend on the room, causing a wry smirk to pull on her girlfriend’s lips.

“That was gorgeous,” Enid sighs as she grins at Wednesday, from her position on her roomie’s bed.

“I was feeling particularly inspired after your display just now,” Wednesday says, as she puts her cello back in its case. She smooths down her faded black nightgown and joins Enid on the bed, sitting on the edge and looking down into big, excitable blue eyes. “You looked ravishing.”

Enid feels a blush coming on and shifts her gaze from Wednesday’s fixated eyes to the ceiling. Her hand comes onto her face—her fingers find the fresh cuts there, the ones she had discovered in the mirror when the blood washed off, the ones that must be made by the wolf she encountered in the woods as she was heading back to campus. A particularly broad cut has crossed over the faded scars already there, the prizes she won when she fought the Hyde during her first wolf-out.

With a frown and a small pout, Enid considers the possibility that this is her life now: shifting into her wolf form and accidentally ruining whatever’s left of her face, every other month or so.

“I look like I can’t even bite someone without getting my face all scratched up,” she replies, before pressing both her hands to her face. “It’s embarrassing.”

Cold fingers wrap around hers, gently lifting a hand. Enid watches as Wednesday links their pinky fingers together and regards her with an expression that looks a sinister amount like adoration.

“I like you bloody,” Wednesday says, rather matter-of-factly, but she uses that soft, low voice she reserves for Enid, the sound of which seizes her heart like the thumbscrews Enid let Wednesday use on her that one time.

Then Enid freezes fully, because Wednesday abandons her hand to cup her face, her thumb following the gash there—even after a month of dating, she isn’t used to being touched so freely.

“We should make sure it scars,” she suggests softly, still looking at Enid with her undivided attention. “It’ll make you look formidable.”

“Right,” Enid replies, a little breathless. “Just like Thing.”

Thing taps excitedly on the music stand.

“Just so.”

The moonlight fades and they stay like that, Enid looking up into Wednesday’s dark eyes, Wednesday staring down at Enid’s pink cheeks. Neither of them move away, nor do they move closer; both girls staying suspended in the moment, fully transfixed by the other. It’s only when loud, unrelenting autumn rain starts tapping against their window that the spell is broken.

Enid lets out a deep sigh, her exhaustion catching up to her at once. She crawls under the covers of Wednesday’s bed before holding open the duvet for the other girl, who wordlessly joins her in the bed and succinctly assumes her vampiric sleeping position.

A drop of blood wells from the cut and runs down her cheek—Enid catches it before it falls and wipes it off with her hand, pausing as she looks at the flash of red. “I’ll probably get blood all over your bed.”

Wednesday’s eyes fly open. “Is that a promise?”

Enid grins and presses a kiss to her cheek, smearing a bit of blood onto it in the process. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

It’s silent as the grave on this part of campus. A fresh blanket of snow has fallen over Nevermore and most of the students are content to spend the day inside.

Enid shifts her weight from her heels to her toes, before veering back again.

After a painfully slow minute, the door to the greenhouse creaks open and in steps Wednesday, her cheeks rosy from the cold and her expression blank as ever.

“Hey!” Enid says with a grin, the words leaving her mouth in a little cloud.

Wednesday eyes her carefully. “There was a note in invisible ink on my desk, telling me to come here. Color me intrigued.”

“I wanted to catch you alone.”

They hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t so much as turned their heads when another student passing them in the hallway mentioned it. Valentine’s Day. A part of Enid still assumes Wednesday wants nothing to do with it.

But Enid has never had a Valentine before, and she intends to make the most of it.

“I appreciate the mystery,” Wednesday says. Her hand caresses the cracked, brown leaves of one of the plants and a pale, powdery substance rubs off. Her dark eyes land back on Enid. “And the scenery.”

A rather aggressive grey mold infiltrated the greenhouse about a month ago and it has been eating away at the frost-tender plants sheltered there for the winter. The botany club had caught it too late—only a few plants could be saved. Now they stand between pots of death, the damp smell of rotting roots permeating the air.

It was the best spot Enid could think of to give Wednesday her present.

“So,” she says as she turns around and gets her present from the working bench. “I got you something. For Valentine’s day.” Wednesday’s barely-there smirk sours into an articulate frown. “Don’t worry, it’s not a rose or a teddy bear or chocolate,” Enid chides, pressing the wrapped gift in her hands. “I think you’ll like it.”

Wednesday hums as she tears the black paper up, opening it to reveal… “Dolls?” She raises an eyebrow at Enid. “Are you sure these aren’t meant for someone else?”

Enid rolls her eyes “No, silly. Look closer.” She throws an arm around Wednesday’s shoulders and nudges her to hold the dolls up to the light. They’re rudimentary, with button eyes, but the inky black pigtails on the one and pink-and-blue tinged yellow hair on the other are unmistakable.

“Oh,” Wednesday breathes. She sinks a hand in her coat pocket and gets out a needle. Just when Enid thinks she should prepare to feel a stabbing sensation, Wednesday pushes the needle through the dolls’ cotton hands, joining them together before making the movement a reality and grabbing Enid’s hand in her own.

A smile dances around her lips. “Perfect,” Wednesday says, appreciative.

They trudge back through the snow with their hands joined all the way.

Wednesday is more insistent than usual, taking fast-paced strides back to their dorm room, and just when Enid is starting to realize something may be up, they’re at the door.

Wordlessly, Wednesday opens it and Enid lets herself be pulled into the room, which looks nearly unrecognizable bathed in the light of a sea of candles, placed on every available surface and most of the floor.

She stills, taking in how magical their room looks in the firelight. Apparently Wednesday did want something to do with Valentine’s Day. “Woah.”

“I have a surprise for you as well,” Wednesday mutters. “Turn around. Close your eyes.”

Enid obeys readily. Cool hands slide up to her neck, making her breath catch and a shiver roll down her back. Then she feels the thin metal chain, gently being clasped around her neck. She turns back to Wednesday and opens her eyes, looking down at it.

At the end of the chain dangles something she could only describe as a vial, containing a small, round, flesh-colored object. “What is it?”

“A rat’s heart.” Wednesday stares at the pendant, turning it around between her fingers. “In embalming fluid. I harvested it myself.” And that’s just so Wednesday, not just making her gift from scratch, but digging in the cold, bloody carcass of a dead animal in search for its organs to do so. There is something incredibly tender about it.

Enid cheek stings from how far her grin has stretched. She waits patiently as Wednesday goes on, a little stilted: “I know how much you like pink. And meat.”

“I love it,” Enid says. There’s something in the way that Wednesday looks at her—not smiling, not blinking, instead expressing the full might of her devotion and affection through those inky irises, that familiar gaze that seems to rip right through her—that makes Enid feel weightless.

“My own heart would’ve been better, but it would be too bulky for a necklace,” Wednesday muses. “Still. You must know that it’s yours.”

As if stoned by a gorgon, Enid stands frozen when Wednesday flattens the hand that had been holding the pendant over her heart, stands on her tippy toes, leans in and presses a chaste kiss to her lips.

It’s warm, impossibly soft and over too soon. “Thank you,” Enid whispers, going against her better judgement and pulling Wednesday in for a tight hug. The other girl allows it, meekly patting her back as Enid presses her face into the scratchy material of Wednesday’s black overcoat, and confides: “You’ve got mine, too.”

Chapter Text

The sickly sweet odor of flowerbeds in bloom invades Enid’s senses upon entering the quad. She breathes it in deeply, thoroughly enjoying the sensation in addition to the sun on her face, chuckling when she hears the inevitable groan next to her.

“I don’t know why you insist on sitting out here,” Wednesday states from behind blackout sunglasses, in the shade of her parasol. “If you want to burn to death, there are faster ways.”

It’s only the first day that it’s warm enough to sit outside without a coat on, so Enid isn’t particularly scared of getting a sunburn. Instead, she raises her hands over her head and stretches, hollowing her back, before slumping against her girlfriend.

“Well…” Enid looks up at Wednesday from where her head rests on her shoulder. “It’s a great match for your sunny disposition,” she says with a playful grin.

Wednesday scoffs and grabs her hand under the table, squeezing it hard in retaliation. “Tread carefully, Sinclair,” she threatens and Enid shudders. Nowadays, the promise of danger gives her goosebumps rather than jitters and she wonders, not for the first time, what dating Wednesday Addams has meant for her sense of self-preservation.

Nothing good, probably. Enid closes her eyes and sighs, content.

She tunes out of the conversations being held around their table completely—Divina and Kent are arguing about something insignificant, Wednesday makes her usual scathing remarks, then Yoko yells something at them from her place in the shade—it’s like she’s listening to her friends through glass, seeing them clearly when she opens her eyes, but never quite hearing what’s being said.

It’s easy enough, idling around in the warmth of the sun in spring, her face hidden away in the shade of the black parasol as she teeters on the edge of waking and sleeping. Wednesday still holds her hand, but Enid’s fingers lie slack in her grip.

She’s halfway gone when her pillow shifts—Wednesday has turned her head towards her and whispers softly: “Don’t fall asleep, Enid.”

“I wasn’t,” Enid replies, but her slow-blinking eyes must have betrayed her, because the corner of Wednesday’s mouth pulls up in a rare half smirk.

“Sure.”

With a crisp pull, Wednesday reaffirms her grasp on Enid’s hand.

Mostly, everything about Wednesday is muted. Enid keeps looking long enough to see her face shift back to its default, blank state.

She and Yoko are discussing obscure Japanese horror movies, giving Enid ample opportunity to take in every detail of Wednesday’s face. The freckles on her nose; her eyes, so dark under her black eyeshadow that even the abundance of sunlight doesn’t reflect in them; the set of her jaw as she debates Yoko on the superiority of existential, eldritch horror over jump scares.

Enid is sure she must look stupid right now, all dreamy and aloof, but can she really be blamed for being so captivated by the girl next to her?

“Do I have something on my face?” Wednesday questions when Yoko leaves for her locker, giving Enid a knowing look. They find themselves here often enough—Enid only shrugs and keeps staring.

“I was just thinking about how I could probably draw a pretty good portrait of you if I really tried.” She smirks, reaching out to trace Wednesday’s jawline with her fingers. “You’ve got such sharp features.”

Across the table, Divina makes gagging noises.

“Although I do believe obsession is the highest form of flattery, you’re severely sleep deprived,” Wednesday counters, but she doesn’t move her face away. “You need to stop scrolling TikTok until three in the morning.”

Enid grins wolfishly, showing off her sharp canines. “If you wanted to have a late night chat instead, you could’ve just said so.”

Wednesday rolls her eyes.

Their break is ending and the quad fills with people, traversing the courtyard to get to their lockers and their classes. A clique of particularly loud Furs passes by them—Enid thinks she recognizes a cousin and cringes—and then two Stoners start a brief but intense food fight, so Enid quickly stands and pulls Wednesday along, to safety behind one of the large stone columns that line the quad.

She realizes too late how doing that ends with her basically pressing the shorter girl against the rough basalt stone.

“Querida,” Wednesday starts, her breathy voice low enough for Enid to abandon any hopes of getting to class in time. Even as Wednesday continues and says: “we should go,” Enid stays rooted to the spot, her mind conjuring up images of them close together in the privacy of their room, instead of in the front row of their Outcast History class.

“Can I kiss you?”

Enid jumps—the words have sprung up and out of her mouth before she can stop to think what she’s asking. She’s well aware that there is a world of difference between the Wednesday she knows, the one that’s strangely intimate and unexpectedly soft, and the Wednesday the rest of the school knows.

“You’re deranged,” Wednesday mutters, as a Nevermore student bumps into Enid’s back in a rush to get to class. Her cheeks have darkened, with no help from the sun.

“If you kiss me now, we will make the entire student body extremely uncomfortable,” Enid tries. She tilts her head and pouts, utilizing all the powers of persuasion in her arsenal.

Wednesday considers it, remaining silent as she fixes Enid with a piercing glare. Before Enid can open her mouth and come up with another dumb reason for why they should make out right now, Wednesday groans. “You’re such a lovesick puppy,” she grumbles as she roughly grabs Enid by the collar of her uniform. “It makes me sick.” Then she closes her eyes and crosses the distance, pressing her lips against Enid’s.

It’s rougher than usual, but Enid can’t say she doesn’t enjoy the way Wednesday softly bites into her lower lip and lets her hands wander under her jacket, her black nails scratching down her sides before landing on her hips. Enid’s hand comes up to cradle Wednesday’s face as she attempts to slow them down a bit—a futile endeavor.

Enid was right to expect a response from the people around them. Most don’t pay them any mind, but some of the guys make expressive sounds of disgust, causing Enid to grin into the kiss so widely that her teeth clash against Wednesday’s.

She pushes her back against the pillar. Her fingers are still splayed over Wednesday’s face and Enid sighs into the kiss. When they finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Enid realizes it isn’t just her fingers caressing Wednesday’s soft cheeks, but her claws—she presses them down into the skin experimentally, relishing the sharp inhale that follows.

Wednesday looks at her as if she’s daring her to poke an eye out. Her eyes are open wide, her cheeks flushed, her bangs are mussed and her tie is lopsided; a far cry from how put together she always looks.

She’s stunning.

After scratching a pink nail down Wednesday’s face, careful not to draw blood, Enid retracts her claws and seeks out Wednesday’s hand once more.

They’re the only ones left in the quad and definitely will be marked up as late when they get to class. Enid can’t find it in herself to care, too enamored with the sight of her glittery, cherry-flavored lip gloss sticking to Wednesday’s lips.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe fifty people already shared it. The post has only been up for half an hour!” Enid only has eyes for her laptop, hitting refresh on her blog compulsively to see the number of shares increase exponentially. “At this rate, the entire school is gonna know about it before the day’s even over!”

Nevermore fame seems just around the corner—none of her other posts ever gained traction this fast. Enid allows herself to imagine it: walking down the halls with everybody noticing her, coming up to her to ask about the latest hot gos or offering to do her homework, walking into the Rav’n and seeing all heads turn towards her, being invited to join the Nightshades…

Wednesday probably wouldn’t stand for the added attention. Even now, the both of them working on their respective sides of their room, her words seem to not even have registered.

“It’s a really juicy story, you know,” Enid tries, tiptoeing to where Wednesday sits hunched over her typewriter.

“Positively scandalous, I’m sure,” she deadpans, as her fingers roughly press down the mechanical keys. Rationally, Enid is aware she doesn’t care. She might not even understand exactly what it is about the otherwise inconsequential lives of other people that makes for such great entertainment.

Nevertheless Enid, undeterred, crowds Wednesday’s personal space by placing her hands on the desk on either side of her, leaning in to speak quietly: “So apparently Adrasteia, a senior and a gorgon who has been dating this guy Lucas for a year and seven months, was caught cheating on him with a siren. You’ll never guess how he found out.”

Wednesday’s fingers pause over the keys and she turns in her seat, shooting Enid a scrutinizing look. “He must’ve looked through her phone.”

“Nope!”

“He suspected something and hired a private investigator, who provided him with photographic evidence,” Wednesday tries. Enid grins and shakes her head, her multicolored hair swishing around her cheeks.

“Also no.”

Wednesday hums softly and tries again. “He called on a vengeful spirit to spy on them and, upon discovering the infidelity, deliver the slow and excruciating punishment of death by flaying.”

An involuntary shudder rolls down Enid’s spine at the bloody mental image. “No; though that’s a creative guess.”

Wednesday has turned around fully now, her arms crossed as she glances up at Enid. “Enlighten me, Enid. How did he find out?”

Enid bites her lip to suppress a grin. “Okay, so. Adrasteia was in her room with the siren—I have yet to confirm it but my source tells me it was Bianca’s roomie, Cynthia. They were… getting it on, so to speak, when Lucas suddenly walked in.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t knock,” Wednesday deadpans, but her eyes have gained an inquisitive glint.

“He did not,” Enid elaborates. “So he came in, and Andrasteia jumped and lost her beanie in the process and ended up accidentally stoning the both of them.”

In what feels as a moment as rare as a total solar eclipse, Wednesday’s lips stretch into a crooked smile. Enid had known about this probability—that’s why she started the story at all, knowing her girlfriend’s delight in other people’s suffering—but had not at all accounted for this outcome: Wednesday, honest-to-god smiling up at her, her eyes crinkled, with dimples in her cheeks that Enid can’t look away from.

Entranced, Enid lets Wednesday pull her closer, two sets of black nails disappearing in the pastel purple fabric of Enid’s blouse. “I used to wonder what kind of person would keep up with your blog,” Wednesday starts, “but I suppose I see the appeal, now.”

“People like drama, at least when it doesn’t involve them personally,” Enid replies. She uses their proximity to lay a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder and fix the white collar peeking out from under her black t-shirt. “Especially something as sensational as a dating scandal.”

Wednesday hums softly, pulling her ever closer, until Enid is sitting fully on her lap. “If there’s anyone I would brave the lurid trials and tribulations of ‘dating’ with, it would be you,” she speaks, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if that leaves me at risk of featuring on your blog.”

Enid grins widely and tugs Wednesday into a hug, reveling in the way the other girl melts into the touch.

Most of the time, they’re perfectly opposed. In the beginning, Enid used to think they were like the sun and the moon: one warm, the other cold, the both of them shining radiantly; still, as different as day and night.

These days, she knows otherwise. Wednesday is more like a black hole and Enid herself an orbiting planet, inescapably stuck in its gravitational pull. Even now, she feels like she could sink into Wednesday completely.

Enid pulls back and takes a moment to look at Wednesday, painted in the kaleidoscopic light of the summer sun, falling through their window. Her heart is thundering in her chest when she realizes what she wants to say, what she needs to say, and Enid decides to brave the storm. She’s fought monsters for this girl. She can speak honestly.

“I really love you, Wednesday,” she says.

Wednesday stills completely as she processes the words, spoken without pretense in the quiet of their room.

One thing about Wednesday is that she’s always watching her. Among their friends at lunch, from the other side of class, Enid would even catch her looking at her when she’d wake up in the morning. From the moment she first noticed, Enid had quietly basked in the attention. Now, Wednesday stares at her as if she’s seeing her for the very first time.

She blinks once, twice, then her shoulders slump uncharacteristically and she leans back against the edge of her desk.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Enid reassures her. She knows feelings don’t come as easy to Wednesday, and there’s nothing wrong with that. “I just… wanted to tell you.”

Wednesday has her own ways of expressing her love, whether that be in reassuring Enid that the white lines on her face are nothing but the well-earned spoils of a battle, gifting her an actual heart, or kissing her in front of all their peers. It’s never in the way Enid expects, but that only adds to the elation she feels when Wednesday crosses that precious borderline.

Wednesday is fully capable of showing her affection. It’s simply a matter of knowing where to look.

She still hasn’t said anything yet, but she’s captured Enid’s hand in hers. And this is how Enid knows she is a secret romantic; the girl links their pinky fingers together, the matte black on her nails clashing with glittery pinks and blues, before bringing their joined hands to her mouth and pressing a kiss to her hand.

“To live with you yields the sweetest ache… to live without you would be torture,” is what Wednesday eventual settles on, whispering the words in-between kisses pressed to Enid’s knuckles. “Love is a poison without a cure, and I pray I suffer eternally.”

She looks thoughtful as she speaks the words. There is nothing more she could have said—Enid feels weightless, grounded only by the hand on her waist.

“You will,” she whispers, trying her hand at a threat, “if I have anything to say about it.”