Enid absolutely 120% sleeps with a plushie because it reminds her of Wednesday. A black wolf plushie, because she's her pack.
She keeps it under the covers as she hugs it so Wednesday doesn't see it. But one day she oversleeps - not only that, but she tosses and turns while she's having a nightmare, clutching the stuffed wolf to her chest and groaning in her sleep. The covers have been tossed all over the place, no longer covering her.
That's what Wednesday walks into when she enters the room, to find out why Enid has skipped her classes and lunch and make sure she's okay.
How the fuck she's gonna explain that to Wednesday is something I might figure out in a fanfiction.
As the dust settled and the ring clattered against the ground, Bianca’s shoulders visibly relaxed and she exhaled slowly.
But Wednesday couldn’t find respite in the defeat of Joseph Crackstone just yet. He was far from their biggest problem, he was just a momentary distraction from the real danger that had been unleashed upon Jericho and Nevermore. And the one left dealing with that danger…
“Enid,” Wednesday breathed and, without another word in Bianca’s direction — honestly, she’d forgotten the siren was there in the flash of panic that stung her veins so harshly it almost blinded her — she burst into a run, whirling through the courtyard and towards the back entrance of the school as though she hadn’t been bleeding out in a crypt less than an hour ago.
Bianca followed her without question. She had to make sure her friends were safe.
Wednesday followed the sounds of the evacuated students’ concerned voices into the woods, coming to a halt at the open wrought iron gate as her dark gaze flickered desperately from face to terrified face in the cluster of students, searching for the only person who truly mattered right now. The dim orange glow of the lamps on either side of the crowd weren’t helping as she searched for even a flash of pink or the moonlight reflecting on locks of silky blonde hair she had grown so used to seeing at her side.
Never in her life had she considered herself religious, or stupid enough to pledge her life to following the rules of beings in the sky or below the ground, but now she threw out silent prayers to whoever might be listening and waiting to claim her eternal soul, begging for Enid to have survived the clash of claws and teeth with Tyler.
Begging for them to do something about it if she hadn’t.
Wednesday knew for sure now that she indeed had a heart, however rotten it might be, as it hammered against her rib cage so hard it was becoming difficult to breathe. As the waves of students parted like the red sea, it stuttered and threatened to stop altogether as anticipation zapped through it.
Only to jump start again when her eye caught sight of a blush coat, however muted the colour may have been amongst the dirt and leaves stuck to it.
Wednesday took a hesitant step forward, no matter how desperate she was to lunge ahead and make sure it was really her, but she didn’t have to. Enid was already running to her, with the other students following close behind her.
As she drew in a deep breath of relief, the cool night air filled her starved lungs and brought life back to them. Her tense body relaxed, and she almost managed a smile as she met Enid’s azure eyes. Enid tossed herself at her, wrapping her arms tight around her waist and squeezing, and Wednesday was almost knocked back with the force of it, but she couldn’t find it in herself to shove the girl away.
In fact, when Enid stepped back on her own after a mere moment, Wednesday ached to feel her arms tight around her again. She was gone far too soon. When they were so close, she could feel Enid’s heart thumping, the warmth of her body seeping through her clothes, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathed — all things which confirmed Sinclair was truly alive and not some figment of Wednesday’s desperate imagination.
As she regarded Enid and took in the mess of her hair, the leaves still stuck to her even after most had blown off in the wind, and the blood covering her beautiful face — she realised it was her fault. If Enid hadn’t been protecting her, she wouldn’t be covered in blood, and Wednesday couldn’t figure out if it was Tyler’s or her own, but the usually morbid part of her was gone and she didn’t want to know. It was a strange feeling.
So many questions brewed in Wednesday’s mind — How could Enid be stupid enough to risk her life for her? Was she hurt? What happened to Tyler? How could she be stupid enough to risk her life for her? — But she couldn’t ask any of them. Not now.
All she could do now was drag her close again and shove her face into her neck, letting her eyes flutter shut as she basked in the ray of sunshine that was Enid Sinclair. She didn’t care if the whole school was watching. She didn’t care if Enid wouldn’t ever let her hear the end of it. And she definitely didn’t care if anyone found out that her ice cold heart was slowly being melted bit by bit in Enid’s presence.
All she cared about was Enid’s safety.
And she made a silent vow to keep her safe, for as long as Enid would allow.
imperfect kisses (based on my post about wednesday braiding enids hair)
i listen to the sound of wednesdays breathing, watching as she brushes a strand of hair off my cheek. i lean into the touch.
“what did you say?” i mumble.
“nothing, nothing,” wednesday mumbles. “hmm. i messed up this braid pretty badly.”
i tentatively touch a hand to my hair, running my fingers over the soft flowers that wednesday had braided in.
“i think it’s beautiful,” i whisper.
wednesday scoffs.
“no, really,” i say, grabbing her hands. if this were a year ago, she would jerk them away, but today she accepts the touch. she runs her thumbs across my hands, and its a motion that im very familiar with. its comforting.
“its crooked and ugly.” wednesday argues.
“its not perfect, willa. and i love it for that, because that makes it so much more real.”
“oh.”
i laughs. “sorry, i got sappy for a moment. i promise it wont happen again.”
“enid.”
“what?”
wednesday purses her lips in consideration for a moment, then she kisses me. its so gentle that it makes me wonder if it really happened at all. slowly, i reach up my hands to cup her face, and she rests her hands on my legs.
“cara mia…,” wednesday says as she pulls away to take a breath.
“what did you just call me?” i ask.
“nothing,” wednesday says, pressing her lips to mine once again. when we finally pull away, i pull her close in my arms.
i love you, i think to myself. i love you, i love you, i love you.
Enid sometimes steals Wednesday's clothes when she's away from their dorm because she misses her. She slowdances with her favorite stuffed animal in them; buries her puppy nose into the black fabric to smell Wednesday's scent. Nuzzles it as if it were her.
Listening to dark classical music she's grown to like purely because it reminds her of Wednesday. She closes her eyes and smiles as she dances away, humming and swaying across the room as if Wednesday were the one spinning and turning her. She rocks and lulls herself all throughout the night.
Then Wednesday comes back, and she asks Enid why she seems to be surgically glued to her bed. Enid giggles that "oh, it's nothing. My feet are sore."
Wednesday's eyes jump to Enid as quickly as a fox's ears flick up at the littlest noise around its cubs' den. Her head stays immobile.
"From?"
"Just dance practice!" Enid's eyes smile with her.
Sometimes it just hits me how much physical contact Wenclair have had in those 24 hours their bodies were swapped... Wednesday has tied Enid's hair in two little pigtails, felt the length of it and stared at its color while she was parting it. She's felt the way it feels to the touch, the softness or fragility or thinness of it. If it's thick or airy and light, or it slips through her finger as she tries to tie it - she's felt it all. She knows it all. She's felt Enid's hands - are they soft, delicate, is her skin thick like a barrier against world, or is it fragile and easy to mark and cut? What does it feel like to put mascara on Enid's full, long lashes around her green eyes? So much contact without an ounce of it. And I wonder if Wednesday took and milked every ounce of this chance, to know what Enid feels like. What she feels like to the touch.
20s Enid wants to be slow dancing at home with Wednesday in a long skirt and a comfy jumper, in their livingroom or kitchen with soft music playing in the background. Maybe on Wednesday's old black gramophone.
With her head resting on Wednesday's shoulder, their hands held by one another, her skirt slightly fluttering and swinging between Wednesday's legs and against her own. Their other hands resting comfortably over each other's waists.
Fluffy slippers hugging her feet, dimmed lights, and the smell of a warm meal cooking in a big pot in the other room. Maybe she'd like a fireplace. Would Wednesday like a fireplace?
Enid's eyes had curved into near slits with how wide she was smiling, the creases around them so deep and her pupils barely visible if not for the distinct, bright shine in them. An incriminating result of daydreaming in front of her girlfriend and the overflowing sense of happiness that came with it.
"What are you thinking about?" Wednesday asked her, deadpan as always.
"Hm? Oh, nothing, hon - just what we're gonna eat for dinner." Enid was still flustered around Wednesday, even after years.
Wednesday stared back. She read through Enid's facade like a magnifying glass over a semi-transparent paper.
Her gaze returned to the college assignment on the table of their dorm. She spoke without lifting her eyes off it: "pick whatever will darken your soul most. I feel like frightening a handful of normies at the store."
Ah, yes. Wednesday's now poor attempt at blurring and masking her wordly outpours of affection. She'd become more and more inclined to them over time, and Enid had gotten notably good at reading through them.
Wednesday stared at the night sky, the moonlight kissing her warm skin. The soft freckles that dotted her face were barely visible in the dim light. However, her eyes sparkled, and her head turned as she admired every single star.
Enid rested her cheek on her hand, smiling softly, so in love with this beautiful girl. Wednesday was the moon, and Enid was her little star. That's right. Wednesday and Enid. The moon and her little star. The star and her big moon.
They are Wednesday and Enid. And they are in love.
Originally misread this as *caring* and thought about one of the Nevermore students saying it's like Wednesday was born without the dread in her bones or something.
Enid overhears and says “What dread?”
They say, “You know, the fear. The existential weight of the vulnerability of living as a creature that needs light and air and food - that dread.”
“Oh,” Enid says, nodding sagely because she too has felt the weight pressing in on her.
Then she shakes her head this time, because “No, that's not it at all. Wednesday feels the dread in her bones even more deeply than we all do.”
“She does?”
“She just has stronger bones than the rest of us.”
