Chapter Text
Enid was so warm. Enid was warm and the bedding enveloping her was soft. She nuzzled deeper, a pair of arms tightening around her. She made a sound—something soft and happy.
“Good Morning, Mi Alma,” a pair of perfect lips pressed softly to the crown of Enid’s forehead. The blonde puckered her own lips, before her brow tensed in adorable protest. Those lips found Enid’s before they pulled away to whisper the most gentle words Enid Sinclair had ever heard, “Merry Christmas, my love.”
Blue eyes shot open. Wide, and aware—they met gorgeous brown counterparts, crinkling in heady laughter.
“Wednesday,” the werewolf gasped. “It’s Christmas!” The psychic nodded. “And me? I'm in your bed.” A smile. “And it’s, your parents, us, we—family. No one is gonna—“ tiredness reclaimed the teen. She had been shocked to realize the wonderful state of her life: a happy Christmas, a first in...well, a very, very, maybe forever, long time. Wednesday gazed gently at her girlfriend, she stroked her back, soft languid lines. Promise, after promise, kept eternally.
“Mi Alma, of course, in a while, we’ll go breakfast with the rest of my family. Christmas is often slow in this house, as we don’t subscribe to the speculation of any notable births of true historical record.”
“You, are my favorite atheist smart, lady,” Enid muttered. Wednesday smiled.
“Breakfast will likely be blood sausage, sauerkraut, and rye. It is a special occasion, after all.”
Sleepy Enid screwed her face into a visage of intense displeasure. “That is...not the best favorite.”
“Lurch might have gone into town last night to get an assortment of pastry, maybe, specifically cinnamon rolls from the place across from the duck pond.”
“Four.”
“Pardon?”
“You can have four. You say ‘ery time you don’ like my food, but you eat at leass one whole roll. Today,” here Enid flung herself so she was fully ensconced on her girlfriend’s chest, “is Reindeeerpaluza, and I love you too much for Rudolph to hundle, so you can have four ones.”
“Thank you, Enid, as always you are too kind for the capitalist plane upon which we have been sentenced to suffer,” Wednesday assured her snuggly girlfriend.
They lay there, safe and soft in each other for an hour. Wednesday stared at the ceiling, unblinking tracing patterns, then poems, then complex equations on her girlfriend’s back. Enid meanwhile slowly roused herself. She realized she was thirsty, Wednesday’s habitual morning glass of water having ingrained itself in her biology.
“Morning, Baby, can I have some water?” She finally asked, rubbing sleep from open eyes.
“Of course,” Wednesday said, leaning over to the nightstand on her side. Meanwhile Enid rearranged pillows to they could have their morning chat—properly and awake.
Wednesday handed Enid her glass. Enid signed thank you, something else she had picked up from Wednesday.
They did not touch, just coexisted as cool water slid onto parched palettes.
“Do you think your mom will like the snood?” Enid asked picking at a loose thread that didn’t exist on her sleep shorts. Wednesday laughed.
“Enid, my mother will have to be dissuaded from framing it. I would not be shocked in the least if we are in the car on our way to manhattan this time tomorrow as she is convinced it needs to be put in The Met. Mi Alma, my mother would love anything you gave her. She loves you.”
Enid swallowed. She nodded, and then pressed on, “And your dad, Gomez, will—“
“My father would similarly be infatuated with any gift you gave him, and he will adore the watch cleaning kit. Pugsley as well. My brother will be gobsmacked when he discovers the autographed photo of Xavier’s father.”
Wednesday shifted to sit closer to Enid, she tucked some hair behind her ear. “Am I allowed to know what I am expected to love?” Wednesday asked.
Enid melted under the other girl’s gaze, leaning into the tender hand at her cheek, “Nope, I know you’ll love it.”
“I will.”
“What did you get me?” Enid asked with a wide grin.
“In good time.”
“With you it’s always a good time.” Enid giggled with waggling eyebrows, “so cinnamon rolls?”
“You are always rolled dough adorned in sugar, with me.” Wednesday said, attempting to return the verbal affection.
Enid’s face broke into a blistering smile. She kissed Wednesday.
“Wednesday, warn a girl.”
“I am going to love you until the sun extinguishes due to its own passion, and every nebula in existence stumbles into the new dawn of a different reality, Enid,” Wednesday said with mischievous conviction.
“Wednesday, I swear, we are too young for me to ask you to marry me.” Enid smiled. “Merry Christmas, Weds.”
“Feliz Navidad, Mi Alma.”
Eventually, the pair stumble down stairs. Wednesday shocked her girlfriend in forgoing a change of clothes, muttering something about hallowed tradition, and something else about “cozy socks.”
This morning, there is no perfect dining room, and well-dressed Addams clan. Instead, Enid is greeted by the sight of the family, eating off of trays in the living room. The three of them arranged on several couches laughing and animatedly waving forks and terrifyingly moving knives. Pugsley see the girls first.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, ENID!” He screams.
“Ma belle! Merry Christmas,” Morticia sweeps Enid into a firm hug. Then she turns to Wednesday, “Scorpion, I hope you have only the most despicable of Sundays today.” The older woman gently pats Wednesday’s shoulder once.
Meanwhile, Gomez has been battling Bertha, who is dressed in a sweater that is 90% tinsel and 9% LED, for container of what Enid assumes is dried ants. Finally, he surrenders so he can turn to the girls.
“Girls! Feliz Navidad, Merry Christmas, Happy Early New Year. Storm Cloud, your sister has snagged the ants, I’m sorry.” Wednesday, snaps, and Bertha scitters overs, eight legs barely managing to keep her up right amid her excitement.
“Bertha, drop it.” The spider does, then sits. Wednesday pets her.
Enid stares.
“Enid, Merry Christmas, we have cinnamon rolls, as we assumed you may not enjoy our traditional grub.” Enid smiles.
“Wednesday mentioned, while promising to help me eat the cinnamon rolls.”
Morticia sat beside her husband as she chuckled. Pugsley laughed, taking a large bite of blood sausage.
Wednesday went to a table with a hearty spread and began to prepare a plate.
Enid joined her, gently knocking their shoulders together when the shorter girl placed a cinnamon roll next to her sauerkraut. Enid took a plate and placed five cinnamon rolls on it, before pouring a healthy helping of warm icing.
Once they were seated the werewolf promptly placed a one of the cinnamon rolls onto her girlfriend’s plate. Wednesday signed thank you, then proceeded to cut her breakfast.
Enid was amazed by the easy laughter and gentle pace of the morning. No one screamed or chastised anyone. Everyone just seemed content to chat as snow accumulated on the lawn.
“Presents?” Pugsley asked as Morticia finished her last bite.
“Let Enid finish her breakfast, then we can, Darling,” Morticia said gesturing to Enid, the only one still eating.
Enid promptly began attempting to shove a whole cinnamon roll in her mouth—
“Ma Belle, there is no rush. Pugsley simply aches to plan vociferously, please we have nothing but time.” Morticia reassured Enid.
Wednesday placed a gentle hand on her girlfriend’s back. Enid suddenly felt about to cry—no one ever waited for her. Wednesday did, but that was recent, and different, and not normal and nor something Enid deserved—
Soft lips pressed against her cheek, pausing her panicked thought. Then a slim finger nudged the pastry held halfway to her mouth, swiping some frosting before depositing it into that same mouth. Wednesday smiled. Real, and blistering.
“It’s okay, Ends, we don’t mind loving you.” Enid flushed, nodding. Slowly biting into her breakfast.
Eventually, she did finish, a new warmth having blossomed in her rib cage. Gomez took her plate, while Morticia and Thing began to distribute gifts. Enid smiled when she noted her pile of presents was quite similar in size to everyone else’s.
“Addams Family tradition is we take turns, youngest goes first, but if you open my gift I think we can make an exception this year, Enid,” Pugsley smiled.
“Um, okay, which—“ Wednesday nudged a gift wrapped in what looked like a bloody cheese cloth. Enid’s face split into a large grin. Nimble fingers and colorful nails began to unwrap the gift, inside she found a plain box. Within that was a mug. Pale rose pottery, with textured rivets that at once looked like a vine and lightning. Turning it over, lettering in soft lavender read “World’s Best Big Sister.”
Pugsley giggled, and Wednesday shot him a brief glare—still containing enough vitriol to drown the Vatican ten times, they were Addams, no matter how much Wednesday appreciated the effort to welcome her girlfriend into their home.
“Pugsley? This is gorgeous! Thank you!” Enid said, eyes slightly misty. Wednesday chewed her cheek, eyes narrowed at her brother, but the unmistakable tensing of her cheeks suggested she would smile while seeing to his death.
Pugsley whooped and scooped the blonde into a fierce hug when he found Xavier’s dad staring back at him from a black frame.
Wednesday thanked her father with little effervescence and much vitriol when she found a town gallon container of formaldehyde for use in taxidermy. Morticia did love the snood.
Round and round they went. Gomez did love the watch cleaning kit.
“Ah! Mija!—“ with a glance towards Morticia, “it was about time.”
Enid laughed at the horrible dad joke. She saw Wednesday rolling her eyes, and briefly wondered if one day Wednesday would tell small blonde children horrible jokes. No, no, but maybe Enid would. While Wednesday perched beside her—she smiled at Morticia, who was still chuckling at her husband. Yes, Wednesday would be collected and calm, planning, and constant. Enid meanwhile would love loud and boisterous. People continued to open gifts.
“I thought we could hashtag twinning,” Gomez said, shedding his robe to revel a matching pink jumper to the one in Enid’s hands.
Morticia gifted the blonde a pair of shears—“perhaps you can help me in the garden come summer, Wednesday says she’s too busy to behead roses.”
Everyone laughed when Morticia opened a box to find a diorama of taxidermed shrews that was a scale-model of the Ophelia Hall dorm room she had shared with Weems.
Enid imagined someone hanging Yoko some artistic representation of her and Divina one day. A small blonde girl dressed entirely in black—two severe braids interwoven with periwinkle ribbons trailing behind as she ran off to join other children.
A cough jolted her from her revelry.
“Oh!” Wednesday was making a gesture towards a gift next to Enid’s elbow. She repeated it with more fervor, the tensing reach mimicking— “Wednesday, there’s no need for grabby hands.” Enid smiled.
Wednesday ignored her in favor of opening the box. Inside was a stained glass in a frame. Refractions of light and color—
“The dorm window?”
“I know you hated it—“
“I hated being made to room with a stranger. I quite enjoy it now, knowing it is the sublimation of much worked for knowledge on interior design.”
“Exactly; I thought you could hang it in the library for when you write.”
Wednesday nodded. A small tear was slipping down her cheek.
“Enid, I quite adore the lengths you go to see to it I never need to work for your integration into my, at times cumbersome, routines. Strangely, you have never viewed your absence from said routines as a long term solution. A perfect segue, follow me, your gift could not be stowed beneath the tree.”
With that the Raven stood, and walked. Enid was confused, but Morticia and Gomez smiled and nodded for her to follow. Pugsley snickered.
“Before I show you, I want to stress, any changes you wish to make can be done post-haste, this was originally meant to be more of a proof of concept.” They were walking though the library, Wednesday gently placed the stained glass on the table, before ushering Enid through the doorway to her wing.
Continuing on, Enid realized there was no curtain. Instead, light flooded into the hallway via a large window at the end of the hall. Just in front of it, a door stood open.
“Go on, Mi Alma,” Wednesday said and Enid stepped through the door and—
Color. Light. Music, such fine music.
Enid Sinclair found herself in the old Addams Solarium, antique glass gleamed, so clean the sky seemed to touch the floor of the third story room with no impediment. The floor was covered in plush rugs, all white or otherwise pastel, a patch work of soft comfortable textures.
Enid cocked her head and found the blue speakers throughout the room all played the same sound which came from—a media console sitting beside an oak desk. A record player, iphone dock, and aux chord all wrapped around a statue of a werewolf and raven which seemed to have space to hang jewelry and charge Enid’s smart watch.
“Wednesday...”
Her eyes saw the bed, huge and soft, it was the one space with no color, blindingly white sheets, and a soft comforter, Enid realized so Wednesday could occupy the room for the duration of slumber and not fall ill.
“Weds...”
There was a chair beside the window, a portion of the room sat entirely on glass, so that someone could enjoy the air on all sides. Likely installed for some purpose of terror, but now it held a giant pink bean bag chair beside a simple black armchair, between them was a small table, with tableware—and a mug was missing, Pugsley’s mug would fit perfectly.
Actually, the solarium looked over the rose garden, come summer she’d be able to see Morticia working and join if she’d like.
Most of Enid’s clothes had been moved in, taking place on pegs affixed to glass or on neat racks, Enid realised Gomez sweater would be perfect beside her bed should she ever be cold in the night.
“Mother says even if she is okay with us sharing, you deserve your own space, everyone does. Especially you."
“How?”
“I built the stereo system, most of the furniture as well actually, or refinished it—the paint store seems to think I have lost my mind with the amount of mint green I purchased in the last month. Tracking down other textiles wasn’t too difficult, oh though hanging the curtains—I owe Pugsley now.”
“Curtains?” Enid asked.
“Yes, it can get warm in the summer, or just bright, so the room has curtains, you can trigger their release with this switch,” Wednesday gestured toward a third switch next the light switches in the wall. “If you press it they will furl back up, the pulleys are mostly working without issue, but should you encounter any issues, I can fix it.”
“May I?” Enid asked gesturing toward the switch.
“Of course.”
Enid flipped the switch and the room was dark.But then: a soft blue light filled the space. Her eyes went the ceiling to discover velvet curtains masking most of the light, but affixed to them was a perfect replica of the night sky—complete with a gleaming, full moon.
“Baby—“
“You deserve every constellation, and ever configuration of constellations that will ever dare to grace the heavens, Enid, I am sorry to inform you that simple manipulation of tapestry is the bare minimum one ought to use to express their adoration of you.”
Enid Sinclair burst out laughing, “Warn a girl, Weds.”
“I will love you forever, Mi Alma.”
“I’ll love you longer.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“Never find out?”
“Never,” Wednesday said, leaning into the arms of her girlfriend, as they sunk to the floor, staring at a sky that would never waver as time marched. Like love—love you could nap in. Enid liked that, she was sleepy, it really had been a lot of cinnamon rolls. “Love you.”
Wednesday Addams did not respond, she was deep in a dreamy slumber, cradled by her moon, awash in what might have been a vision—or maybe just hope—but one day, when she tried to decide, she would find it didn’t matter, not as the scene was enacted in front of her, just as it had been in sleep twenty years prior:
“Mommy! Aria stole my Barbie—she doesn’t know how to cut the heads!”
“I do know! I am five! Five is plenty to cut the heads!”
Enid was about to respond when a curly haired boy bounded into the room, “Hide me!” he squealed, light brown curls flopping over his eyes. “Uncle Pugsley is chasing me!”
Enid Sinclair was thirty-six and exhausted. Her wife had been sent to watch the children, as asking her to help with preparing food never ended—well, without a poising. It was a week until Christmas, and the Addams family had offered their Manor for a reunion of sorts with the womens’ friends from high school. Currently, Bianca’s five-year-old, best friend to Enid and Wednesday’s six-year-old was attempting to climb up her Aunty Enid’s leg to grab the Barbie.
Enid shot a glare at her wife who had the good sense to look sheepish behind her novel, sitting in the same chair she’d occupied for two decades every time they visited the family home.
Enid’s room was now the room all the kids slept in whenever their families descended on the mansion. Bunk beds replaced the four poster bed, and toys lay strewn throughout. Enid’s hand shot out for the switch, and everyone paused.
Wednesday reveled in the dark that enveloped them prior to the room being washed in soft light. Her son had stopped attempting to crawl under the desk in favor of staring slack jawed at the ceiling. “If everyone can agree to be quiet, we can watch a movie.”
Enid signed “thank you,” when Wednesday got up to begin setting up the projector. The kids pulled blankets and pillows to the center of the room to make a sort of fort—sans roof, as the movie would project high up on the curved dome of the ceiling.
Wednesday smiled as she sat beside Enid, small bodies clamouring to snuggle. An old Pixar film, Coco, began playing.
“Oh this one is good,” her daughter whispered to Aria, as she unbraided her hair to fidget with the ribbons.
“Will they need you downstairs?” Wednesday whispered.
“They can deal, this is important, too.”
“Thank you, Mi Alma. You always save me.” Wednesday placed a soft kiss to her wife’s cheek. The movie played, and that moon—still, all these years later, it shown so brightly. Perfect and constant. Just like Enid, Wednesday thought. Exactly like Weds, Enid knew.
“Moms, can I have poppy corn?” Enid laughed. And Wednesday moved towards the kitchen.
“Who else wants poppy corn?” Three hands shot up, one with perfect pastel nails, and Wednesday Addams smiled.