Wenclair One-Shots

Embers Can Look Like Shooting Stars, To a Bitter, Broken Heart..

Summary:

Enid could see the wheels turning in Wednesday's head while her mother attempted to find a plausible excuse for her deplorable behavior. Part of her wanted to watch the pack alpha squirm under such undisguised scrutiny, but it wasn't Wednesday's- or anyone else's- responsibility to make her mother a better person, and Enid would never let that pressure settle on the shoulders of someone so kind, but Wednesday looks so willing, and so protective and it's incredibly jarring. To watch someone go from cold and distant to her number one supporter.

Or

Enid's parents are awful, but Morticia and Wednesday save the day

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Enid sat. She just sat and stared straight ahead at the bland beige wall of the
principals office. Her father sat to her left, in an ill-fitting grey suit and polished black shoes, making his slicked back salt and pepper hair and deep brown eyes look even more professional- and absolutely out of proportion to his usually messy and laid back appearance.
To her right, her mother; clad in a tight black turtleneck and her face dolled up so much that the creases in her skin looked iron'ed out, barely paid attention to her only daughter, a painted and practised smile levelled for the principal only.

Principal Weems looked over the rim of her glasses, swallowing with a pained sort of grimace. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat yourself?"

Esther tapped her daughter's ankle, which was crossed over the other knee. Apparently, it wasn't befitting a young wolf girl to sit like a man. It turned them away for someone more of... childbearing nature.

God, the very fact her mother had uttered those words to her time and time again made her stomach knot and coil every which way.

"We'd like to pull Enid from school."

Weems nods tightly, shooting a pitiful look to the blonde werewolf that can't move her gaze in fear of the tears spilling. "I thought so..." Taps her pen against the desk, and sighing like the very easy task required more than she had to give. "May I ask why that is?"

Esther sits up even more, her spine probably contorting in an inhumane way.
"Well, she's of age to find herself a nice strong mate now. She has no need for further education, when a man can take care of her."

Murray didn't say anything. Sat by and let his wife solely decide the future of their daughter in complete silence. He was kind to his daughter in solitude- but not when she, or any-fucking-one- else could possibly hear. And it made her blood boil, but then he'd smile at her and it would simmer to a quiet burning she couldn't express. Because she hated hurting people as much as she hated being hurt, except the latter had become a discomforting necessity than anything else as of late.

Principal Weems' eyebrows rose to her hairline, looking down to the unenrollment forms in her hands. She wishes to tear them up. To laugh in the Sinclair's faces and tell them to go fuck themselves. But, Enid was a minor. There was nothing she could do to sway Esther's decision, and hadn't the power to help Enid beyond a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and just pray it was comforting. She slumps back in the chair, sighing a breath that felt far too thick in her throat. "Well. I guess there's nothing more to say-"

The door bursts open. "Oh, Larissa, you do seem to have lost your edge!"

Morticia Addams sweeps into the room, a force of power pouring in in a black dress that brushes the floor and makeup perfected, which made Esther look like a child who'd gotten into a box of crayons in comparison.
Wednesday trickles in behind her with that gleam of anger in her eyes, bright and set on Esther. Morticia holds a hand out when Wednesday tries to step toward the blonde woman. Thing is perched on where his wrist would be on her shoulder, fingers flexed in preparation to tear the heads off the werewolf's.