Wenclair oneshots

Hopeless Woemantics

Summary:
An inane game of Truth or Dare leads Wednesday to have an unexpected vision involving Enid.

"Awhh, gorgeous!" Enid gasps, clasping her hands together in unadulterated glee.

"Drop-dead." Wednesday shoots back with a sour stare fierce enough to send an entire army running for the hills.

Why Wednesday Addams thought letting Enid Sinclair talk her into wearing a brand new snood was a remotely good idea eludes her. Call it a temporary lapse in judgement or a case of misplaced generosity, but whatever it is, Wednesday needs to toss this awful fabric nightmare off of her and fast. Wearing the first one of these hideous concoctions made by Enid had been bad enough, but to make the same mistake twice?! This is torture—and not the fun kind.

And yet, for whatever reason, Wednesday feels like she can't back out of this. No, she has promised Enid she'll do this and she is determined to be as committed as an asylum patient, even if it physically pains her to go through with this. Perhaps because, for some reason, Wednesday doesn't completely hate that dorky smile on Enid's face or those hands brushing against her shoulder after each fit of giggles. God, for a minute, just chilling there with Enid, Wednesday almost swears she has a heart.

Then, she remembers this Fur is the reason she's dressed up in the barfed up bastard child of a quilt, sweater, scarf, and hoodie, and quickly dispels that notion.

Yet, wearing this snood is only the tip of this horrifying iceberg, Wednesday fears, as she inexplicably agreed to have an...ugh...girl's night. What on God's gray earth was she thinking?! Why did being around her almost certainly over-caffeinated roommate do this to her? She's pretty sure she'd have clearer thinking lobotomized.

"And, yes, this is Taylor's Version, obvs." Enid explains upon blasting some inane song that Wednesday noted may serve as a solid waterboarding substitute the next time she gets the chance to torture Pugsley, even as her pigtailed head almost involuntarily bounces along to the blaring beat and mindless lyrics.

And of course, she offers her incomparable insight, musing, "You know...'22' would make a pretty impressive victim count for a serial killer."

After an appropriately long horrified pause at that, Enid moves things along, "Sooo, anywaaayyy, what do you wanna do first? Mani-pedis? Makeovers? Would You Rather?!? Ooh, or maybe Truth or Dare?!?!"

"And 'none of the above' isn't an option?" Wednesday dryly clarifies, getting a reply in the form of an infuriatingly...oh God, was she actually thinking this word...cute pout, which soon has her sighing, "Fine. That last one, I guess."

"Yay!" Enid gives a little clap before insisting, "You start."

"Um ok. Truth or dare?" Wednesday asks with all the searing enthusiasm of a root canal recipient.

"Hmm...oh gosh..." Enid thinks it over. "T-Truth?"

"You sure about that?" Wednesday quips.

"Truth." Enid nods, her voice a little more firm.

"Ok..." Wednesday pauses then calmly and casually asks. "When we die, where do we end up? Do you believe in the illusion of heaven or hell or do you recognize that waiting for us at the end of life is an all consuming black void, leaving us in pitch black for all eternity as our body becomes an all-you-can eat buffet for worms and maggots?"

"Um, W-Wednesday." Enid interrupts, a bit shaken.

"What?" Wednesday shrugs. "It's a simple question."

"I know bringing down the vibe is kind of your thing but..." Enid trails off before explaining. "These questions are supposed to be about fun things."

"So, cadavers? Electrocutions? Autopsies?" Wednesday questions.