Atramentous [Wednesday Addams Imagines]

Names On Your Tongue

Words : ±4.7k

Summary : Wednesday doesn’t like nicknames… does she?

Warning (s) : basically nothing except. you know. my writing lol.

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Wednesday was confused – no, she was angry. Livid, in fact. Perhaps she was going mad. The only thing she knew is that everything was going out of her control.

You see, there was nothing in this world that could take down the famous Wednesday Addams; not an undead pilgrim, a Hyde monster, a psycho undercover teacher – the goth with twin braids was unstoppable. That was what everyone thought, and what you agreed on when you’d found yourself in her room, sitting on her bed and talking, staring at her eyes; so dark they were almost black, flickering to your lips with something akin to fondness.

Wednesday was unstoppable still – if you were taken out of the equation, that is.

It only became clear after several days that her moods, however indecisive and unknown, depended on yours; if you were cheery, she’d be tolerable at best, and she’d name these days as ‘ignorance is bliss’ while being absolutely fixated on your dazing deadly smiles and heart-stabbing laughs. And if you were sour, everyone would be smart enough not to cross Wednesday – if someone so much as breathe the wrong way into your direction, there would be no guarantee they’d be able to breathe ever again.

The whole predicament worked out perfectly for both sides. But recently, Wednesday found herself annoyed at your behavior more than anyone else’s, and she couldn’t bring herself to admit it, or acknowledge it, even. She would rather have her hand chomped off by the Hyde than to come forward and give you her piece of mind; but then again, she would ‘cut off her body parts for fun’, as you’d claimed it – you weren’t wrong. It was stirring to be a tad excessive, though Wednesday didn’t rebut the accusation.

And so, the goth girl remained impassive to the painstakingly obvious special treatment you were giving her. Special couldn’t begin to it justice, for all you’d done was deprive her from hearing some specific words on your tongue. She had many names; Wednesday, the one you always refer her with – she didn’t hate the name, per se, just that she wasn’t able to comprehend why you’d only call her by that when you had so many other options.

Don’t ask.

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“Wolfie said she couldn’t make it. We could start the session early?” You suggested, gesturing to the piles of parchments on the desk waiting to be sorted through. While it was more likely you’d tear these papers apart by sheer frustration, Wednesday decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Just for your sake.

“You do know there’s a lot of other wolves here?” You quickly shot down her skepticism with clicking your tongue, falling into a familiar rhythm of exchanging remarks with the girl sitting on your opposite.

“I don’t have any other wolves as friends, Wednesday.” She kept quiet, tongue caught between her teeth to prevent any kinds of words she learned from the depths of hell from leaving her mouth. Wednesday was testing dangerous waters by asking these questions, but she felt like drowning, helpless if she didn’t at least put up a fight – and mind you, she was the best swimmer there is. It would be a shame on her and her father if she somehow failed to keep afloat.

Damn you and your stupid smiles, your stupid voice, your stupid nicknames.

“So there aren’t other ‘bee boy’s for you to call Eugene that?” Your pen scraped loudly against the table, your illegible scribbles drawn haphazardly across the papers. A beginning of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, eyes squinting at her frown and the imaginary thunderstorm above her head.