#incorrect wednesday

Wednesday: "Baby."

Enid: "No. Now is not the time to call me pet names."

Wednesday without any hesitation: I wish to be left alone in eternal darkness today, Enid.

Enid: Okay cool! I'll bring a nightlight so you don't get scared *happily trots away*

Enid: I’m trying!

Wednesday:

Pugsley: Try harder——

Morticia, holding a lantern: Children it is 2 in the morning, why on earth are—

Pugsley and Enid freeze with their arms full of various snacks, while Wednesday freezes mid-sip of water.

Wednesday:

Pugsley:

Enid:

Morticia:

Gomez, emerging from the pantry, arms also full of snacks: I got the—

Enid, distantly: "I uh, I put it away!"

Wednesday: "Where?"

Enid: "Why do you need to know?"

Wednesday: "I need it!"

Enid, entering the room: "Oh no you don't, babycakes. We are GOING to this charity auction."

Wednesday: "Nevermore is in DANGER, Enid!"

Enid: "My EVENING is in danger, Wednesday! You are not fighting any evil reanimated puritans, crazed stalkers, or rabid werewolves today!"

Wednesday: "You tell me where my sword is wolf! We are talking about a genuine danger to outcasts!

Enid: "The only danger you need concern yourself with tonight is ME. Your mother is hosting this auction. We. Are. Going. You'll hug your mother for no less than 10 seconds, and you will buy me something pretty. Now, get your coat."

Larissa: “Wh—what on earth are you on about?!” Larissa sputters in a high-pitched voice, confused and a bit shocked at where the situation is going.

Wednesday: “Only a descendant can be my spirit guide, and that’s the only thing that makes sense. Are you my actual father?” Wednesday adds with a bit of a shrug, her lips tugging up slightly before she schools her features.

Larissa: “I wouldn’t say that…” Larissa says with a thoughtful look on her face as she thinks back to the one night she had with Morticia after a reunion.

Wednesday: “What?” Wednesday asks, her tone shifting slightly, eyes widening just a tad.

Larissa: “I don’t know, Wednesday! What fresh hell is this? Is this my hell—having to deal with you?!” Larissa scoffs defensively, immediately pacing away from Wednesday as she tilts her head back in a silent prayer for strength now that she has to deal with her all day, every day.

Wednesday: “You mean our hell, Dad.” Wednesday’s voice drops low and dangerous, her eyes squinting as her jaw ticks—the pint-sized goth already plotting to question Morticia relentlessly about this.